Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You don't have to stay, you know." Jane looked worried, new lines drawn across her face. "The automated systems have been working well so far."

"It's fine," Phil said, trying to school his exasperated expression into something more reassuring. "I've done this plenty of times before. Besides, it's just too important—"

"You can trust the computers, you know." Her expression had softened slightly.

"I know," Phil said, his tone entirely unconvinced. "You'd better go. They'll be waiting for you."

She hesitated a moment longer. "Be safe, won't you?"

"I will."

Phil watched her leave, her small figure disappearing into the mist as she trekked towards the shoreline. Somewhere out there, a boat was waiting to ferry her back to civilisation. It would be the last boat to reach these desolate shores for the next eight months. For a moment, Phil felt the urge to follow her, to run out into the snow and escape, but he ignored it.

⁂

The first few days were always the most difficult, when the station's crew dwindled from nearly seventy to a scant dozen staff members. The usually crowded corridors now felt vast and empty, and the cold seemed to creep in more easily than before. The design of the station was somewhat unique: a chain of eight interlinked pods, elevated above the ice by adjustable hydraulic legs. Each could be separated and moved across the treacherous ice shelf upon which the station was perched. It was an unnerving thought, but Phil had grown used to the design before long, and so far, it had always felt secure.

Phil knew most of the people staying this winter; there were just a couple of new faces. He ran into one of them—almost literally—on his way back to the lab.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, at the same time as the other man. “My bad.”

“No, no, my fault.” He was probably taller than Phil, but he was stooped over, like he was trying to look smaller. Despite his size, he looked very young, his brown eyes nervous behind his fringe.

“You’re Dan, right?” Phil said, hoping he’d remembered correctly. He was pretty sure this was the kid coming up to replace Bill Haggert, who’d been keeping the electric running on the station for the past eight years.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, blinking owlishly. “Sorry, I don’t…?”

“I’m Phil,” he said, holding his hand out. Dan stared blankly at it for a moment, before accepting the handshake. “I’m part of the meteorology team. Studying the weather, that sort of thing.”

“Right, yeah,” Dan said. “I’m, uh, maintenance. Mostly electric.”

“I thought so,” said Phil, with a warm smile. “You’ve been working with Bill, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a nod. “Came up a couple of weeks ago and he showed me the ropes. Now it’s, uh, all me, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll be great,” Phil said. “Let me know if you have any questions about the station, okay? I’ve been here for a few years, so I like to think I know what’s up. Can’t help with the electric, but you know, anything else is fair game.”

“Right, yeah,” he said, with a small smile. “Thanks.” “See you around,” said Phil, giving him a small wave before slipping past him and continuing down the corridor to the lab.

Inside, the automated systems were up and running. Phil checked and double checked them all, but there really wasn’t much for him to do. Jane was right, of course, but he wasn’t about to admit that. Instead, he booted up the PC in the corner, and began the tiresome process of analysing all the data they’d collected.

After a few hours, his back and neck stiff and sore, he closed down the computer, leaning back and stretching. Time felt weird down here, where the darkness stretched out for a hundred days over winter, but it felt like lunchtime. He checked over the equipment again, half-hoping it would need some input from him. It was all running perfectly, of course.

The corridor from the lab to the communal living module—a narrow walkway that ran past the generator room—was empty and quiet. Inside, a small group had gathered around the dining table, playing a card game. Phil gave them a small wave, crossing over to the small kitchen. There were some perks to living down here, but the food wasn’t one of them. During the summer, when the supply ship came in, there was a brief period where they got to eat fresh food, but for the rest of the year, it was all frozen and canned. Some things were easier: they could make their own bread, and dried goods kept well, but fresh fruit and vegetables were a rare luxury. Phil contemplated the stainless steel cupboards for a long moment, before getting out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

He took his plate of sandwiches back through to the other room, joining the others at their table.

“You want in?” Kate was grinning at him, a sizeable pile of tokens in front of her.

“No, thanks,” Phil said, shaking his head. “Just grabbing some lunch.”

“It’s like three in the afternoon,” said Rhys, looking at him askance.

Phil just shrugged. He knew these people reasonably well—they’d all worked down here for a while—but they weren’t exactly close. He got on well enough with most people, but he tended to keep himself to himself. He was more focused on his work than anything else.

“Anyway, like I said…”

The conversation resumed around him, carrying on while he ate with minimal input needed from him. He was just finishing up, about to take his plate back through to the kitchen, when the new guy appeared, looking something like a lost puppy.

“Hey,” Phil said, crossing over to where he was standing. “You look lost.”

“That obvious, huh?” he said, with a dry chuckle. “Sorry, I haven’t really got the…” He waved vaguely, indicating the room around them. “You know?”

“It takes a bit of getting used to,” Phil said, smiling in a way he hoped was encouraging.

“Yeah. So, uh, what do you do for fun around here?” He was looking around the room, looking interested but cautious. His curly hair was a little too long, his fringe falling into his eyes every so often so he had to sweep it back with one hand.

“Oh, we manage,” Phil said, glancing around the room as well. “It’s mostly a make-your-own-fun kind of situation, really.”

“Yeah, no internet, right?” Dan said, with an affected shudder. “Why’d I sign up for this?”

“Well, there’s some internet,” Phil corrected him. “But, yeah, barely enough to send an email, and it depends on the weather.”

“Horrifying.”

Phil laughed at that. “Hope you don’t mind me asking,” he said, shooting a look at him. “But you don’t really look old enough to be here.” “That’s not really a question.” Dan was grinning, his expression a little cheeky.

“All right, all right,” Phil said, rolling his eyes. “How old are you, then?”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“No way,” Phil said, shock infusing his voice. “I could have sworn you weren’t even twenty.”

“I sold my soul for eternal youth.” Dan’s voice was deadpan, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a dimple starting to appear there.

“Oh, right.” Phil smiled. “I was thinking of selling mine, but I just couldn’t decide what I wanted.”

“Let me know if you figure it out. I know a guy.”

Phil laughed. He could make conversation pretty easily with most people, but he instantly felt comfortable joking with Dan in a way he hadn’t experienced before. It didn’t hurt that he was hot, too—and old enough that Phil didn’t have to feel weird about thinking that.

⁂

The instruments may not have needed Phil’s supervision, but there was still plenty of work he could be doing. The fact that he could have been doing that work somewhere other than a frozen wasteland on the bottom of the Earth was one he studiously ignored. He spent most of his time holed up in the lab alone, since the other members of the team had all left for the winter. Most of the others left on the station had essential roles in maintaining its function for researchers like Phil to work there in the polar summer. There were only two other research scientists staying this winter: a physicist and a roboticist, both of whom had worked there for a similar length of time to Phil. He didn’t see much of them, each of them working in separate areas for the most part.

The transition into near-constant darkness always took Phil by surprise. They were still getting a little sunlight each day, but they grew gradually shorter, heading towards the long Antarctic winter night. Phil started spending more time with Dan when he took a break from the lab. There was an old Nintendo Wii on the station, and they’d begun working through the small and eclectic collection of games together. Phil had thought of himself as a pretty decent gamer, but Dan quickly showed him up. There were only a couple of multiplayer games, but they’d started working through the Legend of Zelda games, taking it in turns to play.

“Oh, that was terrible,” Dan said, jostling Phil’s shoulder. “Hand it over.”

“No, that wasn’t a real go!” Phil protested, clutching tightly onto the Wiimote. “Come on, let me try again!”

“You’ve had plenty of—oh shit, what was that?”

There was a flicker, then the TV screen went blank. Around them, the room went dark.

“What the fuck?” Phil wasn’t sure who was talking, but it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.

“Well?” Phil looked at Dan.

“Don’t look at me!” Dan protested, holding up his hands.

“You’re the electrician!”

“Oh, yeah.” Carefully, Dan felt his way to the doorway. “Give me a hand, will you? It’s probably the generator.”

“Sure, yeah,” Phil said, getting up.

“D’you know if there’s any torches in here?”

“Think there’s one in the kitchen.”

There was enough light to make out the vague shape of things, the emergency lights casting a red glow that guided them to the exit. In the kitchen, they bumped into Roy, who looked like he’d been in the middle of cooking spaghetti.

“Hey, fellas,” he said. “Got any idea what’s happening?”

“Think the generator went out,” Dan said, his voice hushed.

“Know where the torch is?” Phil added.

“Think it’s in that drawer.” Roy pointed.

“Thanks.”

Dan pulled open the drawer, which contained a mess of utensils, and buried underneath them, a slim silver torch. Phil held his breath as Dan flicked the switch, then released it as the light flickered on.

“Let’s see if we can get the power back on,” Dan said, his face cast into ghoulish shadows by the bright light.

“Catch you later, Roy,” Phil said, giving him a little wave as he followed Dan out of the kitchen.

The way through to the next module was a little easier, guided by the torchlight. It was eerily quiet, the usual hum of the generator replaced by silence.

“Can you hold the light for me?”

Dan’s voice startled Phil, but he accepted the torch, pointing it over Dan’s shoulder. He tried to direct it as helpfully as possible, with Dan muttering occasional instructions at him as he fiddled with wires. Phil couldn’t pretend to understand what he was doing.

“Is it fixed?” he asked, when Dan had paused for a moment, sitting back on his heels.

“Let’s see,” Dan said, standing up. He flicked a series of switches, then pulled back on a handle. The generator rumbled to life, the lights around them flickering back on.

“Oh, well done,” Phil said, beaming at Dan.

“Just doing my job,” Dan said, with an embarrassed chuckle, running one hand through his messy hair.

“Well, we’d be pretty screwed without you,” Phil said, flicking off the torch.

“‘S why I’m here,” he said, giving Phil a small smile. “Still, it’s weird, though… I don’t know what turned it off.”

“Was there a loose connection or something?” Phil said, pretending he knew anything about circuits.

“No,” Dan said, shaking his head. “There was nothing wrong, actually. It was almost like someone had just… turned it off?” His voice rose at the end, turning it into a question.

“Huh. Weird.”

⁂

It felt like no time at all before the sun was setting for the last time for the next three months. Phil had wrapped himself up in his outdoor gear and climbed the ladder up to the top of the lab module, where various satellites and probes sat collecting data, to watch the final sunset. The snow made everything lighter, scattering the orange glow as the sun slipped slowly behind the horizon.

“Wow.” The soft voice behind him was unexpected; he’d thought he was alone up here.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Phil said, not turning around.

“Yeah, it really is,” Dan said.

There was a shuffling, scuffing noise as he pulled himself onto the roof, then the soft sound of footfalls in the snow as he walked across to where Phil was sitting. He sat next to him, his feet dangling over the edge. Phil moved his gaze to the man next to him. His face was softly illuminated by the sunset, its orange hue casting a warm glow to his features. His lips were slightly parted, and they looked achingly soft. Phil felt his breath catch in his throat, and then he frowned, tearing his eyes away, staring back out over the horizon. It paled in comparison.

“Hey, what’s that?” Dan’s gloved hand stretched out, pointing towards something in the distance - a dark, indistinct shape.

“Not sure,” Phil said, frowning as he tried to follow the line of Dan’s finger. “Bird, maybe?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dan said.

They watched the sun sink out of sight in silence, darkness slowly encasing them. The stars were incredible down here, too, in the vast emptiness.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Dan said, his voice soft, his chin tilted upwards.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Phil said, his eyes resting on Dan’s face again.

Dan nodded, breathing a soft Yeah that sparkled as his breath crystallised in the air.

“When I first saw them, it was like…” Phil’s voice trailed off as he tried to describe the experience. “It’s like nothing else, is it?”

“Yeah,” Dan agreed, his eyes sparkling with reflected stars. “Oh! Look at that.”

In the distance, curtains of light were gathering, sheets of green and red that gently undulated across the sky. It was breathtaking every time.

“The aurora,” Phil said, a small smile on his face. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, only…” Dan’s voice trailed off. He looked a little sheepish. “I always thought that was up North.”

“We get our own down here,” Phil said. “The Aurora australis. It’s because of the poles.”

“I know that,” Dan huffed. “I just… I don’t know, I never thought about the South.”

“Most people don’t.” The small smile was still in place as Phil watched the wonder in Dan’s eyes. “This is your first time, right?”

“Yep.” Dan huffed a small laugh. “You get my aurora virginity.”

Phil laughed too, lying back on the roof. Snow tickled his neck, working its way in through the tiny gaps between his scarf and hat. After a moment, Dan laid down next to him, his eyes still fixed on the sky.

“Do you know the stars?” Dan asked.

“Some of them,” Phil said, casting his gaze across the night sky. “Those are the Centauri, I think.” He pointed out two stars, close together, slightly brighter than the rest. “The closest stars.”

“Oh, I see them,” Dan said. His voice was soft and full of awe.

“I don’t know about the others,” he said. “You can see the whole Milky Way, just about.”

“You really can.” There was a beat of quiet, and then: “Oh, look!” Dan’s hand shot up again, tracing out the arc of a falling meteor. “I could watch this forever.”

“I can’t,” Phil said, pushing himself up. “My bum’s freezing.”

Dan laughed, the sound raucous in the quiet stillness.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.”

Phil clambered gracelessly to his feet, then offered Dan a hand. They crossed over to the ladder quietly, Dan leading the way. As he climbed down, Phil cast his gaze over the horizon. A shifting shadow caught his eye, but he lost it before he could figure out what it was. Probably a bird.

⁂

As the long night dragged on, Phil found himself gravitating naturally towards Dan. He was a source of warmth in the cold, both literally and metaphorically. Phil tried to ignore the less than platonic feelings he was developing, unsure of where Dan’s preferences lay and keenly aware of how awkward a fling could turn under these circumstances. There were times he pushed the boundaries, and sometimes he could swear Dan was flirting right back at him, but it never went beyond plausible deniability. Mostly, anyway.

There were enough rooms that, over winter, no one had to share if they didn’t want to. Phil’s room felt empty without his usual roommate, but any extra space was welcome in the cramped confines of the station. It just felt a little lonely sometimes.

Tonight, it was a little less lonely. Dan had brought his laptop and an external hard drive full of anime over to Phil’s room, and they were squashed together on the single bunk watching some show Dan had been shocked to hear he’d never seen. Phil was struggling to follow it. His knowledge of figure skating was basically non-existent, but he did enjoy the cute boys in sparkly costumes.

“So, wait, how does the scoring work?” Phil asked, frowning at the screen.

“I don’t know,” Dan said. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

They were pressed together awkwardly, both too large to share this space, but Phil wasn’t uncomfortable. He was tucked into Dan’s side, one arm around him to stop him falling off the edge.

“It’s all about, you know, the emotions and stuff,” Dan said, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“And the tight costumes?” Phil said, tilting his head back as he tried to read Dan’s expression.

“Shut up, you perv,” Dan said, with a laugh. “It’s art.”

“Art. Sure it is.”

⁂

The constant darkness weighed on a person. The fluorescent lights of the station felt unnatural and irritating, and the days all blurred together as the concept of time became hazy. Phil’s sleep schedule quickly went off the rails, with only the numbers on a clock to tell him when he should be awake. Things usually got a little weird in the winter.

It seemed worse this year, but Phil wasn’t sure why. He kept catching shadows that moved in the corner of his eye, only to turn and see that nothing was there. Maybe it was being alone in the lab—he expected other people to be there, so his brain added them in. Just little glimpses: echoes of voices down the corridor when he knew the sound didn’t carry like that, or the sound of someone else typing behind him.

He knew it was just his brain playing tricks on him, but it was setting him on edge. He was finding it difficult to focus on the data in front of him, making silly errors in his analysis as he kept glancing over his shoulder to check the room was still empty. It was beginning to wear on him, the intermittent rush of adrenaline making his heart thud loudly in his ears.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when he stopped working. Earlier than usual, certainly, but sitting alone in the empty lab was wearing on him, and he needed to see another human face to remind him he wasn’t alone here. He finished up the note he was typing, checked he’d saved his work, then shut down the computer. The corridor to the living module was empty, and his footsteps echoed loudly around him. Suppressing a shiver, he sped up slightly, glancing back over his shoulder. There was a loud creaking noise, and he looked down instinctively, keenly aware of the stilts that held the station above the ice. Theoretically, he knew they were sound and secure, but that didn’t stop him worrying. He breathed a soft sigh of relief when the floor stayed steady, silence falling again.

The living module was empty. That was the first odd thing. Frowning, Phil checked his watch. It was coming on for two in the morning. Maybe everyone was asleep; that wouldn’t be too strange, even though it wasn’t uncommon for people down here to keep unusual hours. Still, it didn’t feel quite right. Phil was about to head through to the dorm module, but something in the window caught his eye. Frowning, he crossed over, searching for anything that might have attracted his attention. Outside, there was even less to see than usual, the view completely obscured by swirling snow. Phil hadn’t realised there was a blizzard coming, more focused on old data than the current conditions. Frowning, he turned away, then froze. There it was again: the shadow flitting past, just spotted in the corner of his eye. He swung back to the window, searching more intently, his nose pressed against the glass.

“What are you doing, Phil?” Dan’s voice behind him sounded amused.

“Nothing,” Phil said, taking a guilty step back from the glass. “Horrible weather, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dan said, his gaze moving to the whiteout. “Glad I’m not out there.”

“Me, too.” Phil shivered a little, taking another step away from the glass. “Hey, did you want to hang out? I’m getting a little stir-crazy, cooped up in the lab.”

“Sure,” Dan said, with a smile. “I couldn’t sleep, anyway. I kept hearing something knocking against the wall.” “Huh. Weird.”

They headed over to the TV, their shoulders bumping together companionably. Dan knelt down in front of it, flicking through the game boxes.

“What do you want to play?” he asked.

“I don’t mind,” Phil said, flopping onto the sofa and grabbing the remote. He pointed it at the TV and pressed the power button, but nothing happened. Frowning, he pressed it again, with a little more force. “Remote’s broken,” he said, tossing it onto the table. “Can you turn it on?”

“Sure,” Dan said, shuffling up to the screen. “Do we have spare batteries?”

“Somewhere.”

Dan pressed the power button, then frowned. “That’s weird,” he said, checked the power port. “It’s plugged in, and…” His voice trailed off as he checked the back of the TV. “Must be broken, I guess.”

“Well, shit,” Phil said.

“What now?” Dan asked, sitting on the floor. “Are there board games?”

“Yeah, I—what was that?” Phil twisted over the back of the sofa, searching for the source of the noise he thought he’d heard.

“What?” Dan had scrambled to his feet, coming to lean over Phil.

“There’s something—there it is again!”

Phil nearly fell over the back of the couch, barely keeping his balance as he sprinted across to the window.

“Phil. Hey, Phil.” Dan’s voice behind him had gone cold. “Phil.”

“What?” Phil said, the word dying in his mouth as he turned around and saw what Dan was looking at. A dark trail led to the kitchen door, which was propped ajar by a hand. “Is that…?”

Dan nodded tersely.

“Okay.” Phil swallowed, then took a cautious step towards the kitchen. Dan joined him, their shoulders pressing into each other as they slowly approached the door.

“Oh, God,” said Dan, turning away as Phil pushed the door open, revealing the person lying there.

“Roy? Hey, Roy?” Phil said, kneeling next to him, his fingers pressing clumsily against his neck, searching for a pulse.

“I think he’s dead, Phil,” Dan said, his face pale as he fixed his gaze on the wall. “I think… Christ, that’s a lot of blood. Fuck.”

“Jesus,” Phil said, letting his hand slide to the floor. “What d’you think happened?”

“I don’t fucking know, I— fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick.” Retching, Dan turned away, leaning against the wall for support.

Quietly, Phil slid Roy’s eyelids shut. “We need to—fuck, we need to find Dr Wilson.”

“Think it’s a bit late for that,” Dan said, his voice void of humour. He was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Jesus.”

“No, I mean—she’ll know what to do, I think,” Phil said, shakily pushing himself to his feet. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Fine by me,” Dan said, letting Phil lead the way towards the dorm.

They had to pass through the command module to reach it, passing by the closed doors of the offices, largely unoccupied at the moment. Towards the end, there was light spilling out from under the door of the room that served as an infirmary for the station. Phil paused outside the room, giving Dan a look before knocking. His heart was pounding in his ears, and it was an effort not to run straight in and start yelling.

“Come in.” The sound of Dr Wilson’s voice made Phil let out a quiet breath as he opened the door. She was sitting at the desk, flipping through a file.

“Hey, Doc,” he said, giving her a tight smile. He took a deep breath, attempt to organise his thoughts before they all spilled out in one panicked mess.“It’s, uh. Something’s happened. To Roy. He’s, uh… well, I think he’s dead.”

“What happened?” she asked, giving him a sharp look.

“I don’t know,” he said, glancing awkwardly at the floor. “He’s, uh, in the kitchen. It’s… well, you’ll see, I guess.”

“You’d better show me.” She slid the file into a cabinet, standing up smoothly. Phil noticed she was wearing pyjamas.

“Sure, it’s, uh.” He indicated the door. Stiffly, she walked past him, Dan jumping out of the way as she passed. “Yeah, I guess you know the way.”

Phil followed her to the living module, Dan trailing reluctantly behind him. She walked quickly, her slippers quiet against the floor. By the time they’d caught up, she was kneeling on the kitchen floor, examining Roy… or his body, Phil supposed.

“So,” Phil said, clearing his throat nervously.

“Strange,” Dr Wilson said, her voice quiet. She’d opened Roy’s shirt, her stethoscope pressed to his chest, and Phil looked away instinctively, expecting to see a wound, but it was untouched. He must have bled from somewhere else. “What happened to you?”

“Is there anything we can do?” Dan’s voice startled Phil; he’d almost forgotten he was there.

“See if you can make a call,” she said, not looking up. “In the office. We’ll have to see if someone can come by and… collect him.”

“Right,” Dan said, looking at Phil.

“This way,” Phil said, taking ahold of his sleeve and leading him towards the command module.

The main office was dark, empty. Phil flicked on the lights, crossing over to the satellite phone. Picking it up, he attempted to dial the office at Christchurch. The phone stayed quiet, and he sighed.

“It’s the blizzard,” he said, looking at Dan. “No signal.”

“Fuck.”

“We’ll call later.”

“But what about… whatever got Roy?” Dan looked pale, his face drawn.

“What?” Phil frowned.

“You know,” Dan said, glancing around. “It’s not… something happened, you know?”

“What, you think there’s… something in here?” Phil hadn’t wanted to voice the thought, but that was exactly what had been preying on his mind.

“Well, or, you know, someone.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” A person made more sense than a shadow-creature, Phil supposed. “Who would do something like that, though?”

“I don’t know.” Dan was looking queasy again.

“Maybe we should check on the others,” Phil suggested, glancing towards the dorms.

Dan looked frightened, but he nodded. “Let’s go.”

He let Phil lead the way down the narrow corridor. For some reason, the double doors separating the modules were closed. They usually left them open while the station was operating. Phil frowned, pressing the door release button. Cold hit him instantly, and he swayed, losing his balance and almost toppling into the blizzard. Only Dan’s hand, firmly gripping his wrist, kept him safe. He hung precariously forwards for a long moment before managing to pull back and hit the button again, the door slamming shut behind him.

“What,” he said, panting heavily, “the fuck.”

“The… it’s… gone?” Dan was blinking, looking bewildered.

“Fuck,” Phil said, leaning against the wall. “Do you think… the others?”

“Maybe it’s just… disconnected,” Dan said, looking unconvinced.

“Could the storm do that?” Phil said, giving Dan a worried look.

“I mean… what else, right?”

Phil didn’t want to think about that. He knew there was a crack running through the ice beneath them, but he hadn’t seriously considered the potential danger it posed.

“We’d better let Doc know,” Phil said. “Do you know if anyone else is…”

Dan shook his head. “Isn’t there some way we can send a distress signal here?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Phil said, turning back towards the main office. “There should be, right?”

“There must be,” Dan said, following him inside. “Look, here’s the radio.” He sat down next to it and began fiddling with the dials. Phil watched as he set up a looped recording to broadcast on as many frequencies as he could hit.

“Hopefully someone’s listening,” Phil said.

“Hopefully,” Dan agreed.

“Let’s go tell the doctor.”

Squaring his shoulders, Phil led the way, Dan following closely behind him. Phil could hear the wind wailing outside. Had it always been this loud?

⁂

The living module was eerily quiet.

“Hello?” Phil called, heading towards the kitchen. “Doc? Dr Wilson?”

The door was closed, which struck Phil as odd, although he couldn’t pinpoint why. Cautiously, he nudged the door open, then frowned. The room was empty. It looked almost untouched, save for the dark patch of blood on the floor.

“Doc?” Phil addressed the empty room.

“Maybe she moved him,” Dan said, his voice hushed.

“Maybe,” Phil conceded, although it felt odd to him.

They searched the rest of the living module, then moved back into the command module. The offices were still closed, dark and silent. Dan and Phil checked each of them, the tension building as each door opened to reveal an empty room.

“Maybe—” Dan started talking as they finished checking the final room, only to be interrupted by a loud noise. It sounded like metal scraping against metal, a harsh noise that set Phil’s teeth on edge. They exchanged glances, then hurried through the station, heading through the living module to the labs.

The noise stopped as the reached the end of the long corridor connecting the two modules. Phil gave Dan a look. Without realising it, he’d taken hold of his hand, and was now clutching it like a lifeline. He made a conscious effort to relax his grip, but couldn’t quite make himself let go. Besides, Dan was holding on just as tightly.

“Shall we…?” Phil asked, turning to look at Dan.

Dan swallowed, then nodded, the muscles in his jaw drawn taut. They hesitated for another long moment, then set off down the corridor. It was just wide enough to accommodate the two of them walking side by side. The fluorescent lights flickered, and Phil gave them a nervous glance as they passed the intersection with the generator room. It was eerily silent. Even the wind seemed to have died down.

“Doc?” Phil called, his voice echoing along the corridor. “Are you there?”

No answer. Not that he was expecting one. Cautiously, they continued towards the labs.

The meteorology lab was first. It was dark, quiet and empty, and looked undisturbed. They were moving to check the next lab when the lights flickered again. Phil felt his stomach sink as they shut off.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Probably the generator,” Dan said, his face looking wan under the red emergency lighting.

“Can you fix it?” Phil asked. He didn’t know why he was whispering, but he didn’t dare to speak any louder.

“Maybe.” Dan was frozen, his lips barely moving.

They didn’t move for a long moment. Eventually, Phil started towards the generator room, Dan pressed close to his side. His eyes flickered from side to side, catching on the shadows that seemed to move in the dim light. The station was eerily silent, the only sound their footsteps and the soft sound of their breathing.

The generator room was dark and quiet. Phil could just about make out the outline of the generator, looming out from the shadows.

“There should be a torch somewhere,” Dan said, his voice hushed.

“Right.” Phil nodded. He squeezed Dan’s hand, then released it, moving forwards to search the room. The red glow of the emergency lights was barely enough to stop him from bumping into anything, so he navigated largely by touch.

“Well?” Dan’s voice was a little louder, a little higher than usual.

“I’m looking,” Phil said, fumbling along the the wall. After a few missed attempts, his hands landed on a long cylinder. Something fell to the floor as he searched for a switch, then he let out a small sound of triumph as the light flicked on.

“Oh, well done,” Dan said, his voice warm with relief. “Okay, over here.”

Phil directed the light at the generator, watching Dan fiddle with it. It was a while before Dan attempted to start it, long enough that Phil’s arm started to get sore and he had to switch the torch to his other hand. He watched, his heart in his throat, as Dan attempted to start the generator. Nothing happened.

“Shit,” Dan said, under his breath. “Okay, okay, hold on.”

Three attempts later, Dan was ready to admit defeat.

“Okay, what now?” he said, giving Phil a wide-eyed look.

“Okay, okay,” Phil said, tapping his fingers on the torch. “Heating’s out, right? So we should get our gear on before it’s too cold.”

“The backup generator’s in the command module,” Dan said, with a thoughtful frown. “Emergency lights are still on, so maybe I can get—”

A loud creaking noise interrupted him, and they exchanged looks of pure terror. Wordlessly, Phil took hold of Dan’s hand. They exchanged another glance, and Dan nodded. Phil led the way back into the corridor, the torch allowing them to move a little faster than before. As they reached the living module, a loud clanging noise echoed through the station.

“Fuck,” Dan said, giving Phil a look.

“Let’s gear up,” Phil said, leading them towards the boot room. Inside, various bits of snow gear were hung up on pegs and scattered across benches. Quietly, they pulled on layers of clothing, not bothering to check who they belonged to, casting quick glances over their shoulders at any slight noise.

“Right, let’s—” Dan was cut off by the shrieking sound of metal being deformed. The emergency lights flickered, then went dark. “Fuck.”

“Shit.”

Cautiously, Phil peered out of the door. On the far end of the corridor, where the entrance to the command module should be, was a gaping hole. The wind was whipping past, making a wailing noise.

“We can’t stay here,” Phil said.

“We can’t go out there,” Dan argued, nodding at the door.

“Well, we’re going to die anyway,” Phil said, the pitch of his voice steadily climbing. “I’d rather take my chances outside.”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Dan said, his voice rising as well now. “The next station is, what?”

“Two thousand kilometres, give or take,” Phil said, “provided the sea ice holds.”

“Fuck.” There was another loud noise, and Dan flinched. “Wait, there’s snowmobiles, right?” Phil nodded. “Can you drive one?”

Phil hesitated. “Theoretically, yes,” he said. “I’ve done it once.”

“Well… it’s better than walking, I guess.”

⁂

They found the garage mostly through luck. The blizzard had reduced visibility to the point where they had to hang onto each other to avoid getting separated. Inside, the snowmobiles were lined up neatly, untouched since summer.

“See if you can find anything useful,” Phil said, nodding towards the shelves at the back. “I’ll see if I can remember how to work this.”

Dan nodded. Tugging his gloves off, Phil crossed over to one of the snowmobiles. Throwing the tarpaulin aside, he examined the controls. The ignition was easy to find, and Phil remembered something about letting the engine warm up before heading out, so he decided to try starting it. The engine spluttered, coughed, then died. On his second attempt, the engine rumbled to life, and stayed running. Breathing a sigh of relief, Phil ran his hands over the rest of the controls, trying to remind himself what they each did. It was simpler than a car, he thought - not that he’d driven one in a long time.

“Hey, can you see any helmets?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, here,” Dan said. He tossed one to Phil, which he fumbled, knocking it to the ground.

“Thanks,” Phil said, scrambling to pick it up.

He returned to examining the snowmobile, not daring to press anything yet just in case it was a self-destruct button. He didn’t think they came with one, but it would be just like him to find it.

“Hey, Phil,” Dan called, interrupting his thoughts. “I found a compass.”

“You did? Shit, that’s a good idea,” Phil said, glancing over at where Dan was standing, a triumphant grin on his face.

“Do you know which way it is?”

“Roughly,” Phil said. “See if you can find a map, though.”

“On it,” Dan said, turning back to the shelves. “How’s the snowmobile looking?”

“I remembered how to turn it on,” Phil said, drumming his fingers on the handlebars. “We’ll see if I can drive it soon enough.

“That’s a good first step,” Dan said, sounding unreasonably optimistic. “Hey, do you—” A crashing noise cut him off, and he jumped, his eyes darting around the room. “Fuck. Let’s go.”

“We’re not—”

“Let’s go,” Dan repeated, crossing over to the snowmobile, compass clutched in one hand. “Which direction are we going?”

“North, uh, west?” Phil said, clambering onto the snowmobile and tugging his gloves and helmet on. “Northwest, I think.”

“That’s good enough,” Dan said, thrusting the compass into Phil’s hand before climbing on behind him and wrapping his arms around his middle. “Go.”

⁂

The blizzard made navigating hard, Dan clinging to Phil with one arm while he tried to read the compass, but they were making good progress in what they hoped was the right direction. Phil’s hands quickly got cold, even inside the layers of gloves. There was no real way to measure the passing of time, but they had to have been going for at least an hour across the flat expanse of sea ice when the engine started spluttering. Phil’s stomach sank as it died. He’d forgotten one very important detail: snowmobiles needed fuel, and even under the best of circumstances, that fuel would run out a long time before they hit two thousand kilometres.

“Phil?” Dan said, his grip tightening slightly. “What’s happening?”

“I think we’re out of fuel,” Phil said, wiping the snow off the fuel gauge as the snowmobile continued to slide along the ice. It took a while for it to lose momentum, sliding to a stop.

“Fuck,” Dan said. They sat still for a moment, still huddled together on the back of the snowmobile. “What now?”

“We should, uhh, fuck,” Phil said, racking his brains for the Antarctic survival lessons he’d never taken seriously enough. “We need shelter, I think. We’ll be able to see better when the storm clears, but there’s no point walking anywhere now.”

“Right. Shelter.”

Stiffly, Dan clambered off of the snowmobile. Phil followed suit, careful not to lose his footing on the snow.

“We can use this,” Phil said, patting the seat. “And we can make, like, an igloo.”

“I don’t know how to make an igloo,” Dan said. He was standing in his usual posture, folded in on himself, but now it seemed more like a response to the cold than an attempt to appear smaller.

“Me neither,” Phil admitted, “but getting out of the wind is the most important thing. We should stay close together, too.” “Right,” Dan said, nodding. “To conserve body heat.”

The snowmobile was too heavy for them to really shift, but they managed to get it so it was mostly perpendicular to the wind. A snowdrift had quickly started to build up against it, and they huddled down on the leeward side.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Phil said, his face pressed close to Dan’s. “We should zip our coats together.”

“I- what?” Dan’s breath huffed against Phil’s neck.

“You know, for warmth?” Phil said. “To share our body heat.”

“Right.” There was a pause. “You know what, that might actually not be a terrible idea.”

“Hey!”

It took a lot of awkward wiggling, but they ended up lying down pressed chest to chest, their coats zipped together around them and their legs tangled together. With the snowmobile blocking the worst of the wind, and the snow starting to pile up on top of them, the cold became slightly more bearable. Or maybe he was just losing his ability to feel it.

“We should try to stay awake,” Phil said. He couldn’t see Dan’s face —they were pressed too close for that—but he was feeling exhausted, and he would bet Dan was too. “It’s… something about freezing to death. It’s more likely if you fall asleep.”

“Okay,” Dan said, his breath puffing against Phil’s ear. “Keep me awake, then.”

“Hey,” Phil said. “You keep me awake.” “Let’s both keep each other awake,” Dan said, with a small huff of laughter. “We’ll play twenty questions. I’ll go first.”

“Okay… are you an animal?”

“No.”

“Vegetable?”

“No.”

“Are you snow?”

“How’d you get that?” Dan’s laughter was softer than usual, in this enclosed space.

“It’s all I can think of, too,” Phil said.

⁂

At some point, Phil thought, he must have dozed off. There was a definite blank area in his memory, leading up to the point he was at now, with Dan hissing his name in his ear.

“Hmm? What?” he said, blinking fuzzily. He couldn’t feel his feet, and he wasn’t entirely sure about the rest of his legs.

“I think the storm’s stopped,” Dan was saying, his voice loud in the silence. It was definitely quieter than it had been, and it took Phil a moment to realise that was because the wind had gone quiet.

“I think you’re right,” he said.

There was a brief moment of chaos as Phil tried to stand up, not remembering he’d been zipped onto Dan. There was a longer moment of slightly more organised chaos, as they managed to disentangle themselves, breaking free of the snow which had built up around them. It was clear, and brighter than he’d expected, the light of the aurora scattering off of the snow.

“Well,” he said, looking around at the emptiness that surrounded them. “I think we’re lost.”

“No shit,” Dan said. “Did you lose the compass?”

“No, I’ve got it-” Phil broke off, slightly panicked, then checked his other pocket. “Yeah, it’s right here,” he said, holding it up.

“We might as well keep walking,” Dan said, his tone bleak. “Better than staying still, right?”

Neither of them mentioned the fact that they were at least a hundred kilometres from anyone else, their chances of rescue slim-to-none. Instead, they began trudging through the snow, continuing to follow the compass northwest.

⁂

They’d been walking in silence for a long time, saving their breath as they trudged through the deep snow under the light of the aurora. It was Phil who spotted it first, his gaze cast upwards. It was just a dark speck at first, a shadow against the brightness, but as it drew closer, it began to take on a shape.

“Hey,” Phil said, grabbing Dan’s sleeve. “Look.” He pointed.

“What?” Dan frowned, his gaze following Phil’s finger.

“Look,” he said, more insistently, shaking Dan’s sleeve.

“I don’t—oh!” He started waving his arms excitedly. “You think they can see us?”

“I don’t know,” Phil said.

He began waving at the small aircraft as well, hoping against hope that the pilot could see them, tiny dark shapes against the vast white plain. It continued to grow larger, coming ever closer.

“Hey, is it me, or is it getting lower?” Phil asked, frowning as he dropped his arm.

“I think you’re right,” Dan said. “Maybe they’ve seen us?”

Sure enough, the plane was steadily creeping lower until it was just barely skimming over the surface of the snow. It bounced a little, slowly gliding to a halt just a couple of hundred metres from where Dan and Phil were standing. Clutching onto each other excitedly, the pair started running towards the aeroplane.

“Hey! Hey!” Dan called, as they drew nearer. “We’re here!”

“Well, hey there,” the pilot said, speaking in a strong New Zealand accent. “You guys from the British station?”

“Yeah, that’s us,” Phil said, slightly out of breath. “How’d you find us?”

“We picked up a distress signal late last night.” Now they were a little closer, Phil could just about make out her face. “Been flying over the area for a few hours, but it’s like the place has vanished. What happened?”

They exchanged glances. “I’m not sure,” Phil said, his voice cautious. “I think… there was a storm, and… it started to collapse, didn’t it?” He looked at Dan, who nodded. “I’m sorry, it’s all a bit…” He trailed off, and she nodded, her expression sympathetic.

“Well, we’d better get you up to Rothera,” she said, swinging the door open. “Climb in.”

It was a short flight, and quiet. The two pilots were focused on their work, and the noise of the plane was too loud for Dan and Phil to hear anything anyone was saying. They huddled together instead, exhausted and half-frozen. As they soared through the clear night sky, Phil thought he could hear Dan muttering something.

“What’s that?” he shouted, leaning in close to Dan’s ear.

“I said—”

Thunk.