"Where's Stevens?"
"He's going to try to land," Fuller explained. "We need this plane."
"He's not going—" Dodge's sentence went forever unfinished even as the prophecy he intended to utter was fulfilled.
There was a tremendous tearing noise as the aircraft broke in half. The tail section, where the Float Car and its occupants now sat, tilted back and began tumbling through the sky.
Movement within the gyre was almost impossible. It was all they could do to hang on and avoid being flung out into space. And yet their tenacity would count for little if they were still in the plane's tail when it finished its downward journey.
Dodge jammed his knees under the Float Car's steering wheel, but it took all his willpower to unclench his grip so that he could open the compartment where the exoskeleton was stored. With fingers numbed by both cold and adrenaline, he slid the halves of the belt clasp together.
The change was instantaneous. A crackling envelope of static electricity sprang into existence around them, shutting out the maelstrom of the descent, but their situation was not greatly improved. The Float Car was still strapped down to the deck and the energy field did little to protect them from the centripetal force of their downward spiral.
It was conceivable that the protective energy would absorb the impact of that final collision with the ground, but Dodge wasn't inclined to put that hypothesis to the test.
"The cargo straps! We have to cut them!"
Fuller reached into the depths of his heavy coat and brought out his service revolver. Simply extending his arm to take aim at the strap which secured the front end required a Herculean effort, but the G-man took careful aim and pulled the trigger. The shot rang in their ears, but the bullet missed the strap and thudded impotently into the energy field. Muttering a curse, he corrected his aim and tried again. The second shot struck the edge of the strap. The heavy canvas started to fray, but it wasn't enough. It took two more shots before his efforts were rewarded. The front end of the Float Car began to whip and bounce, but the back end was still tied down.
Fuller glanced over his shoulder at the taut strap. He struggled to turn his body in order to aim the weapon behind him, but then shook his head. "I can't—"
Another shot rang out and another. Dodge looked back and saw Burton, wielding a Colt M1911 automatic pistol, taking shots at the strap. Just that quickly, the Float Car began living up to its name. It drifted free for a moment and then began to bounce off the bulkheads, picking up energy with each collision. Dodge got his hands back on the steering wheel, but before he could take any other action, the Float Car burst free of the tail section and flew out into the storm.
The ruined section of the plane was swallowed up by the night. The air inside the bubble of protective energy was still, but they were still spinning crazily. There was no telling which way was up, whether they were rising, falling or simply being swept along by the wind, so Dodge simply stomped on the brake pedal.
Suddenly, everything was still.
For a few seconds, all Dodge could do was grip the steering wheel to keep his hands from trembling.
A light flickered to life behind him. He turned and saw Newcombe holding a dry cell lantern, shining a beam almost as powerful as an automobile headlamp. The light stabbed out into the darkness, briefly catching bits of ice borne on the wind. The scientist played the beam in all directions, but the view was the same.
The scattering of ambient light illuminated the faces of his fellow survivors. Newcombe looked simply relieved to be alive. Amelia and Burton both wore blank expressions, while Fuller seemed barely able to contain his anger.
"Damn it." The G-man's oath was subdued, like his rage. "We needed that plane."
Dodge had to fight back his own ire. As happy as he was to be alive, he was acutely aware of his own role in the circumstances that caused the crash and in all likelihood, the pilot's death. He had done everything, short of dragging Stevens bodily from the cockpit, to save the man.
And Fuller hadn't backed him up. The FBI agent had been more interested in saving the plane.
"We can travel in the Float Car," answered Dodge. His voice was taut, straining to break loose, like his emotions.
"And how long will that take? Days to get to our destination, weeks to get back! Time we don't have."
"But at least we're alive." Unlike Stevens. Why had the man stayed at the controls? He must have known the plane was beyond saving. "We've got some food and water here. If we ration it, it should see us through. We might be able to add to our supply if we can find the wreckage." Maybe Stevens is still alive down there, he didn't add. He wasn't sure if that was something he should even hope for. If the pilot had survived the crash, he would surely perish from exposure before they could reach him. Which was the kinder death?
Fuller made a cutting gesture with his hand. "There's no time to waste picking through the debris, Dalton. We have to get to the Outpost."
Dodge took a deep breath. "You're probably right."
There was nothing he could do for Stevens, but the fate of the world — not to mention his friends — might depend on whether he could reach the Outpost ahead of their enemies. With Newcombe's light pointing the way, the Float Car began moving through the windswept night.
It didn't take long to determine that the wind was pushing the Float Car like so much flotsam caught in the current of a swift river. The force was likely greater than the attraction that would draw them to the Outpost, so Dodge was forced to fly higher above the storm in order to make headway. Up there in the clear air, with a sliver of a moon drifting above the northern horizon, they got their first glimpse of the southern polar region.
There dark and light were in stark contrast, like yin and yang in an endless swirl of conflict. The ice below was a silvery blue, while to the north, the inky black of the ocean absorbed the scant illumination from the moon. After a while, a hazy white ball of light rose into view and hovered just above the horizon. Daylight, such as it was, had come to Antarctica. Dodge turned the Float Car away from the sun and depressed the accelerator pedal.
The distant orb yielded no warmth and while the force field offered some protection from the bitter cold, it was only enough to keep them alive, not comfortable. Soon the occupants of the Float Car lapsed into a shivering lethargy. The daylight lasted only a few hours, but time seemed to stretch out into infinity. No one had the energy for idle conversation that might have made the minutes go by a little faster.
Newcombe remarked that they were now traveling parallel to the course of the sun, almost due east "if my calculations are correct." Dodge had no doubt of the scientist’s ability to navigate by dead reckoning, but was not entirely pleased to see Burton studying his air chart of the continent. Like it or not, it seemed the secret location of the Outpost would not be a secret much longer.
As the sun finally dipped back below the edge of the world, Burton volunteered to take over the controls. "You're going to sleep soon. If you'll show me where we're headed, I'll keep us on course while you catch forty winks."
Dodge glanced at the map, noting the grease pencil marks that charted an almost perfectly straight line from where the plane had gone down. He might not be able to prevent the pilot from officially recording the location of the Outpost, but he might be able to keep secret his means of finding it again.
"Just keep us on this heading," he said, as he surrendered his chair. But even though he was completely exhausted, sleep eluded him for a long time.