Calhoun groaned but didn't reply. They could hear the sound of swirling fuel.
Lewis looked at the others, their hesitation, their despair. Half determined, half panicked. "The archway is buried in snow," he reminded. "The only real exit for the fuel is right here, where we're standing. I'm proposing releasing it in here, letting it dam up against the generator wall and the outside ramp, and building a temporary dike to keep it out of the dome proper. Then I go in after Abby."
There was a long silence, an unspoken debate.
"That's just crazy," Linda moaned.
"Yes. Like running naked to the Pole."
The others glanced around, starting to make mental measurement of what they had to achieve. "Well, if we're going to do it, then let's do it!" Mendoza finally said, grimly determined. "Come on, amigos! Six of us with me to build the dike! The rest of you breach that wall!"
Most of them began to move. Calhoun and Linda still hesitated, watching the others.
"Ah, the hell with it," surrendered Calhoun. "At least it will be quick." He pointed up the wall. "All right, start with that beam there. That will give access to this panel."
"There's enough weight from the fuel that it will help pry 'er loose!" Geller added.
And at that Linda Brown blinked and acquiesced. "I know some crates we can drag to help build a dike," she said fatalistically.
"Then drag!" shouted Dana. "We don't know how taut that wire is!"
Masks and tools were passed out. Extra gloves were stuffed in to make a barrier between prying crowbars and bare metal, in hopes of minimizing sparks. The large rampway doors were dragged open, letting in the sharp outside cold but helping to dissipate the fumes.
The removal of Calhoun's beam started a small breach in their barrier. Fuel from the arch began spraying out in a ghastly plume, spattering the snowy floor of the archway intersection behind them. Pools of congealing petroleum began to form. The work stopped for a moment, the winter-overs uneasily eyeing this new fountain and its rich stink.
"Hurry up, dammit!" Geller roared. "We've got to move!"
They started again with new ferocity. Bolts were screwed out and a panel of plywood began to bulge, pulling its own nails, squealing as it bent. As it did so, the flow of fuel turned from fountain to pulsing flood, its weight pushing aside the barrier and pouring out onto the snowy floor in a dark river, swirling past BioMed and reaching the far generator wall, where it splashed as oily surf and began pooling into a new lake. An entire panel came off and the flood quickened, an artery of syrup. Their lake deepened, even as the rise of the one in the fuel arch began to reverse. They were wading in a petroleum sea, oily waves oscillating back and forth in their enclosure. The fuel lifted BioMed off its foundation and sent it floating, bouncing, and scuttling against one wall. The spreading fuel would have poured into the dome proper if the makeshift dike hadn't delayed it. Small rivulets broke through that thin barrier and ran toward the galley and the science building.
As the pool spread, Norse's triggering balloon bobbed in place a moment and then began to sink. Lewis played his light over Abby, wondering if she was still alive.
"How taut is the wire?" Geller yelled.
"We're still here, aren't we?" Calhoun grunted.
The fumes built, half poisoning them. Lewis was increasingly terrified there'd be a spark. "Okay, we've got a breach, that's enough!" he decided. "The rest of you retreat!" They didn't have to be told twice. The survivors threw down their tools and waded for the ramp, the fuel swirling around their thighs, a combustible fog roiling ahead of them up into the night. If it ignited, they'd be vaporized. They splashed up the slick ramp, falling and grunting, crawling up the oily beach into the dark and cold of the outdoors, soaked from fuel and coughing and woozy as they pulled off their masks. Their reddish black patina grew gummy in the cold and began to freeze.
"Smoking or nonsmoking?" a coughing Calhoun tried to crack.
Lewis watched them go, waiting for the tidal current swirling out from the fuel arches to subside as the two pools equalized. The flood became sluggish, its overall depth cut in half. More oil was breaking through their hasty dike, running into the dome, but that served to keep the fuel from deepening again as the tanks continued to drain.
Still no explosion.
It was time. Lewis waded to the breached wall. The fuel was thick and syrupy with cold, fogged and tarlike. It was a prehistoric swamp, viscous and evil. He pushed his past the break and shone his light around. The archway walls glistened with the sheen. "Christ, what a mess." With their tanks emptying he didn't know how they were going to survive the ice, but at least they'd so far evaded the fire. He could plainly see the trapped woman.
He pulled his mask aside for a moment. "Abby!"
There was no answer.
He waded into the fuel arch and felt his way to the catwalk, mounting its stairs and pulling himself along it where the fuel was now just ankle deep. He could see the high tide mark of the petroleum on the walls, the liquid dripping, the balloon like a distant buoy.
He counted the tanks off as he advanced, coming to the one where Cameron had been killed. It was here that Abby hung like a tired scarecrow. The balloon was sinking beside her, the wire to the trigger of the flare gun slacker now, but a board with another, tighter wire was floating beside it. The contraption looked more complex than it had to be.
He vaulted over the rail into stomach-deep fuel and waded toward the woman. She was limp as if dead, fuel having stained her to her chin, her body looking small and wilted. The flood had stopped an inch from her mouth.
"Abby?"
No response. He slapped her.
She jerked into crude consciousness and began coughing. He unstrapped one arm, then another, and she fell into his arms. Lewis had never seen anything so implacably heartless as this insane execution. He dragged her to the catwalk, pushing her up onto it and leaning her against the railing. She doubled over and vomited. When she came up gasping, he put an extra oxygen mask over her face. Abby sucked in air, reeling, tears streaming down her face.
"Where did he turn the valve? Where's the valve? We need to save what fuel we can!"
She shook her head.
"Where? Which pipe?"
She pulled away the oxygen mask, gasping to speak. "The wire! The flare!"
"I know! We got the fuel level to go down! We beat his clock!"
She shook her head vigorously. "No! Two wires! One if too high. A board if too low! It drops, pulls wire…"
Lewis saw what she was pointing at. Norse had anticipated them again. A second wire on the trigger was tightening as the fuel level fell and its board sank with it.
Good God. He'd brought nothing to cut it with.
"Run!"
She put on her mask and he pushed her frantically down the catwalk. The grating was slippery but the fuel had drained below it now. Gripping the slick rail, they ran as best they could, banging into the sides of the arch, looking back at the poised and hanging flare through a stinking fog of petroleum fumes, the slack wire growing tauter as the board pulled down.
Then they descended the catwalk stairs and went through the breach, wading across the petroleum pond to the ramp leading outside. It was molasses, clinging to them, beseeching them to stay. Behind them fuel was running across the hard-packed snow toward the modules, its fumes curling upward to the roof of the dome. It was a gray haze in the dome lights, the generator still chugging obediently behind the other wall.
The pair crawled up the slippery ramp, both slick with stinking fuel, the wetness beginning to freeze on their clothes.
"Go, go, go!" Lewis shouted to the others. "Get as far away as you can!"
Someone screamed. They were running.
Then a reflected flash as the flare gun went off, releasing red light like a glimpse of hell. With a gassy roar, the fuel arch blew up.