The lanky driver pulled a bottle out of his parka pocket. “Here.”
Barinov grabbed it. “You’re a good man, Yedemsky; no matter what the others say.”
He grunted in response. “Just keep your eyes open. Let’s find our friend Pechkin. He’s got to be out here somewhere. And I don’t want to drive over him.”
Barinov took an alarmingly long tug at the clear bottle. “You worry like an old woman. I have eyes like a hawk.”
“The vodka will blur your eyes if you keep that up.” The comment was made in jest.
Barinov extended the bottle. “Here, have some. It will remind you of home.”
Yedemsky shook his head. “It reminds me of the hangovers I have had in this place. Besides, we still have a job to do.”
“Fine.” Barinov wedged the bottle into a cup holder molded into the console. “So what the hell do you think happened to him?”
“I think Sokolov must be wrong about the animals. I think it was a bear.”
The constant creaking of the track on the Cat was a sound they had learned long ago to tune out. It simply meant they were moving and everything was running as it was supposed to.
“Sure. What else could it be? He surely didn’t just get up and walk out on his own.”
“Da. What else?”
They drove on for a full minute in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts.
“Hey, Barinov—how are you feeling?”
“What?” He turned to stare defiantly at the driver. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Yedemsky stared straight ahead. “It’s just that, well, we all got splashed when the rig backed up on us.”
“So?”
“So how else did Pechkin get sick like that?”
“How would I know? I’m not a doctor.” As a matter of fact, Barinov was one of three people at the station without a doctoral degree of some description. He would have been one of four if Pechkin were still alive.
“I feel fine, in case you’re wondering,” Yedemsky said.
“Well, I do too. Now stop being such a pussy.”
Yedemsky made a small adjustment to their course. “There’ll be extra work to do now. We have suffered a twenty percent reduction in our workforce.”
“If I recall, Yedemsky, you never did all that much work anyway.”
“But if that is true, why would I want to start now?”
“What I meant was,” Barinov snapped, “any extra work will likely fall on me to do. So stop bitching.”
“Stop bitching, stop bitching,” Yedemsky mimicked in an artificially squeaky voice. “Why don’t you drive and I’ll sit and drink vodka?”
“You told me just now that you didn’t want any. Make up your mind.”
Yedemsky looked at the paper with the grid sketched out on it. “How long will it take us to cover the whole area?”
Barinov was staring out the window with a look of shocked surprise on his face. He held up a hand.
“Stop!”
Yedemsky obeyed without understanding.
“My God. Look at that.”
Yedemsky saw it too. Across the otherwise flawless surface of the snow cut a deep set of tracks.
“They must be fresh,” Barinov surmised. “The wind hasn’t had time to fill them in yet.”
“What made them? The tracks look funny to me.”
“Get closer.”
Yedemsky moved the Cat over nearer the tracks.
Barinov shook his head. “I can’t tell for sure. Hold on.”
He pulled his hood up, popped the door, and jumped out.
“Hey,” Yedemsky screamed, “Sokolov said to stay in the vehicle!”
Barinov either didn’t hear or simply chose to ignore him. He walked right over to the tracks, and then lowered his head to get a really detailed look. He studied them for quite some time before straightening and returning to the Cat. He hopped in and slammed the door shut.
“Well? What are they? Can you tell?”
The crusty old bugger looked almost sick.
“I think it was a man. He appears to be on two legs. And it, ah…”
“What? Tell me!”
“I think…it looked like bare feet.”
Yedemsky gaped. “That can’t be. You must be wrong.”
“Well then go out and look for your own fucking self! I’m telling you what I saw.”
“It has to be wrong. He would have frostbite in what…one minute? How could he have gotten this far?”
“Stop asking me these asinine questions!” Barinov barked. “We need to follow them and we need to do it fast! Whoever it was doesn’t have much time.”
“Yes, of course. As you say.”
The cat lurched forward. Yedemsky drove directly alongside of the tracks.
“Visibility is good. Go faster!”
“But who could it be? Except for Pechkin and Kuvayev, everyone was left back at the barracks.”
“I don’t know!” Barinov shouted. Then, as he settled back down, “Maybe Zhabin or Kravchuk took a bottle with them when they went out to fix the door. Maybe one of them had too much to drink.”
Yedemsky doubted that theory for a variety of reasons, but decided not to verbalize any of them.
“What if we are not alone? Is that possible? Could it be someone from one of the other stations?”
Barinov shook his head. “Impossible. There is nobody anywhere near us. And when I say nowhere near, I mean within hundreds, if not thousands of kilometers.”
As they travelled, the tracks began to fill with drifting snow.
“Damn! I can’t believe they are still going. This is the most incredible thing I have seen in my life.”
“Really?” Barinov said. “Then I should show you the tochkas of Moscow. The girls will be able to show you things that will surpass this.”
“You are and always will be a pig, Barinov.”
“Oh? You know what the Americans call it, don’t you? Makin’ bacon. Huh?” Barinov flashed tobacco stained teeth.
“Pig. Look out there. A few hundred more meters and the tracks will be gone. What do we do then?”
“Keep going as far and as long as you can. I hate to say it, but I’d better call Sokolov.”
“Da.” The cat plowed along steadily, making good time.
“Mobile One to base, over.”
“Mobile One, this is base.”
How had Sokolov reached the radio so quickly?
“We found tracks. We have followed them to the edge of the grid. They are now filled in with snow. How do you want us to proceed? Over.”
“What sort of tracks?”
Yedemsky grinned. “He forgot to say ‘over.’”
Barinov didn’t seem impressed by the attempt at humor. “They appeared to be human. Over.”
“Impossible. Everyone is accounted for. Where are they going? Over.”
“They are leading away from the camp in a north-west direction. Over.”
Now there was silence. When it was finally broken, the message was terse.
“Return to base immediately. Over.”
Barinov returned the microphone to the clip that held it in place.
“Well, you heard him. Turn around and return to base.”
Yedemsky stared off into the endless white in the direction the tracks had been going.
“Shit.” He swung the cat around and began to retrace their journey.
Sokolov escorted the two men from the cat into his room when they returned. Apparently the concept of being open and sharing information was now waning in popularity.
He grilled them over their story several times, but the details never wavered. Finally, he sighed and released them.
Hamlin was considering getting a game of cards started when Sokolov sought him out.
“Excuse me, Doctor. I was wondering if you would be so good as to meet with me in my room. I fear I need help in sorting this all out. Perhaps you would allow me to use you as a sounding board.”