Sokolov seemed uncertain. “Perhaps. But what alternative do we have? Do you propose we drive away and leave a conscious comrade standing naked outside in fifty below zero temperatures? Even if it seems sensible now, how is this going to sound to those back home when this is all over? How is it going to sound to his family?”
Hamlin would have gladly erased his entire memory of this place at this point and transported back to New England to pick up where he had left off. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an option.
“What do you want to do? Open the door and let him jump in? Remember what happened to Kuvayev after being bitten.”
“Dr. Hamlin, I should think it very unlikely that I will ever forget that. Let me try something a little less hazardous before abandoning poor Pechkin to the unlivable environment of the Antarctic.”
He rolled his window back up. The Cat lurched forward toward Pechkin.
“What are you doing?” gasped Konstantine.
“Quiet!”
It was the first time Hamlin had heard Sokolov lose his patience.
He turned the big machine and rolled it just past where Pechkin stood. When he stopped, the machine couldn’t have been more than five feet away.
The driver side window that was closest to steaming man opened an inch.
“Quiet, both of you,” Sokolov commanded. He shut off the engine. Konstantine made a soft sound, not unlike a man crying.
“Pechkin! We want to help you. Do you understand?”
All was silence. Then the sick man’s mouth began to move.
“Pechkin, we want to help you.” The words were hissed more than spoken, but they were distinguishable. His voice put a chill through Hamlin. He sounded like some ghoul in a cheap horror flick.
“Yes, that’s right,” Sokolov yelled.
Silence again, and then…Pechkin, we want to help you…the words felt like they were spraying acid on their ears.
“Sokolov,” Hamlin said, “shut that window. His breathing is starting to elevate.”
“Start the motor!” Konstantine yelled. “Get us out of here!”
Sokolov had apparently reached his limit as well. The Cat shot forward, throwing Hamlin awkwardly. He regained a seating position and looked behind them. It was already too dark to see Pechkin. Hamlin imagined him running after them, wild eyed and screaming. The last thing he wanted was that image stuck in his head.
“See anything?” Konstantine was too frightened to look for himself.
“No, nothing. Just darkness. Thank God.”
It was going to be only a two minute ride back to the barracks. Hamlin wished it was longer. If Pechkin was following, he wouldn’t be far behind when they got there. The last thing they needed was for him to find his way back and start wandering around where they lived. Sokolov was thinking the same thing. They drove for a full minute before anyone spoke.
“Doctors, bear with me please. I’m going to do a loop here and see if Pechkin is following.”
The Cat spun in a surprisingly tight circle. The headlights couldn’t reach the lab they had just left. There was no sign of Pechkin.
“Excellent. Let’s go home.” He straightened it out and resumed their original course.
Konstantine looked at Hamlin with frightened eyes. “Hey, are you planning on doing any sleeping tonight?”
Hamlin hated the thought. “Probably about as much as you, I’m afraid.”
Konstantine decided to risk a backwards glance. He lowered his voice to avoid detection from Sokolov.
“I want to go home.”
The others were terribly agitated about the news. There was disbelief, horror, sadness, fear, and a variety of other slightly less fervent reactions. The group was split between wanting to go look for Pechkin and wanting to lock all the doors and staying inside to avoid him. After some debate, Sokolov agreed to let a group of men take the Cat, as well as some cords to secure Pechkin with if they found him, and go searching. The rest stayed behind and contemplated the wisdom of putting locks on all the doors. Currently there were none. Crime had never been an issue down here.
Francis took the first opportunity he got to see Sokolov alone in his room.
“Yes, Doctor. What can I do for you now? Or do you have some epiphany that will correct our bizarre situation?”
“No, sorry. Just a couple questions, if I may be so bold.”
“Why not? It would seem I’ve lost all semblance of control here anyway. What is on your mind?”
Hamlin decided to just blurt it out. The door to Sokolov’s room was closed as added security.
“Do you have any weapons down here?”
“Weapons?” Sokolov either was, or decided to pretend to be, surprised. “Why would we have weapons down here?”
“That’s not a direct answer.”
“Weapons would only pose a greater risk to the health and well-being of the crew.”
“Another indirect answer.”
Sokolov sighed. “Your persistence wouldn’t be tolerated under different circumstances. This is an answer that absolutely must not leave this room.”
Hamlin contemplated the restriction. “I can live with that.”
“I shall take you at your word. There is a hidden cabinet behind my bookshelf that contains a small number of weapons.”
“How small?”
“There are two automatic rifles, two handguns, and a meager supply of ammunition. Satisfied?”
“I guess. I just wondered. In my mind, I was putting together a worst case scenario.”
“How encouraging. I would surmise by the question that your worst case scenario must get quite bad. Is that all?”
“One more inquiry. Well, this isn’t a question exactly. Well, it is, but it’s more rhetorical I suppose. At least at this point.”
“Spit it out, Doctor.”
“What about Kuvayev?”
That earned Hamlin a very sharp look.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m pretty sure you know what I mean. And I’m also sure the others will be thinking about it as well.”
Sokolov sounded tired. “Doctor, might I suggest that we deal with the trouble that is directly before us before creating anything new to be concerned about. Besides, I have absolutely no idea how to answer that question. Or perhaps I’m just too tired to begin the lengthy mental odyssey that leads to the closest thing to an answer that I could come up with.”
“Fair enough. I appreciate your honesty. I guess I’ll go lose some money in a poker game and let you get back to whatever it was that you were doing.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Sokolov said. “Let me assure you, I can put any quiet time to good use.”
Hamlin opened the door and returned to the common area. It didn’t take long to get a game going. Everyone was looking for a distraction from reality more than was typical, even by Vostok standards. Vodka came into play early in the evening. Cigarettes followed closely afterwards. Francis actually had good luck for once, although he was a little hazy on the value of the ruble compared to American dollars. At one point he was up slightly over one thousand rubles, but when he asked if this would be enough money to change his life, the others just laughed.
Lena ended up at the table, drinking and smoking with the best of them. She was also flirting with everybody, which Hamlin was surprised to find quite annoying. That would give him a reason for some self-analysis later. He hoped that he wouldn’t notice if she left to spend some quality frolicking time with one of the other crew members. Ignorance might not be bliss, but it definitely could be a mitigating factor. He could always blame it on the booze.
Nobody wanted to go to bed, apparently. Finally Sokolov reminded them that they were still going to put in a concerted effort to get back to a normal work schedule tomorrow. Most took the hint and the game quickly split up. There had been no loud crashes, unexplained banging sounds, or bone-chilling screams all evening. Francis was working very hard internally to convince himself that there was no longer any reason to be worried about Pechkin. Surely there was no reason he shouldn’t climb into bed and enjoy a nice, long, peaceful sleep. He wished that the sun would rise and throw some light on this forsaken place. They would all be ridiculously happy when old Sol finally peeked over the horizon. It was a day circled conspicuously on the wall calendar in the common room.