Now go with Dan-he'll show you what to do.'
Report anything out of the ordinary? As I returned to the little perch atop the sail, I suspected that order might be a bit broad.
The view was something out of Salvador Dali: a queasily elastic mosaic of broken shards, white on black, with the submarine rising from it like a cairn. Land was close by, the tiled sea cutting inland between high wooded hills, forming a harbor. Behind me, the warping chessboard stretched to infinity. With the night sky looming so large, I felt like I was on the surface of Pluto, except that the face of the nearest hill was covered with buildings and lights-a friendly yellow constellation in dreamspace.
'I'm here,' I said, fumbling the receiver. The gloves I'd been given were huge, as were the mukluks and the hooded parka, which for me was like wearing a teepee. There were also supposed to be stiff, insulated pants, but they had been like putting on a zeppelin-Robles settled for neoprene wet-suit pants under my poopie suit. I felt like Nanook of the North. 'Uh, the city is just to the left, to port, and there are definitely lights showing. Mostly streetlights, from what I can see.' They already know that, you idiot.
'Any movement?' someone quacked.
'No, but it's hard to tell-it's kind of far away. Hold on.' I kicked myself, remembering the monster binoculars around my neck: Stupid. Hurriedly adjusting the focus, I scanned the waterfront. Immediately, snowbound streets and whipped-cream-mounded rooftops sprang into view, quaint in a closed-for-the-season kind of way. A number of ships and smaller boats were frozen at dockside and all but buried under scalloped white dunes. The haloed streetlamps offered snapshots of winter desolation. 'I don't know,' I said. 'It's quarter to three in the morning-I guess they could all be in bed.'
Men and boys began emerging from the second hatch, midway down the boat. I couldn't see them well from my position at the front of the sail but could hear them complaining about the cold, as anyone in their right mind would at minus twelve degrees. I know my bare face was stinging. As inadequately dressed as they were, I wondered if they would really go through with it and tempt that forbidding ice field, pieces of which were strewn on deck like thick marble slabs. Nearer to shore, the ice was fused into a solid jumbled mass, but to get there everybody would first have to negotiate open water on these stepping-stones. It seemed impossible.
Perhaps it was less so from their perspective, or Mr. Webb's powers of persuasion convinced them, because before long I could see a tethered line of people stretching like a tentative feeler out over the floes.
'They're actually going,' I reported. 'This is crazy.'
They were wearing capes and weird bulky armor made from packing materials-cardboard conquistadors groping for a frozen Cibola. I held my breath as they advanced, but the footing appeared to be surprisingly stable, the big plates hardly budging as guys stepped from one to the next or bridged wider gaps with wooden planks. Before long I let out my breath: This was nothing at all. It was a cakewalk.
Suddenly I wished I was with them-God! They were getting away, and here I was a prisoner for heaven knew how much longer. The yellow lights of St. John's looked homey and warm-much more real than the nightmare I'd been living. The force of my yearning overwhelmed me: the thought of rugs and sofas and soft beds; windows and wooden doors. Walking outside. Most of all I yearned for the sight of other women.
The human chain became longer and longer, snaking around difficult places, occasionally backtracking, until it connected at last with the thick crust inshore.
'They made it!' I cried. 'They made it!'
A line was made fast, connecting the submarine to the ice shelf, and people were stationed at all the crossings to give a hand. As the trek became more ordered, the pace quickened. Everyone began to move more confidently, less like they were feeling their way across a minefield than like revelers on a Volksmarch. I shook my head in wonder and envy to see the last of them close the distance.
Meanwhile, the first ones on the wharf were beating a path inland through deep snow. Their movements seemed rushed-I got the impression they were freezing. By the time the last of the helpers trickled ashore, most of the crowd had already disappeared from view. I had glimpses of them between wharf buildings, wallowing through snowdrifts as if on the trail of something, and waited for the flare that would tell us they were safe.
'They look like they know where they're going,' I said. 'They're all going the same way, to the right. Maybe they've seen something.'
Just then, a bright flickering caught my eye, as of multiple flashbulbs going off. That was actually my first half-formed notion: that our people were being swarmed by the media. It carried with it a rush of desperate annoyance-I was missing the big reception! This split-second thought process was interrupted by a metallic eruption of delayed noise, like faraway jackhammers pummeling asphalt. Then I could see puffs of smoke.
Sorting my frazzled impressions, I babbled, 'Shooting! There's shooting!'
The radio crackled, 'Clear the bridge.'
'Someone's shooting at them! Didn't you hear what I said? Call them back, omigod!' I was frantic. The tiny figures appeared to be trapped in a horrible cross fire, trying to scatter but hampered by deep drifts and blind panic. From my narrow vantage I could see them falling like sheaves.
Something touched my leg, nearly causing me to jump overboard. It was Robles, down on the ladder. 'Come below,' he said urgently. 'We're diving.'
'We can't! They're shooting out there! Can't you hear it?' The mechanical clatter was not all-I could hear something else, shrill as the wind: Screams.
'Captain's orders! Come on!' He grabbed my clothes and practically yanked me down, stepping aside into the uppermost chamber of the sail so that I could pass, then slamming shut the square hatch to the bridge.
In tears, I begged, 'Why? Why?'
He said nothing, hustling me down to the control room and closing the second hatch behind us. 'Bridge secure!' he shouted, causing a disorganized flurry of activity. No one even noticed my trauma. Every man's face was a mask of sick despair; they operated their instruments as if compelled to against their will, not by Coombs but by some higher mandate. Their misery said it all: There is no other way.
During my absence, the boys had been sent aft, so I didn't know how they felt about this, but for me it was unreal, unfathomable. My reaction must have seemed like a reproach, because Albemarle and some of the others cast hateful looks, as if to snarl, Shut up-you think you're the only one? They knew what was going on and guiltily accepted the sacrifice, like Abraham. They had been prepared for this possibility all along.
'How can you do this?' I whimpered, as the dive alarm drilled into my head. 'We're their only hope! We can't just leave!'
Robles said gently, 'Shhhh-go to the equipment locker and get changed. It's all over. Nothing we can do. It's done.' His eyes were watery and red, staring like a frightened horse's.
'It's not done! What if some of them make it back?'
'They've given us away-we're sitting ducks here.'
'But-'
He took me by the shoulders, and said softly, 'Calm down. Nobody can help them. It was their choice. Ain't no safe bets anymore-all that's left are hard choices. You made one, too, by staying, whether you know it or not. Let it go.'
'But-'
'It's done, Lulu.' He stared me down. 'Now you have to decide what you're going to tell the others.'
I flinched. 'What? What do you mean?'
'The boys don't know about this. It's up to you whether or not to tell 'em-captain's orders.'
I broke down. 'No… Why me?'
'They're your responsibility.'
'No… I can't. I can't tell them that. How can I tell them? Can't we just wait and see if anyone comes back? Please!'
Robles shook his head with genuine sorrow, saying, 'Come on, Lulu. It's all over.'
He led me away as we sank beneath the ice.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
