poisoning us with chemicals.’ Joan spat her mouthful back into the pouch.
‘Maybe the other meals are better …’ Anne ventured. Tony glared at her and her voice trailed off.
In the end, they ate chocolate bars and instant beverages for breakfast and didn’t linger over the meal.
They shoved all the combustible garbage, the boxes, paper packets, and napkins into one carton, and the foil and plastic into another. What they couldn’t burn, they’d take with them when they left.
As the others bustled in and out of the storage tent in search of stray equipment, Simon tried to raise the Cornwallis Island army camp on the radio.
‘This is Victor Echo 8735. Come in, Viking,’ Simon intoned.
‘Thinks he’s Lorne Greene,’ Jeff commented under his breath as he squeezed by the communications centre.
Loud static crackled in Simon’s earphones. ‘This is Victor Echo 8735,’ he repeated again and again, fine-tuning the frequency knob and fiddling with the other controls.
At last he removed the earphones and turned off the set. While he re-examined his antenna, Jeff stood to one side, pointedly examining his watch.
Simon went over to him. ‘Go on ahead, Jeff. I won’t be long once I’ve got the radio tent to myself. I’ll catch up.’
‘I doubt it. I travel fast.’
‘I won’t be long behind you,’ Simon said. ‘Surely you can start your sampling series without me.’
‘Certainly I can. You’re not conducting the survey, you’re carrying the specimens.’
‘I promise I’ll be there to lug your stuff around, Dr Jost,’ Simon responded through gritted teeth.
‘Do you know where the cliffs are, Hollingford?’
‘I have a topographical map. If you mark the spot, I’ll find it.’
‘OK, but I can’t say you’re off to a good start,’ Jeff commented, turning on his heel.
‘Don’t take any notice of the old fraud, Simon,’ Viola advised him with a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘He talks that way to God. I’m heading north as well, though not with Mister Personality. Don’t scare my musk oxen!’
‘It’s more likely to be the other way round,’ Simon laughed.
An hour later Simon sat back on his heels, mission accomplished. He was free to haul rocks for the next twelve hours if he hurried after Jeff. But instead, he drew a small sketchbook from his pack and began a line drawing of a burst of fragile yellow flowers pushing up from a tuft of leaves in the gravelly terrain. The Almighty Jeff could wait.
A half-mile upstream, Anne Colautti marked off a tiny pond for the installation of a conductivity meter and a temperature probe. But her mind wasn’t really on the job at hand and this distressed her. Until recently her work could always take her out of herself, erasing any non-scientific problems from her mind, but not any more. Instead of taking careful notes describing why she’d chosen this site as representative of an ice-wedge polygon locale, she was sitting on the cold earth, hands tucked into her parka sleeves, on the verge of tears. At least she was alone.
Pull yourself together, woman. Anne hauled her hip waders out of her bulging pack and struggled into them. As usual, she hadn’t been able to find a pair small enough to fit and, even with layers of socks, her feet were lost in the boots. She hitched the straps over her shoulders, knotted them a few times to take up the slack, and then fastened them in front.
Now encased in unyielding rubber, she moved awkwardly and almost fell as she slid into the pool. ‘Damn.’ A gurgle and a slurp were followed by a rush of bubbles breaking the surface as her boots sank to the ankles in the ooze at the bottom. She leaned over to get her probes from the bank and then started forward. But the suction of the bottom marl held tightly and, when she lifted her foot, the boot stayed behind. Its rubber leg tripped her up and, fighting for balance all the way, she fell with a splash.
‘Damn! DAMN! DAMN!’ Her voice shrilled with an edge of hysteria, and as it echoed she caught the note. ‘Dear God. I’m losing control!’ Anne bit her lip hard. ‘Relax. Breathe. Be calm.’
She was sitting neck deep in frigid water. Her full boots weighed her down and her jacket floated up around her ears. But the shock of cold helped her focus and she soon wiggled out of the boots and stood up. She stripped off her sodden jacket, hurling it to the bank in a dripping arc. The probes followed. She felt around in the now murky water for the boots until her hand closed on the knotted straps. But the pond bottom didn’t release the boots without a struggle and her feet were again ankle deep before the boots pulled free with a rude burp. She swam the three strokes to shore, hauling the offending footwear behind and clambered up exhausted and shivering on to the bank.
‘Where are you, Tony?’ she sniffed. Other years he’d been there laughing at her awkwardness but ready to rub her dry and kiss her warm. Now, dripping water on to everything, she rummaged in her pack looking for the skimpy towel she’d brought. Her teeth chattered like a machine-gun as she stripped off her clothes. She had to get back to camp, but the urgency of the situation didn’t galvanize her as it should have.
‘So I freeze to death. So what?’ she muttered, pulling on the thin jumpsuit she’d packed as a precaution. Who’d care? Who? Not Tony. Not the university. Not anybody.
Hot tears coursed down Anne’s cheeks. But with a determined fist, she ground the salty pools from her eyes and hauled her mind back to the present. Only her hiking boots were still dry. She managed to pull them on but her fingers were too stiff to do up the laces. She’d just emptied her pack to use as a jacket when a voice hailed her.
‘Problems?’ Joan jogged up. ‘Fell in, did you?’
Anne nodded jerkily.
‘Here. Put this on.’ Joan unzipped her coat and handed it to the freezing woman.
Anne huddled into it. ‘Thanks.’
‘Been crying, have you?’
‘No. No, it’s just water.’
Joan shrugged. ‘I heard you swearing. You sounded pretty upset to me.’
‘Wouldn’t you be upset if your boots were too big and they got stuck and you fell in?’
‘You should be better prepared. Unless, of course, you want to do a Phillip Loew impersonation.’
‘Are you going to help me or not?’ Anne sputtered through her blue lips.
Joan shrugged again. ‘OK. OK. What do you want me to carry?’
‘My clothes, my meter and those damn boots.’ Anne kicked at the offenders.
‘Get going,’ Joan ordered. ‘I’ll bring them along.’
Anne, resolutely keeping her mind on her destination, headed for camp as fast as her frozen joints would allow.
Eric had come to Polar Bear Pass to study shore birds, but on this
