Great Oak Gazette

Mariam Marwan M Shamel

It’s five o’clock in the morning and I am awakened by a blaring blizzard alarm within
Neumayer Station. As I stand from my roller bed, my thermal socks step straight into a puddle of freezing water. I was too exhausted last night to dry my parka or hang my boots in the middle room after our late data collection with the makeshift satellite. We’ve been trying to get service for weeks, but you can’t really question why you rarely make calls if you’re living at the end of the world.

I glance out the small window. White.

Nothing but a thick wall of snow and wind swallowing the horizon. No sky, no ground—just blankness. That means we need to move fast. Specimens need to be secured. Data needs to be backed up. Doors and windows need to be locked. And most importantly, we need a head count to make sure none of us are outside. Even one person missing out here makes a difference. There are only seven of us. Every researcher has a specific role, and none of them are replaceable—not in the middle of this project, at least. Living in Antarctica is not an easy feat. It is a gamble with the cold every single day.

I step into the common room and find the others already there. James, Amanda, Trevor, and Yuni are huddled together over the control panel, desperately trying to punch in the code to shut off the obnoxious alarm. It echoes through the station, drilling into our skulls with every passing second.

James and Amanda are newly married—three months ago, technically. I’m happy for
them, but I’ve never understood why they chose to work in this frozen wasteland when they could have gone anywhere else in the world. Croatia. Chile. Italy. Anywhere with sunlight and normal grocery stores. But they always talk about Neumayer like it’s paradise. They love every inconvenience like it’s part of the charm—one of which is apparently forgetting the password to shut off the blizzard alarm.

I slip away into the narrow hallway, looking for Rick and Dixie. I find Rick first. He’s
crouched near the bathroom door, grease streaked across his forehead, a wrench clutched in his hand. He’s been fixing the broken hinge I asked him to repair last night. Rick has a PhD in biomechanical engineering, which basically means he’s a know-it-all when it comes to repairing anything… except when I ask him to cover up the cold draft in my unit. Then suddenly he can’t figure it out.

“Rick,” I say, raising my voice over the alarm. “Where’s Dixie?”

He shrugs, “Probably, causing problems.”

I roll my eyes at his response and continue walking through the hallway, I don’t hear or see Dixie. I become worried, what if she’s out there? What if she’s messing with the cargo boxes or satellite or makeshift snow buggy?

“Guys?” I project.

“Yep?” Two of them respond simultaneously.

“Any chance any of you know where Dixie is?”

At that moment, something slams against my back and I swear to God I almost
faint—until laughter fills my ears and I realize exactly who it is.

“Are you serious?” I shout, spinning around. I hate when she does this, thinking she’s
funny. We’re isolated in an ice box at the end of the Earth, for God’s sake. What doesn’t she understand about professionalism and protocol? She just giggles, completely unbothered, and strolls back toward the common room. I follow her, still furious, but relief flows through me because for a second, just a second, I had pictured the worst.

Back in the common room, the alarm is still blaring. James is sweating, Amanda is
muttering curses under her breath, and Trevor is threatening to rip the panel off the wall. Dixie shoves everyone over and steps forward confidently. She keys in four numbers and the alarm shuts off instantly. The station is hit with a wave of silence for a second, it felt nice.

James stares at her. “How did you—”

Dixie shrugs. “The password is Amanda’s birthday. You literally told us at dinner.”
Trevor lets out a laugh so loud it almost echoes. “We almost went deaf and it was her birthday?”

Everyone is occupied laughing hysterically at our stupidity when the station’s light
flickers once, then twice. The heater’s hum suddenly dips.

Rick looks up sharply. James and Amanda stop smiling. Trevor’s expression hardens.
Everyone turns and stares at each other, the worst possible thing that could happen to a group of seven researchers in the middle of Antarctica is most likely happening. It’s the generator.

We all run over to the generator room at once, heavy boots pounding down the
hallway. When we get there, the air smells faintly of smoke. Rick reaches for the handle first, but hesitates, just long enough for my heart to drop. After what feels like an eternity of staring at the thick metal door, he pulls it open.

Warm air hits us and a thin curl of smoke snakes up toward the ceiling. The generator gives off a harsh, uneven rattling sound that makes my teeth clench. If the generator fails, the nestation will freeze. Pipes will burst. Communication will die. The project will be lost.

And with the blizzard outside, there will be no rescue.