alistairmaclean.icestationzebra-第23部分

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to　his　one　sound　leg；　turned　into　the　wind；　and　went　on　our　way　again。　It　would　be　truer　to　say　that　we　staggered　on　our　way　again。
　 But　now；　at　last　and　when　we　most　needed　it；　luck　was　with　us。　The　ice　cap　stretched　away　beneath　our　feet　as　level　and　smooth　as　the　surface　of　a　frozen　river。　No　ridges；　no　hummocks；　no　crevasses；　not　even　the　tiny　cracks　one　of　which　had　crippled　Zabrinski。　Just　billiard…flat　unbroken　ice　and　not　even　slippery；　for　its　surface　had　been　scoured　and　abraded　by　the　flying　ice　storm。
　 Each　of　us　took　turns　at　being　lead　man；　the　other　two　supporting　a　Zabrinski　who　hopped　along　in　unplaining　silence　on　one　foot。　After　maybe　three　hundred　yards　of　this　smooth　ice；　Hansen；　who　was　in　the　lead　at　the　moment；　stopped　so　suddenly　and　unexpectedly　that　we　bumped　into　him。
　 〃We're　there！〃　he　yelled　above　the　wind。　〃We've　made　it。　We're　there！　Can't　you　smell　it？〃
　 〃Smell　what？〃
　 〃Burnt　fuel　oil。　Burnt　nibber。　Don't　you　get　it？〃
　 I　pulled　down　my　snow　mask；　cupped　my　hands　to　my　face；　and　sniffed　cautiously。　One　sniff　was　enough。　I　hitched　up　my　mask　again；　pulled　Zabrinski's　arm　more　tightly　across　my　shoulder；　and　followed　Hansen。
　 The　smooth　ice　ended　in　another　few　feet。　The　ice　sloped　up　sharply　to　a　level　plateau；　and　it　took　the　three　of　us　all　of　what　pitifully　little　strength　remained　to　drag　Zabrinski　up　after　us。　The　acrid　smell　of　burning　seemed　to　grow　more　powerful　with　every　step　we　took。　I　moved　forward；　away　from　the　others；　my　back　to　the　storm；　goggles　down；　and　sweeping　the　ice　with　semicircular　movements　of　my　flashlight。　The　smell　was　strong　enough　now　to　make　my　nostrils　wrinkle　under　the　mask。　It　seemed　to　be　ing　from　directly　ahead。　I　turned　around　into　the　wind；　protectively　cupped　hand　over　my　eyes；　and；　as　I　did；　my　flashlight　struck　something　hard　and　solid　and　metallic。　I　lifted　my　flashlight　and　vaguely；　through　the　driving　ice；　I　could　just　make　out　the　ghostly　hooped…steel　skeleton；　ice…coated　on　the　windward　side；　fire…charred　on　the　leeward　side；　of　what　had　once　been　a　Nissen…shaped　hut。
　 We　had　found　Drift　Ice　Station　Zebra。
　 I　waited　for　the　others　to　e　up；　guided　them　past　the　gaunt　and　burnt…out　structure；　then　told　them　to　turn　backs　to　wind　and　lift　their　goggles。　For　maybe　ten　seconds　we　surveyed　the　ruin　in　the　beam　of　my　flashlight。　No　one　said　anything。　Then　we　turned　around　into　the　wind　again。
　 Drift　Station　Zebra　had　consisted　of　eight　separate　huts；　four　in　each　of　two　parallel　rows；　thirty　feet　separating　the　two　rows；　twenty　feet　between　each　two　huts　in　the　rows　this　to　minimize　the　hazard　of　fire　spreading　from　hut　to　hut。　But　the　hazard　hadn't　been　minimized　enough。　No　one　could　be　blamed　for　that。　No　one；　except　in　the　wildest　flights　of　nightmarish　imagination；　could　have　envisaged　what　must　indeed　have　happened：　exploding　tanks　and　thousands　of　gallons　of　blazing　oil　being　driven　through　the　night　by　a　galeforce　wind。　And；　by　a　double　inescapable　irony；　fire；　without　which　human　life　on　the　polar　ice　cap　cannot　survive；　is　there　the　most　dreaded　enemy　of　all：　for　although　the　entire　ice　cap　consists　of　water；　frozen　water；　there　is　nothing　that　can　melt　that　water　and　so　put　out　the　fire。　Except　fire　itself。　I　wondered　vaguely　what　had　happened　to　the　giant　chemical　fire　extinguishers　housed　in　every　hut。
　 Eight　huts；　four　in　each　row。　The　first　two　on　either　side　were　pletely　gutted。　No　trace　remained　9f　the　walls；　which　had　been　of　two　layers　of　weather…proofed　bonded　ply　that　had　enclosed　the　insulation　of　shredded　glass　fiber　and　kapok；　on　all　of　them　even　the　aluminum　sheeted　roofs　had　disappeared。　In　one　of　the　huts　we　could　see　charred　and　blackened　generator　machinery；　ice…coated　on　the　windward　side；　bent　and　twisted　and　melted　almost　out　of　recognition：　one　could　only　wonder　at　the　furnace　ferocity　of　the　heat　responsible。
　 The　fifth　hutthe　third　on　the　right…hand　sidewas　a　gutted　replica　of　the　other　four；　the　framing　even　more　savagely　twisted　by　the　heat。　We　were　just　turning　away　from　this；　supporting　Zabrinski　and　too　sick　at　heart　even　to　speak　to　each　other；　when　Rawlings　called　out　something　unintelligible。　I　leaned　closer　to　him　and　pulled　back　my　parka　hood。
　 〃A　light！〃　he　shouted。　〃A　light。　Look；　Docacross　there！〃
　 And　a　light　there　was；　a　long；　narrow；　strangely　white　vertical　strip　of　light　from　the　hut　opposite　the　charred　wreck　by　which　we　stood。　Leaning　sideways　into　the　storm；　we　dragged　Zabrinski　across　'the　intervening　gap。　For　the　first　time　my　flashlight　showed　something　that　was　more　than　a　bare　framework　of　steel。　This　was　a　hut。　A　blackened；　scorched；　and　twisted　hut　with　a　roughly　nailed…on　sheet　of　plywood　where　its　solitary　window　had　been；　but　nevertheless　a　hut。　The　light　was　ing　from　a　door　standing　just　ajar　at　the　sheltered　end。　I　laid　my　hand　on　the　door；　the　one　unscorched　thing　I'd　seen　so　far　in　Drift　Station　Zebra。　The　hinges　creaked　like　a　rusty　gate　in　a　cemetery　at　midnight　and　the　door　gave　beneath　my　hand。　We　went　inside。　
　 Suspended　from　a　hook　in　the　center　of　the　ceiling；　a　hissing　Coleman　lamp　threw　its　garish　light；　amplified　by　the　glittering　aluminum　ceiling；　over　every　corner　and　detail　of　that　eighteen…by…ten　hut。　A　thick　but　transparent　layer　of　ice　sheathed　the　aluminum　roof　except　for　a　three…foot　circle　directly　above　the　lamp；　and　the　ice　spread　from　the　ceiling　down　the　plywood　walls　all　the　way　to　the　floor。　The　wooden　floor；　too；　was　covered　with　ice；　except　where　the　bodies　of　the　men　lay。　There　may　have　been　ice　under　them　as　well。　I　couldn't　tell。
　 My　first　thought；　conviction　rather；　and　one　that　struck　at　me　with　a　heart…sapping　sense　of　defeat；　with　a　chill　that　even　the　polar　storm　outside　had　been　unable　to　achieve；　was　that　we　had　arrived　too　late。　I　had　seen　many　dead　men　in　my　life；　I　knew　what　dead　men　looked　like；　and　now　I　was　looking　at　just　that　many　more。　Shapeless；　huddled；　lifeless　forms　lying　under　a　shapeless　mass　of　blankets；　mackinaws；　duffels　and　furs；　I　wouldn't　have　bet　a　cent　on　my　chances　of　finding　one　heartbeat　among　the　bunch。　Lying　packed　closely　together　in　a　rough　semicircle　at　the　end　of　the　room；　far　from　the　door；　they　were　utterly　still；　as　unmoving　as　men　would　be　if　they　had　been　lying　that　way　for　a　frozen　eternity。　Apart　from　the　hissing　of　the　pressure　lamp；　there　was　no　sound　inside　the　hut　other　than　the　metallic　drumfire　of　the　ice　spicules　against　the　icesheathed　eastern　wall　of　the　hut。
　 Zabrinski　was　eased　down　into　a　sitting　position　against　a　wall。　Rawlings　unslung　the　heavy　load　he　was　carrying　on　his　back；　unwrapped　the　stove；　pulled　off　his　mittens；　and　started　fumbling　around　for　the　fuel　tablets。　Hansen　pulled　the　door　to　behind　him；　slipped　the　buckles　of　his　rucksack；　and　wearily　let　his　load　of　tinned　food　drop　to　the　floor　of　the　shack。
　 For　some　reason；　the　voice　of　the　storm　outside　and　the　hissing　of　the　Coleman　inside　served　only　to　heighten　the　deathly　stillness　in　the　hut；　and　the　unexpected　metallic　clatter　of　the　falling　cans　made　me　jump。　It　made　one　of　the　dead　men　jump；　too。　The　man　nearest　me　by　the　left…hand　wall　suddenly　moved；　rolled　over　and　sat　up；　bloodshot　eyes　staring　out　unbelievingly　from　a　frost…bitten；　haggard　and　cruelly　burned　face；　the　burns　patchily　covered　by　a　long；　dark　stubble　of　beard。　For　long　seconds　he　looked　at　us　unblinkingly；　then；　some　obscure　feeling　of　pride　making　him　ignore　the　offer　of　my　outstretched　arm；　he　pushed　himself　shakily　and　with　obvious　pain　to　his　feet。　Then　the　cracked　and　peeling　lips　broke　into　a　grin。
　 〃You've　been　a　bleedin'　long　time　getting　here。〃　The　voice　was　hoarse　and　weak　and　as　cockney　as　the　Bow　Bells　themselves。　〃My　name's　Kinnaird。　Radio　operator。〃
　 〃Whisky？〃　I　asked。
　 He　grinned　again；　tried　to　lick　his　cracked　lips；　and　nodded。　The　stiff　shot　of　whisky　went　down　his　throat　like　a　man　in　a　barrel　going　over　Niagara　Falls：　one　moment　there；　the　next　gone　forever。　He　bent　over；　coughing　harshly　until　the　tears　came　to　his　eyes；　but　when　he　straightened；　life　was　ing　back　into　those　same　lackluster　eyes　and　color　touching　the　pale；　emaciated　cheeks。
　 〃If　you　go　through　life　saying　'Hallo'　in　th