Whiteout

Chapter 24

She watched, heart in her throat, as Dr. Marston and Reggie carried an unconscious Castle down the main corridor towards the tubed umbilical connection between the modules, going from Building B into Building A, where the medical bay was. She would have followed, stayed by his side, but there was a killer to catch. And Kieran Russell had made a grave mistake by attacking Richard Castle, making this deeply personal for her. Clenching her jaw, and setting her brow, Beckett spun on her heels, trusting the care of the man she loved in the hands of her friend the doctor.

If anyone could save Castle, it was Dr. Mark Marston.

Retreating back to the operations center, she retrieved her Glock, holstering it as she clipped the radio to her belt. Moving her legs at a quick pace, she returned to her office and grabbed her parka off the back of her desk chair. Striding back out into the hall, Beckett shrugged the jacket on as she made her way towards the nearest stairwell, hastily making her way down to the first level of the building.

At the bottom of the landing, she turned left and pushed through the airlock doors into the rear vestibule. Narrowing her eyes, her suspicions were confirmed when she saw that there was one set of extreme cold weather gear missing from the hanger and cubby. Grabbing one of the thick coats, she rolled her shoulders, wincing slightly as she pushed her left hand through the sleeve. She then strapped on a harness, hissing through her teeth as she secured it tightly around her waist. Frowning, she worked the gloves onto her hands, struggling just a bit with her left hand, before properly securing the Velcro seals around her wrists. She tugged on a pair of goggles, forgoing the face mask at this time.

A klaxon sounded over the intercom, and an automated message issued out of the speakers: WARNING. STATION IS NOW IN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN. STATION-WIDE EVACUATION IS IN EFFECT. REPEAT. STATION IS NOW IN EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN.

Beckett peered out the viewing window on the side wall of the vestibule, catching sight of the Lockheed LC-130 taking off and disappearing into the growing haze of ice and snow as the blizzard approached Amundsen-Scott Base. It was close. Very close. And she knew that since Russell had taken the keys to his plane, the bastard was going to try and beat the storm, effectively slipping out of her grasp.

Pulling both hoods up over her head, Beckett stepped over to the outer door and yanked it open with her right hand. A blast of cold wind burst into the room, nearly knocking her onto her ass. She hunched her shoulders and leaned into it, exiting the ready room and making her way across the rear platform towards the steps.

She squinted, feeling the icy fingers caress her cheeks as her breath fogged in front of her face. Squinting, she could barely make out the features of the domed hangar in the distance. Beckett almost cursed. This blizzard was bringing with it another whiteout. Her heart stuttered and her stomach clenched unnervingly at the memories of her last experience in a whiteout. Gritting her teeth, she stifled the anxieties, and pushed forward, grabbing the railing to haul herself down to the snow. At the bottom landing, a stake protruded from the ground with rope-line branching off in several directions. Each line buckled and swayed violently in the wind.

Picking out the correct line, Beckett grabbed the wildly ripping rope and held it steady, jaw clenched and eyes determined as she clipped the tether to it. She tugged at it, making sure it was fixed, before glaring up through the white snow flurries plummeting around her, warning of the tumult rapidly approaching. Gripping the line with one hand, she took off at an easy jog, watching the warmth of her breath fog in front of her eyes.

The wind grew stronger and fiercer the further away from the base she got. There was less around her to help buffer and shield her from the powerful grip of the approaching storm. She could barely make out the dome of the hangar. Her heart beat profoundly beneath her breast and her legs burned from working through the growing pact of snow, slowing her down. She ground her teeth, growling as she fought through it, ignoring the frosty bite of the wind against her exposed cheeks.

Huffing for breath, she glanced up and nearly froze in place, gaping in terror at the massive wall of white rearing up behind the hangar like a tsunami cresting before crashing into the shore. The blizzard was nearly upon her. She didn't know if she was going to be able to make it all the way across the line before it hit. Ducking her head down, she steeled herself from the onslaught.

Forty-three seconds later, the whiteout struck. The storm roared and howled around her like a savage beast, blasting small flecks of snow and ice up into the air, obscuring her vision. She held onto the rope-line so hard that the muscles in her arms ached with the effort. Hunching her shoulders, she leaned her body into the fierce winds, and trudged onwards, relentless. Her ferocity and dogged determination were one of her strength. Castle had called her extraordinary. She believed him.

She would always believe him.

Plowing ahead, she stumbled the last few feet before reaching shelter, gasping for breath and shivering. Whiteouts were terrible things. She had barely survived the first time by the skin of her teeth. It had only been her strength of will that had kept her going, just as it did now. She pushed her goggles up to her forehead, clearing her vision as she blinked and glanced around the lofty hangar. Unclipping the tether, Beckett dashed inside the opened hangar bay, swinging her arms as her boots pounded the ground as she ran down the row of planes, eyes wide and alert as she searched for the Australian pilot.

She spotted the tail of the Twin Otter with his call number, and slowed, whipping her gun out of her holster. Bending her knees slightly, Beckett held her posture at the ready. She brought her left hand up to steady her aim and snarled, letting out a disgruntle hiss when she needed to adjust her hold to compensate for her missing fingers. Thankfully her right hand—the dominant one—was still intact. Narrowing her eyes, she swept to the left, ready to shoot first. She was done with asking questions. He had attacked Castle. Any leniency she might have shown him was now gone.

Seeing no sign of Russell, Beckett scanned the rest of the vicinity, before approaching the plane. She gripped the handle and opened the back latch. Lifting her right leg, she hoisted herself up and quickly pounced into the cockpit. It was empty. She swept her gaze across the instrument panel, noting that he had been prepping for launch. But he'd missed his opportunity once the whiteout had hit the base, engulfing them in strong winds and zero visibility.

With a frustrated growl, Beckett ducked back out of the plane, not even bothering to close the latch behind her. Raising her gun, she spread out, away from the plane, performing a careful and methodical search, combing the entire building for the arrogant pilot. She was working her way back to the entrance when she spotted him, diving through the gap between two snowcats. She aimed and fired, missing, the bullets ricocheting off the caterpillar treads.

She swore, and took off after him, running between the vehicles. Holding her weapon up, she whipped around the corner, only to see him hoofing it towards the opened hangar gate. Her stomach twisted. He was going to try and beat her back to the base and lock her out.

Beckett quickly holstered her weapon, running as fast as her long legs would allow, while pulling her hood back into place over her head. Tugging the goggles back down over her eyes, she lowered her shoulders and plunged back out into the storm. Swaying slightly, she almost lost her footing, but managed to keep her balance and reached the rope-line. With shaking hands, Beckett fumbled with the harness, hissing and growling until she managed to clip the tether securely to the line. The wind was blowing much harder now, worse than when she had been at Vostok. This storm was much more powerful than that one had been.

She could barely make out his dark form as she trudged after him, heart pounding and legs burning with the effort. The flurries intensified, whiting out her vision, and Russell disappeared from her sights. Clenching her jaw, Beckett moved forward, hand over hand as she pulled herself along the rope-line. The faint outline of Building B came into view after thirty-six seconds. Soon she was slumping against the railing, heaving in deep icy breaths, her lungs protesting with each chilly inhale.

Unclipping the harness from the line, she hauled herself up the steps, one at a time. The wind pounded into her back, forcing her to almost crawl up the stairs to the platform. She stumbled, nearly falling, as she staggered to the door. She grabbed the latch and pulled. Nothing. It didn't budge. She slammed her fist against the cold hard metal, and cursed. The stupid automated system had locked the doors.

Turning around, Beckett ducked her head and held up a hand to shield her face as she walked back into the wind. It grabbed and tugged at her, trying to tackle her, but she clenched her teeth and dug in, using all her resolve to keep her forward momentum going until she reached the stairs and made it back down to the storm-line stake. She stepped over the line that went straight out to the hangar, and clipped her harness to a rope that should, after taking a turn at an interchange, take her underneath the modules and towards one of the side entrances.

As she stalked along the line, Beckett's began to ache from the effort of pulling herself along the line. She could only see a few inches in front of her. It was extremely disorienting. Her pulse quickened with the terror of being swallowed up and lost forever. But she reminded herself that she had something worth fighting for. She had Castle, and a future with him that she so desperately wanted. Marston should have him stabilized by now. All she needed to do was deal with Russell, and the rest of their winter could be spent recovering from this terrible ordeal and making up for lost time.

A black tarp flew out of nowhere, flapping aggressively in the wind. It sailed toward her, like a hooded banshee, coming to take her away. She hooked her body down and dodged it, releasing a startle cry as the edge lashed at her back like a cracking whip. She hissed and collapsed forward, landing head first in a puff of snow. The scar along her side pulled, sending a white-hot slice of pain through her veins. Shaking her head, Beckett breathed through her teeth and slowly regained her senses. Grunting, she fumbled back to her feet, blindly groping for the rope-line.

Gasping, she huddled in on herself, leaning her body into the strong blow of the wind. Blinking, she stared ahead, seeing more debris start emerging out of the hail of white. She weaved and bobbed, dodging as much as she could. The evacuation had been hurried by the storm, and in their rush that staff hadn't been able to properly secure a number of things that they had to leave behind. Beckett held onto the rope for dear life, and managed to scrape by just barely. Breathing heavily, she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart as she trudged forward, reaching the first junction.

She grabbed the stake's grip with her right hand, needing its strength to keep her steady as she fumbled with her left hand and her two remaining fingers and thumb to hook the second tether to another line. Beckett was very pleased with the speed with which she worked, managing to unclip the line and transfer herself to the next line over with relative ease. But as she was stepping over to begin her trek, the line suddenly snapped rigid.

A gasp escaped her mouth as she glanced up, following the stretch of rope until it disappeared into the milky whiteness. She loosened her grip on the line and glared down at it, feeling it jerk several times as someone on the other end yanked at it. She pursed her lips, and smiled. Carefully, Beckett started forward, using steady and measured steps. If she played her cards right, she could hold back and take him unawares. Through the thick flurries of snow and ice, Beckett spied several large crates and trunks stacked against the side of the building's lower clamps. She kept an eye on them, wary.

Her worry was justified, when a strong gust bowled into them, knocking the smallest trunk off, sending it bouncing towards her like a ricocheting bullet. She managed to avoid it by swaying to the left, but in the process, threw off her balance. The wind slammed into her hard, taking her feet out from under her. She went flying up into the air, landing hard on her back. The wind grabbed at her, pulling her backwards. The tether harness held, but the rope went violently taut, stealing her element of surprise.

Grunting, she scrambled to her knees and crawled back to the junction pole, stretching her arm out to grab it. Beckett grimaced and hissed as she heaved herself up to her feet. She had to move fast now, any chance she had to take Russell unawares had vanished. With trembling hands, she fastened her harness to the original line, pulling her leg up to step over the taut rope to move around to the opposite side of the metal stake.

Hooking her left arm around the rope to secure herself, Beckett carefully pulled her gun out with her right hand. Somewhere in the distance metal banged against metal, probably more unfastened crates crashing about in the tumult. She kept her focus on what was in front of her, what little she could see. Fighting around the onslaught of wind, Beckett firmed up her stance and raised her Glock, deciding to wait for Russell to come to her.

A buzz sounded from somewhere, barely audible over the roar of the wind and hail. In an instant, her world was inundated with bright light as the floodlights alongside the modules flicked on. Beckett cried out, blinded, ducking her head down. The unexpected assault on her senses turned out to be very fortuitous, because at that moment, with a raging snarl, Kieran Russell emerged out of the whiteness, swinging his ice axe at her. Since she'd just ducked her head, he missed her by mere inches.

Stumbling back, he howled like a madman, and reared back for another strike. Using her legs to flip around, Beckett swung up into a firing position. However, she had been too slow. Russell rammed down on her, and she was forced to push her arm out to block the blow. Their arms collided and the impact force her grip to relax. Her Glock when flying out of her hand, bouncing out of view and disappearing into the pandemonium of wind and ice all around her.

Beckett fell, letting out a cry as her back hit the hard ground. She rolled away as he slashed at her. Kicking her legs, she dug her boots into the ice and pushed, scrambling out of reach. Turning around, still tethered to the line, she made a retreat. Russell moved to follow her, brandishing the ice axe menacingly, but his pursuit was halted after a few steps when he was jerked backwards. Beckett suppressed a grin as she realized his harness was still hooked to the opposite line.

Taking advantage of the delay, Beckett scrambled away on her hands and knees, moving much faster than she would if she'd taken the time to get back up to her feet. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, and her breath came out in stammering pants, but she fought on, fighting against the pull of the wind. She could hear the crunch of ice and snow from his stomping boots behind her. And to her astonishment, Beckett spotted her gun just within reach. It was wedged up against a boulder. She lurched forward in a desperate grab.

"No you don't!" Russell yelled over the tumult, and grabbed the rope-line, tugging hard to pull her back, just out of reach. He quickly rushed up and kicked the gun away, sending it skidding into the whiteness, forever lost.

Seething, Beckett grasped his leg around the ankle and yanked hard, pulling his feet out from under him. He cried out as he fell backwards, landing with a thud beside her. Beckett moved fast, clambering away from him. Faintly through the turmoil, she spotted another stack of trunks and boxes that had been left behind outside, abandoned in the crew's haste to leave the South Pole before the storm struck. Frantic for anything to use to defend herself, Beckett lunged for the closest trunk. She could barely make out the lettering along the front side of the flat gray box, and she pursed her lips in a tight smile.

How appropriate, she thought.

She reached the trunk just as Russell managed to get back to his feet. He staggered for moment, fighting the wind. Hastily, moving as fast as she was able, straining against the growing fatigue and exhaustion, Beckett reached the plastic trunk, and unhooked the latch, flipping the lid open. Grinning, she grabbed the ice axe she knew would be in there. She had to remind herself to thank Murphy for issuing an emergency evacuation. The hasty departure had left all sorts of goodies out here for her disposal.

Her muscles screamed with the effort, but she managed to convince them to move as she turned around just as Russell came at her. She screamed, fury bubbling up inside her, swinging the ice axe at him. He jerked back, but the blade caught on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Her breath hitched. The canisters. She tightened her grip on the handle, but he pulled back, wrenching it from her grasp. The momentum propelled her forward, sending her face first into the snow.

Russell laughed, looming over her, tauntingly swinging his weapon.

"Now you die, bitch!"

He pulled his arm back, preparing to strike.

"Not now, asshole," Beckett gritted her teeth and rolled away from his reach.

He howled in rage, tugged the ice axe back out of the ground and stalked towards her as she pushed herself up to her feet. She hunched her body, rolled her shoulders and loosened her stance, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready for a fight. He came at her, swinging wildly, unhinged. She dodged the first blow, and struck his side with a hard fist. Spinning around, feeling her tether yank tight against the rope, Beckett prepared for the next attack.

This time Russell came at her with a different approach—swinging the ice axe low, aiming for her stomach. She blocked the attack, but soon learned it was a diversion. He rammed his fist into her face, sending her sprawling backwards into the snow. She hit the ground with a grunt, and immediately kicked her legs up, jabbing her boots into his chest. He went down with a curse, thrashing wildly. The blade of his ice axe swiped through the rope-line, severing it.

Their support gave way, and Beckett dug her heels into the ground, grasping desperately at the flailing rope for purchase when the gusting winds grabbed at them. Unable to latch on to anything, Russell went flying into the void. The rope soon slipped from her grasp as well, and Beckett plunged into the storm, tumbling after him, unable to stop the momentum from carrying her away.

She spun around, her world a blur until she collided with the solid support structure of a hydraulic lift holding up one of the habitat modules. Gasping for breath, Beckett shook her head, stunned. Grappling for a handhold, she heaved herself up to her feet and peered out into the blizzard. Nothing but the bleak whiteness met her gaze. She stood there, clutching at the cables and pipes. Her chest rose and fell as her breath fogged before her flushed face. Beneath all her layers, her body was covered in sweat. All she wanted to do was lay down and rest, but she couldn't. She needed to find her way back inside, back to Castle.

Glaring through the flurry of ice and snow, and other detritus, Beckett waited for an opening. The winds slowed just a bit to reveal the location of the nearest rope-line. Flattening herself on the ground, Beckett set her course, and used her long legs to launched herself in the right direction. She hurtled across the ice headfirst, like an Olympic skeleton athlete, skidding and sliding, veering slightly off target, but in the end, she reached the rope-line. Snagging it with one hand, she grunted as she bounced back, her shoulder sockets protesting the strain.

Working fast, she clipped herself to the line, and stood up, swaying against the burst of wind that nearly knocked her back off her feet. She gripped the line and spun around, heading in what she hoped was the right direction. Her entire body ached, and she hunched her shoulders against the assaulting winds. When she glanced up again, a curse left her lips.

"Fuck," she hissed. "You've got to be kidding me."

Russell emerged out of the flurries in a mad rush. He screamed, holding the ice axe high above his head. Beckett ducked down, avoiding the swing, and, in a quick action, grabbed the handle of the pick stuck to the duffel bag and tugged, hard. It was enough to jar it free. She then grabbed the bag's strap and yanked it off his shoulder.

"Hey!" he snarled.

Beckett jabbed her elbow into his solar plexus, and jumped back out of his reach as he swung his ice axe at her. She kept retreating, avoiding his attacks. But she knew she needed to strike back soon. Summoning up all her reserve, she plowed into him, ramming her shoulder against his, knocking him off his feet. She shouldered the duffel and raised the ice axe in her right hand. His head jerked up as he noticed she wasn't aiming for him. Panic tinged his voice as he spoke.

"Wait, no, don't—"

His pleas were cut off when she swung the ice axe down and sliced the blade through his tether. He screamed as the wind hurtled him away from her. She watched him slide uncontrollably along the ice, skidding and spinning until he rammed hard against one of the support beams underneath the habitat module. She grimaced as his back arched violently, and his flailing arms went limp. His body swayed there for a bit, held in place by the metal beam, until another strong gust of wind blew in and wrenched him away.

Beckett stood there, heaving in deep breaths, too exhausted to celebrate her victory. All she could do was lean into the wind, blindly watching as Kieran Russell was swallowed up by the all-consuming whiteness.