Chewing his lip, Simon returned to where he’d left Phillip’s pack. He repacked the bag, knotted it shut and slung it over his shoulder. As he surveyed the hut one last time he saw the notebook lying on the ground. He scooped it up and shoved it in his pocket. From the doorway he looked back. How much longer would the food stored here stay edible? When would the next traveller take shelter in this bleak sanctuary? How much longer would the quonset hut itself stand? Everything was completely still, totally quiet, and Simon felt as if he were the only living thing left on the earth. He stepped from the gloom back into the world of sunlight, birdsongs, and life. As he pulled the door shut the dissonant protest of the hinges signalled his return from an alien landscape.
As he crested a hill Simon spotted Eric and Viola not far away. Eric was gripping her arm and she seemed to be protesting. ‘Hello! Eric!’ Simon shouted.
They turned and stared at him. Viola waved weakly. By the time Simon reached them she’d pulled away from Eric.
‘Something wrong, Vi?’ Simon asked.
‘Nothing. Nothing at all,’ she replied hurriedly. ‘You look excited, though. What’s up?’
Simon held out the backpack he’d discovered. ‘Recognize this?’ He looked from one stunned expression to the other.
‘It’s Phillip’s,’ Viola whispered. ‘Isn’t it, Eric?’
Eric cleared his throat as Simon silently pointed out the initials. ‘Yes, it’s Phillip’s.’ He reached out to take it from Simon. ‘Where’d you find it?’
‘At the IBP station.’
‘The IBP station?’ Viola’s voice rose in disbelief as she shook her head. ‘Impossible.’
‘That’s where I found it,’ Simon assured her. ‘In a carton marked potatoes.’
‘In a carton? What on earth would it be doing in a carton?’
‘Good question, Eric. I didn’t see any sign of Phillip himself.’
‘Of course not,’ Viola said. ‘Jeff and Wally would’ve found him if he’d been there. They spent two days at the station during the storm, remember.’
‘And they would’ve mentioned the pack if they’d seen it,’ Simon murmured. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Meanwhile, Simon, I’d like to keep Phillip’s pack,’ Eric said. ‘His mother may want to see it … a last reminder …’
‘Sure,’ Simon agreed. ‘It belongs to you more than anyone else.’
As the group sat around that evening, waiting for their foil pouches to heat, Jeff groaned and stretched out his legs. ‘God, I’m tired! This terrain really takes it out of you. And then lugging rocks too … Think I’ll spend tomorrow cataloguing my samples.’
Joan smirked. ‘Can’t stay the pace, Jeff? Getting a little soft? Too old for field work?’ She rose and moved lithely around behind him. ‘Shall I get you a hot-water bottle?’ She bent to put her mouth close to his ear. ‘Your knitting?’
‘Put a sock in it, Joan. I’m in better shape than you are.’ He brushed her away and turned to Simon. ‘Did I hear you found Phillip’s pack at the IBP station?’
‘Yeah. Packed in a cardboard box.’
Joan, half way back to her seat, stopped and stared. ‘How’d it get there?’
Simon scanned the circle of faces. ‘You tell me. I understood he had it with him when he disappeared.’
Anne winced. ‘You don’t suppose Phillip himself’s there too …’
‘I looked. No Phillip.’ Simon stirred the simmering water with a stick. The silver packages bobbed around, a skin of bubbles clinging to their sides like tiny jewels. ‘The funny thing is,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘the pack was stuffed into the carton … squashed down so the top flaps could be closed. And the top was re-glued.’ Simon tried lifting a packet, balanced on his makeshift spatula, out of the water but it fell back in with a plop. ‘It looked to me like it had been hidden.’
Eric’s goatee vibrated as he frowned. Simon could hear the words before Eric spoke them. ‘Nonsense. You must be mistaken.’
‘You explain it, then,’ Simon invited.
‘I can’t form an hypothesis without all the facts. It’s unscientific.’
‘I can,’ Joan interrupted. ‘I bet Phillip put it there himself.’
‘Why?’ Jeff and Viola chorused.
‘Remember Phillip complaining his tent had been searched? And his stuff rifled?’
Viola and Jeff nodded. Tony and Anne glanced at each other.
‘Well, maybe Phillip hid it to keep it safe,’ Joan proposed.
‘But there wasn’t anything interesting in it,’ Simon objected. ‘Just field notes and tools.’ He turned to Eric. ‘You have the bag now. Did I miss something?’
‘No. It held just ordinary field supplies. Phillip wouldn’t need to hide it.’ Eric glared at Joan, who shrugged and locked her fingers behind her head.
‘Just an idea, Eric. Don’t lose your cool.’ She looked around. ‘Anyone got a better explanation?’
Simon’s eyes widened when Wally spoke up. ‘Phillip hid it so he could accuse one of us of stealing it.’ He wiped his thin mouth with the back of his hand. ‘It’s something he’d do … Phillip liked to make trouble.’
‘I refuse to sit here and listen to this!’ Eric stood up and stalked to the stove. ‘Give me my dinner. I’ll eat in my tent where the company’s better.’
The members of the research team settled into a routine. They rose early and had breakfast, making no attempt to socialize. Instead, each scientist was intent on getting started as quickly as possible on the day’s tasks. The crate of inedible breakfasts had remained untouched since the first morning. Now everyone ate lunches in the morning since these were more appetizing, and most of the cookies and chocolate bars were secreted in parka pockets for snacks during the long day away from camp.
On this particular morning Simon had agreed to help Anne. As he lifted the huge pack to his back he recalled the snatch of conversation he’d heard the night before.
‘… So if you could help, Tony, just for the morning …’
‘I’m too busy. Everyone else manages alone, Anne. Don’t be a baby.’
‘You know it’s heavy work to put in the barriers. I’m not strong enough.’
‘Get your loverboy, Simon, to help. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you cosying up to him. It’s sickening.’
‘That’s not true, Tony, and you know it!’ Anne had replied hotly. ‘But if you won’t help I bet he will!’
Yes, Simon thought decisively, count on it.
‘How far away are these ponds, anyway, Anne?’ Simon panted under his load.
‘Not that far. They’re the closest suitable ones I could find.’
‘And just how picky are you?’
‘All I want is small size, constant depth and symmetrical shape.’
‘That’s reassuring,’ Simon returned sarcastically as he splashed through a pond which,