The Earth Is (Not) a Cold Dead Place

Chapter 9

It took John all of his strength to open the massive doors. Past the humming airplane, at the edge of the rock formation that marked the end of the landing strip, he saw a figure he could now recognize as Tibbi. The man was smoking a cigarette, taking long, deep drags. John sat down next to him without saying a word. He'd let Tibbi set the tone, and see if he could latch on to whatever that would be. That way he thought he had the best chance of getting close to him.

"You want one as well?" he asked, extending his pack of cigarettes.

"No, thanks. I don't smoke, never have."

"Neither did I, but it's a great way to deal with the shitshow we've found ourselves in. When all you're breathing is this freezing air and you're never really warm inside your bones, filling your lungs with this hot, poisonous smoke gives you a real warm and fuzzy feeling inside."

"You're telling me you blew your last bits of hard-earned cash on tobacco?" John joked.

"Oh, hell no. I wouldn't even pay for this junk if my life depended on it. Once the looting started, all the useful stuff was obviously already gone. I just grabbed whatever was left, which turned out to be these deathsticks. I guess people have different priorities when everything turns to shit. Good for me though, bastards left me enough to last a lifetime."

"Is that all you took with you when you traveled all the way up here? A lighter and a pack of smokes?"

"Jumping right into the personal shit, aren't we? Well, if we're gonna do this, we might as well do it the right way and get something done in the meantime. Lets find you some warmer gear and the keys to a snowmobile. We're heading out," Tibbi said as he got up and threw away his burnt-up cigarette.

* * *

The thick gloves and helmet did not improve John's ability—or inability rather—to handle the vehicle. The snowmobiles were large enough to fit two people on them, and had some storage room in the back, which was filled with supplies like flashlights, rope, and icepicks. He swerved like a drunk with Tibbi riding next to him, no doubt snickering behind his helmet. They drove for a good twenty minutes before they got to their destination. Big metal sea containers and cranes poked out from behind the vast white landscape.

"Welcome to Mine 7, which used to be the only active mining site on the island, until everybody abandoned their work here a while ago. I've found there's still some coal around, and every now and then when I want to get out I'll go and grab a bunch of the stuff. You can never have too much fuel nowadays."

"Impressive, the amount of infrastructure and industry we've managed to set up in even the most remote places over the past century or so," John replied.

"Yes, it's truly remarkable how we've managed to find ways to exploit even the most hostile patches of Earth to fuel the machine we once called civilization," Tibbi said sardonically.

They got off their snowmobiles, took off their helmets, and walked the rest of the way to one of the main silos with gunny sacks in their hands. Tibbi lit another cigarette and turned to John.

"So, what madness drove you here? The impression I got from Beth was that you had it all figured out, basically on your way towards a Nobel prize since your PhD."

John sighed. If he opened up now, maybe that would allow him to receive the same courtesy from Tibbi.

"Well, it's a bit more nuanced, but I can't blame her for not knowing the ins and outs of my field from the past two decades or so. Most people don't." He decided to just lay out all of his cards and see where that took things.