Chapter 23
CHAPTER
Robin is in her laboratory, a small room crammed with a computer, two microscopes, a microtome, boxes of glass slides and other equipment. It’s Thursday morning and I returned from the hut two days ago.
‘Have you seen Professor Johnson?’ I ask. ‘We arranged to meet in his office, but he hasn’t shown up. I can’t get him on any of the fixed lines.’
Robin’s focus is on the slides on her screen. ‘If he’s busy, he rarely answers his phone, but it’s not like him to run late. Have you tried the mess?’
Jerry laughs and throws me an apron when I walk through the doors of the kitchen.
‘Coming back to work, are we?’
‘I’m looking for Professor Johnson.’
‘I didn’t see him for his beans on toast this morning. But you know the professor—he’s probably tied up with work.’
A little uneasy, I pull up the hood of my coat and, head lowered against the wind and drizzle, trudge across the gravel to the newest of the accommodation blocks. I find the professor’s room and quietly tap on the door.
‘Professor. It’s Flick. Are you okay?’
When there’s no answer, I knock loudly. ‘Professor!’
No answer.
No one in my block locks their doors, and I figure it’ll be the same here. The handle turns and I open the door a crack.
‘Professor? It’s Flick.’
When I open the door more widely, it hits something and—
‘Professor!’
I push against the door and squeeze through the gap. The professor, on his side and deathly pale, is gasping.
I slide to my knees beside him. ‘What’s happened?’
Two more gasps. His eyes are wide but he doesn’t respond.
I squeeze his shoulder. ‘Professor?’
Nothing.
Kneeling by his side, I check his pulse, airways, nose, mouth and throat, then yell through the open door. ‘Is anyone there? Help!’
Nothing.
There’s no triple 0 or cellular reception, and I only carry a satellite phone when I’m away from the station.
I grab the fixed phone from the side table next to the professor’s bed and scroll through the numbers I keep on my mobile.
First, the medical centre. As the phone rings and rings, I put my ear to the professor’s mouth and my hand on his chest to listen and feel for breaths.
Unconscious. Unresponsive. No heartbeat.
When the medical centre doesn’t answer, I try admin reception, but I’m put on hold.
Kneeling over the professor, I link my hands and rest them on his chest. Thirty compressions to a depth of a third of the chest. A hundred to a hundred and twenty beats per minute.
The professor is slender and in his late sixties and I’ve only ever done CPR on a dummy.
Am I going too hard? Too fast? Too slow?
I tilt the professor’s head back, pinch his nose.
Seal my mouth over his. Two mouth-to-mouth breaths.
His chest rises and falls but only with my breaths, not his.
The admin number plays ‘Greensleeves’ on a loop. I try Robin, but then remember that, like the professor, she rarely picks up when she’s doing lab work.
Leaning over the professor again, I do another round of compressions, then disconnect from Robin.
Kingsley will likely be with clients and not taking calls.
Sebastien is forever asking me to call and would answer his phone and he’d also know what to do but he’s over a thousand kilometres away.
Jerry will be preparing lunch in the kitchen so maybe …
‘Hey, Flick,’ he answers immediately. ‘What’s up?’
‘Get the medics!’ One mouth-to-mouth breath. ‘Cardiac arrest. In his room.’ A second mouth-to-mouth breath. ‘Professor Johnson.’
‘What—’
‘Bring a defibrillator!’
‘What—’
‘He’s not breathing!’ Hands linked, I push on his chest. I repeat the words to the song ‘Stayin’ Alive’ in my head to keep my rhythm going. ‘Hurry!’
By the time I hear the thump of running boots outside the door, I’ve lost count of how many rounds of compressions I’ve done. Shouts, the slam of a door. Nicola, the doctor, bursts into the room and two nurses follow. Kingsley, a defibrillator in his hands, drops to his knees beside me.
Lights. Camera. Action.
It’s only eight o’clock, but I’m so tired that I’m struggling to sit upright.
The professor will need bypass surgery, but for now, his condition is stable and he is being cared for by the medical team.
A New Zealand navy ship responded to the station’s distress call and is now only a few hundred kilometres away, but the winds and oceans will be too dangerous to send a helicopter or even a rescue boat to or from the island for at least forty-eight hours.
Robin offers to sleep on a camp bed in my room to keep me company.
‘I’m exhausted,’ I say. ‘I’ll sleep fine.’
‘I’ll make sure HR sets you up for counselling. They do it remotely.’
‘The professor will be okay, won’t he?’ For the first time, my voice wobbles. ‘The doctors said he should be.’
‘Nicola said he’d stopped breathing.’ She takes my arm in a firm grip. ‘You saved his life.’
‘I’m not sure about that.’
‘The medical team will confirm it.’
‘It was lucky I found him.’
‘Thank goodness you acted when you did.’ She stands and pulls me to my feet. ‘Get yourself to bed, Flick.’
Images flash through my head as I shower and change. Someone must have put the heater on in my room because it’s warmer than usual. Even so, I dress in long-sleeved pyjamas and Sebastien’s jumper.
I’m pulling down the covers to get into bed when he calls.
‘How are you?’ His voice is unusually gentle.
I perch on the end of the bed. ‘Who told you?’
‘When I couldn’t get onto you, I called Robin.’
‘Oh.’
‘Shock can set in later.’
‘Robin told me to leave my door open. Did you tell her to do that?’
‘She said George is resting.’
‘Nicola said I can see him tomorrow.’
‘Can you sleep?’
‘I haven’t tried yet.’
‘You liked to talk on the ship. Will that help?’
‘I don’t want to talk about what happened today, so what would we talk about?’
‘When birds migrate over oceans, how do they sleep?’
‘Have you made a list of questions?’
‘You did a list for me on the ship.’
Heart thumping more than it has a right to, I climb into bed, puff up the pillows and sit back. ‘Do you know anything about unihemispheric slow-wave sleep?’
His laugh is a rumble. ‘No.’
‘Part of a bird’s brain can be alert while the other parts rest, and this allows for navigation if the bird is migrating long distances. It’s been proven in alpine swifts and peregrine falcons. Common birds like ducks do it while watching out for predators.’
‘Are you warm enough?’
‘Do you want to know how birds keep warm?’
‘Yes.’
‘If they’re in a tree hollow or they nest on the ground, it’s easier, but often they’re perched on a branch.
’ As rain spits against the windows, I wriggle down the bed and pull the covers over my chest. ‘They fluff up their inner feathers to warm their bodies and tuck their heads under the feathers on their backs. Sometimes they tuck a foot into their feathers to keep it warm.’
‘Why don’t they fall?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘When a bird puts weight on one or both of its legs, the leg muscles tighten tendons in the feet, anchoring the bird to its perch.’
‘A useful adaptation.’
‘Seb! What’s the hold-up?’ The man has an American accent. His voice is familiar. ‘Time to get going.’
‘Is that Nathan Gillespie, who came with you to the zoo? Is he at Casey Station too?’
‘I hope you can sleep.’
If you were here to hold my hand, it’d be easier.
I roll onto my back and pull the cuffs of his jumper over my wrists. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘You haven’t called me.’
I don’t want to miss you. I want to be tough. I don’t want to need you.
‘Lisse?’
‘Sebastien.’ My voice is croaky.
‘Seb! C’mon, buddy! We gotta go!’
When I visited Professor Johnson the day after he went into cardiac arrest, he was disoriented and upset.
Today, I sit close to the bed in case he wants to take my hand again.
He encourages me to talk about the work I had before coming to Morrison, and I ask him questions about his forty years of field and laboratory work.
We also talk about his late wife Shirley, who died five years ago, his children Hugh and Sally, and his grandchildren, Adam, Remy and Skylar.
The professor is doing well, but his face is gaunt and as pale as the sheet.
‘This time tomorrow, professor,’ I reassure him, ‘you’ll be on the ship and on the way back to your family.’
‘For the hundredth time.’ He reaches for my hand and squeezes it. ‘You must call me George.’
‘I like calling you professor.’
He nods as if to himself. And then, with an effort, he props himself higher on his pillows. ‘I have something important to speak with you about. Also, a request.’
‘I’ll help if I can.’
He looks past me. ‘Please close the door.’
I do as he asks. ‘You can brief me on the work to do here when you’re safely back in Melbourne. I have plenty to work on in the meantime.’
‘This request is associated with my work, but not in the way you might imagine.’ Colour seeps into his cheeks. His breaths shorten. ‘It concerns Dougie.’
‘Do you find his visits tiring? He’s been worried about you.’
‘He mustn’t find out that I’ve spoken to you about this. No one must find out.’ His gaze is intent. ‘Give me your word, Flick.’
‘I won’t say anything, but maybe you should rest. I can come back tonight.’
‘It has to be now.’ His gaze goes to the door again.
‘Dougie was here an hour ago. He pointed out you’d be busy doing the work I can no longer do and offered to return to the journal work.
The template he created for entering field worker notes was useful, granted, but he’s not to be involved in the future.
’ The professor’s voice is shaky, but he’s clearly determined to finish. ‘I firmly said, “No thank you.’”
‘I’m happy to do the work, but if you want it done more quickly, I could supervise Dougie.’
The professor’s eyes widen. ‘Certainly not!’
‘All good, professor. I understand.’
‘I made it perfectly clear that Dougie wasn’t needed. So why would he tell me he’d give me time to think about what he’d said? Something niggles.’ He taps his head. ‘I can’t put my finger on it.’
The professor is unwell and exhausted. Is he also confused?
‘Dougie would only have been wanting to help. He reminds me of a labrador puppy, running around trying to please.’
Professor Johnson closes his eyes. ‘Give me your word, Flick, that you’ll do the work yourself. Your position is funded by the UN for this very purpose.’
‘I’ll do the work. I promise.’
‘Don’t let Dougie near it,’ he says stubbornly.
A reassuring smile. ‘I won’t.’
He pulls at the sheet in agitation. ‘What will you do if he offers assistance?’
‘Explain I was employed to do the work and I’m better qualified than him to do it.’
‘You’ll think me a demented old goat, and I can hardly blame you for that, but you must take heed.’ When the professor lifts his arm, a monitor beeps. Ignoring the sound, he places a finger to his mouth. ‘Not a word to anyone.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
When he takes my hand, his grip is firm. ‘If they send you home after this ridiculous trial, it will be over my dead body.’