SSSD - Go with Linda

“Um, OK,” Ro replies.

Linda’s body language projects impatience while Ro puts her clothes back on. Linda stands in the doorway to the long hall, foot tapping as she keeps a lookout. She’s not focused on the door to Golda’s office; she’s wary of everything. The difference in size between them isn’t much, but Linda’s pace is so brisk that Ro has to jog to keep up. In a moment, she’s putting on her cold weather gear by the exit just outside Signe’s lab.

Linda glances at Ro, her face hidden by her scarf and goggles. Ro flashes a gloved thumbs up. Linda hauls the door open and the storm explodes into the small room. They fight their way outside into the swirling snow. The night is black but the Outpost has plenty of exterior lights… as long as the power is on. Ro swallows nervously at the thought, trying to straighten her mask.

Linda doesn’t bother with safety lines; she forges into the wind, making it look easy. Ro desperately slogs to keep up.

The main garage is like a shadowy castle ahead. Ro reaches Linda as she’s unlocking a padlock. Together, they drag the door open and head in. Linda turns on a lantern and goes immediately to the tool rack, taking chains and a lock.

Ro stands there, listening to the storm battering the main door. The howling wind out there is like something from a movie. She’s never felt so remote; this is what it must feel like to be deep in space.

A metallic snap startles her awake and she lifts the lantern and goes to Linda, who is unbuckling straps to remove a tarp from something in the corner.

Ro’s eyes widen.

“What is that?”

“For ice,” she replies tersely, dragging the last of the tarp off the battered flamethrower. “It is old. Will it work?”

She’s asking Ro?

Of course she’s asking Ro; with Marit out of commission and Niv locked up, Ro is the only handy person still available. Ro sucks in her breath through her teeth and sinks to her knees. This thing has to be from the late seventies or early eighties. It’s all metal; it must weigh fifty pounds. Ro does not have the engineering expertise to discern if it’s in working condition by examining it, but she can figure out how to use it and test it, which will answer the question.

“We’ll have to see,” she replies, yanking down her mask and using her teeth to tug at her gloves.

Twenty minutes later and with freezing hands, they have the flamethrower fueled and have figured out how it works.

“Put it on,” Linda says.

“Me? Why me?”

“I trust you.”

“Why?” Ro asks, baffled.

Linda leans close. Ro blushes and shifts uneasily.

“One of them would not react that way,” Linda says.

Ro blinks. Good point. “I have thirst, therefore I am human,” she muses bitterly as she pulls on the stiff, old straps and fastens the buckles. Linda has to strain and pull to help Ro get to her feet with this massive weight on her back. “Fuck me,” Ro pants, lifting the flamethrower and keeping her hands away from the controls. They can’t use it inside the garage. It shouldn’t be used indoors at all.

They go to the open door and face the howling storm.

“Here goes,” Ro shouts over the wind. “Light it!”

Holding her hood with her free hand, Linda leans out to do so. Ro turns so that she isn’t firing against the wind. Cringing, she holds the safety and squeezes the handle. The sudden heat almost makes her drop it; flames shoot out ten feet, the stream much heavier and more liquid than she expected. She hurriedly stops.

“Good,” Linda shouts, clapping her on the shoulder. Ro nearly falls into the snow. Linda’s already hurrying back. Ro totters after her, but she’s quickly swallowed by the storm.

Knees and back burning, Ro is wheezing by the time she reaches the door. She staggers gratefully into the Outpost, straps groaning and buckles clinking. She has her gloves on again, but her hands are half-frozen into claws gripping the flamethrower. She manages to yank the door shut, but that’s about all she can do.

There are footsteps in the long hallway.

“Linda?” she says, hurrying out there to find Golda.

Golda looks back at her.

“What is that?”

“Flamethrower,” Ro replies, clutching it helplessly.

Golda stares.

“Put that down. It is dangerous,” she orders.

Ro hesitates. She licks her lips.

“No,” she replies. “I don’t think so.”

Golda shakes her head and turns toward the radio room, where Linda is outside the door: this is where Golda was heading a second ago.

<What are you doing?> Golda demands.

Linda finishes winding the chain around the metal handles of the radio room and snaps a padlock on.

<Open that immediately,> Golda says.

Linda faces her. Julie arrives at a jog.

<What is happening?> Julie asks worriedly, pulling on a cardigan.

<She locked the radio room,> Golda replies, glaring at Linda.

<We can’t use the radio in this weather anyway,> Julie says. <Satellite phone?>

<It’s in my office,> Golda replies.

<I know,> Linda says. She hasn’t looked away from Golda. She hasn’t even blinked. Slowly, she gestures toward the padlock. It’s one of the big ones that has the Outpost logo on it. <Go ahead.>

<Open it!> It’s almost a shout.

Linda looks almost sad. <Where are your keys, Golda?>

Golda doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. Julie licks her lips, turning to look a the blonde, who stares fixedly at Linda.

“Burn her,” Linda says to Ro.

<What?> Julie stiffens. Golda turns to Ro.

“It is not her!” Linda presses.

Ro stands there, overwhelmed with the flamethrower in her hands.

Should she burn Golda? Or suggest that they isolate her?