Out of the Ice (8 page)

After making a few quick notes, I walked to the opposite side of the flensing platform to another long tin shed. The door screeched as I opened it. I flashed my torch around and saw more tall cookers, again in parallel lines. I counted two rows of five. Conveyor belts ran from the floor through three storeys of platforms above. This was the blubber cookery, simpler than the meat cookery. The blubber would have been taken up on the belts and dropped into the top of the vats to burn off and distil the oil.

Far away at the end of the shed, long knives and massive jagged-toothed saws orange with rust hung along the wall, with coils of thick rope, like a murderer’s lair.

Goosebumps pricked my arms and I shone the torch behind me and to both sides, again feeling like I was being watched.

I couldn’t see anyone or anything. Perhaps there were ghosts here, given the atrocities that had taken place. But I believed in ghosts of memory, not the supernatural. My baby Hamish floated before me, a trace of pale face, a blur of dark hair. A stab of sadness rushed through me like a physical blow. I waited, allowing a moment to think of him – and then I braced myself and continued through the shed.

At the back, beside the knives, was a room with a dirty glass wall looking out into the building – some sort of manager’s office. As I headed for it I heard a rustling behind me. I swung around, and caught out of the corner of my eye a figure moving in the gloom. Large, thickset; the size of a man. I flicked off my torch and stood stock-still, holding my breath, heart pounding. I had no weapon to defend myself, and became acutely aware of the knives and saws nearby. Had he just helped himself to one? Was he coming for me?

Who was he? Absolutely no one but me should be down here; he must be one of the men from Alliance. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I headed in the darkness towards the rusty weapons, trying to make no sound, keeping my skis out in front so I could swing them into his ribs if he attacked.

The back of my throat burned in the icy air. Slowly, quietly, I inched towards the knives. The distance seemed to have increased, or perhaps I was walking in the wrong direction. But instinctively I felt I was in the right spot.

Suddenly a cold, rusty saw was under my fingers. I’d reached the wall. Steadily I moved to my left. I felt along quietly and the wooden handle of a knife slipped under my hand. I reached around it and pulled. Its blade was stuck tight on the wall, rusted on – it wouldn’t come. But it made a noise, a muffled one that seemed horribly loud. I listened. Had I given away where I was? From outside, I could hear penguins calling to each other. At any moment I expected a hand to grab me, or worse.

I waited and waited for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t hear any other movement. Perhaps it was just my mind playing tricks after all. I inched along the wall until my fingers found the next knife – a smaller one. I lifted it gently, and after a moment’s resistance it came away with a shriek. I grabbed it tightly and moved away as fast as I could. Whoever was here would surely have heard that. I needed to get out, back to the snowmobile. Or did he know where that was too? Would he beat me there if he didn’t trap me first?

I was gripping the knife and the torch, and my skis were under my arm. With my backpack and bag, it was too much to carry. Slowly I bent and put the skis quietly on the ground. I stayed crouched, listening intently. All I could hear was my own thumping pulse.

Then a movement caught my eye, darker black in the black. It was definitely a man, and close, only three metres from me. I desperately tried to think what to do. I felt safer hunched on the ground; standing, there was more of me to see. My calves and thighs were strong. I could spring up like a coil. I stayed where I was. Still; like a hunter.

Minutes ticked by slowly. My limbs began to ice up. Soon I’d have to move or I’d be so frozen I couldn’t react properly. And then I heard a rusty screech and saw a figure silhouetted in the open doorway, up the other end past the cookers. He was medium height and muscular.

And he was running outside.

I let out my breath in a long exhale, then tried to breathe normally but it was impossible, I was too tense. I stood and stretched, shaking my arms to warm up as I decided whether to pick up my skis or head off without them. The man was out there somewhere, and that made me cramp with nerves. At least he was running. I’d disturbed him. Was he as scared of me as I was of him?

I decided to leave my skis. Preparing to go, I had a sudden impulse to check that I was alone in the shed. I flicked on my torch and shone it around. As it cut through the darkness I reassured myself there was no one else. But then I caught sight of a strip of material, red, cotton, poking from beside the nearest cooker. I froze. Was it attached to a person? It looked limp, more like discarded clothing. I played the light straight on it, and nothing moved. I wanted to go over and pick it up but I was too scared. What if I walked straight into a trap? I turned and ran instead, out of the building, up a street away from the harbour, a different street to the one I’d been in before, my arms pumping and legs moving with a will of their own, my head swivelling to see I wasn’t being followed.

I had no idea where I was. I ran up one street with sheds, then another with houses. Finally, like a miracle, the snowmobile came into view. I grabbed the helmet from the handlebars, and flung it on. As I took off I slid the rusty knife under a strap on the seat in front of me, within easy reach.

As soon as I was a distance from Fredelighavn, I plucked out my phone from my bag. No black dots on the screen – out of range. After several more minutes I checked again – the signal was there, but weak. I tried to call Georgia but it wouldn’t connect. I phoned Travis instead and was thankful when he picked up instantly.

‘There was someone here,’ I blurted. ‘A man.’

‘Laura, is that you?’ Travis sounded alarmed.

‘Travis, did you hear? There was someone here.
At Fredelighavn.
Someone who didn’t want to be seen.’

Travis was silent. I could hear him breathing.

‘Just . . . Travis, I want you to know in case something happens to me. And if it does, you must tell my boss what I’ve just told you. Georgia Spiros.’

‘Laura, calm down. Start again. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. But there was someone in the blubber cookery. I thought they were stalking me but now I’m not sure. They shouldn’t have been there and they certainly didn’t want to be seen. So who were they and what were they doing?’

•  •  •

Alliance came into view, like a modernist painting in the ice. Travis was waiting in the doorway of the shed. I slipped the knife into my bag as I approached.

‘Laura, you had me worried.’

I stood up from the snowmobile, my body so cold it felt like it would snap in half.

‘What happened down there?’ he asked, frowning.

Now I was back, I just wanted to call Georgia.

‘Let’s talk about it tonight? Right now I need to get warm.’

‘Come on,’ Travis said reassuringly. ‘I’ll walk you to your room.’

5

I
woke struggling, lashing out with my arms. When I opened my eyes I was horrified I wasn’t alone. A man dressed in black jeans, a black V-neck jumper and a Venetian cat mask was standing over me, backing away. And beneath the sheets I was naked.

‘Hey, eh, it’s okay,’ he stuttered. I screamed.

‘Eh, don’t do that!’

His gloved hands ripped at the mask and pulled it off. It was Travis.

‘What the hell were you doing?’ I demanded.

‘It’s okay.’

‘Stop saying that.’

Travis was breathing hard.

‘What are you doing in my room?’

‘I knocked for ages. When I couldn’t raise you . . . I’m sorry. I just thought after what you’d been through today . . . I panicked. And you never did finish telling me what happened down there. Your door was unlocked, so I came in. I was trying to wake you, I was really worried.’

I stared at him. It was an absolute unspoken law in Antarctica never to enter anyone’s room uninvited. At base everyone lived close by, so the little privacy there was came in one’s room. It was sacrosanct space, even if the door wasn’t locked. My mind ticked over. I’d come in, thrown myself in a hot shower and then dropped into bed, about to phone Georgia. I must have fallen asleep. I’d assumed the door locked automatically as it felt so much like a hotel, which I now realised was foolish of me. At my own base I’d never need to lock up, but at Alliance I wouldn’t ever have had the door open knowingly.

‘Please go, Travis,’ I said, feeling completely vulnerable.

He took a few steps towards the door and then stopped. ‘It’s almost eleven o’clock. Are you still coming to the theme night?’

I checked my watch, alarmed. I’d slept for hours. The last thing I wanted was to go to a party, but I’d promised Travis and I hated breaking my word to anyone. And my instincts told me his concern was genuine – even if my rational thoughts were far more wary. ‘Okay. Why don’t you go back to your room and I’ll come and get you?’

Travis nodded, relieved. ‘Take as much time as you need.’ He indicated a fancy-dress outfit on a chair – a bright red leotard that looked homemade, and a holster with jewelled guns. ‘It was the best I could find, sorry. It’s a superhero. And I brought you some food before it had all gone.’ There was a bowl covered by a plate, and a spoon and fork, sitting on my desk. Travis closed the door, and I sprang up with the sheet around me and pulled a latch across. There was no other lock, the door being operated by an electronic card. It was so unusual that it didn’t lock automatically when you were inside. A creepy detail designed by Connaught?

As I lifted the plate, the delicious aroma of spaghetti Bolognese met me. I gulped the pasta down gratefully, and then I threw on my outfit – bulking up the leotard with my own thick black woollen tights and a warm shirt beneath it. I attached the cowboy holster, shuddering at the thought of the rusty knife in my bag and what had happened today. I put on my boots, a cap, scarf and coat.

Before I left I phoned Georgia, but she didn’t pick up. I sent an email, telling her about the man and the odd behaviour of the penguins and seals; asking her to call me.

•  •  •

The air was freezing and a deep blue light hung over the glistening ice. It was almost midnight by the time Travis and I arrived at the party, which was still in full swing. At the door Travis’s friend Moose – his moose T-shirt now coupled with a pair of moose horns on his head – offered a choice of masks. He had the glazed expression of someone who’d drunk too much alcohol. Travis already had his Venetian cat mask; I took a simple piece of black cardboard that hid my eyes.

‘I hadn’t realised it was a masked ball,’ I said as Travis crooked his arm through mine and drew me close.

‘Aren’t we all in masks down here all the time, anyway?’ he whispered.

‘Why do you say that?’ I tried to keep my voice steady.

‘Just joking. Let’s get a drink.’

I ordered us two strong whiskies and found they weren’t on the house after all.

‘Only white wine, sorry,’ said a sweet skinny boy behind the bar, his arms so thin and strong you could see the sinews. His sandy hair was cut stylishly around a narrow face, and he wore a black velvet mask through which his green eyes peered. He introduced himself as Guy. ‘Any spirits are full cost.’

‘Guy, start a tab for me,’ I said.

‘Way to go, Laura.’ Travis’s teeth shone white beneath his sequined cat’s head. He slapped me on the back. Hard. He was over-excited. The only man here with a date. I could feel eyes upon us. The band seemed to be made up of scientists and they were playing very daggy cover tunes. To my horror the lead singer was Connaught. He had a deep, hypnotic voice and wore a beaked mask and a body-hugging leotard.

‘This is more like Venetian Carnevale,’ I said.

Travis shrugged. ‘We have limited outfits. We do Venetian Carnevale quite often. I suppose it’s always a bit of a variation. But you look different.’ He stroked my arm and I pulled away, aware of how much younger he was.

‘You know I think of you like a little brother,’ I said and he looked alarmed. ‘I just want to be friends, Travis. Is that okay?’

His lips tensed. I could see he was hurt, even behind the mask. But he pretended otherwise.

‘Of course. That’s what we are. So what happened today? You gave me a scare, Laura. And then I guess I gave you one.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘But what
did
happen?’

I thought for a minute. I was tired and he
had
entered my room uninvited. ‘Another time,’ I said. ‘And thanks for the food. It was very thoughtful. Shall we dance?’

Travis moved well on the dance floor, which was just the dining room with the tables and chairs pushed against the walls. He kept pressing closer and I kept moving him away. My eyes were on the scientists who were grooving around me, generally looking like idiots as they swayed and stomped along. All were wearing masks. Most seemed like they’d been drinking.

‘So why’s your fantasy a cat?’ I asked as I moved quickly to avoid Travis touching me again.

‘We always had cats growing up. I love them. I love penguins and whales too. But a cat’s sexier, don’t you think?’

I had to admit that in his well-fitting black jeans and tight V-neck jumper revealing a strong, toned chest, I noticed his muscles and was less aware of his puppy fat. And the more I looked, the less I saw any overweight bulges. Maybe I’d been mistaken and thought he was pudgy because of the way he’d been dressing? We all wore a lot of layers down here.

Right now, Travis’s physique seemed very desirable. Romances were common in Antarctica and could just be short-term. What went on in the ice, could stay in the ice, no strings attached. But the last thing I wanted was a holiday romance with my little brother. Therapy bills would cost a fortune in years to come if that happened.

I quickly looked around the room, wondering if the man who had been in the blubber cookery was here, dancing, watching. Knowing who I was and enjoying the fact that I didn’t know him. Or did I? Had we met? Was he one of the horrible scientists from the first night? I tried to find them in the crowd. With the masks and outfits, I couldn’t tell if they were here. The image of the red material by the vat flashed before me. It could have been a T-shirt; the more I thought about it, the more convinced I became. Had the man been trying to retrieve it? Something that gave away he’d been there? I closed my eyes and tried to picture the silhouette and the size of the man as he fled. He was medium height and thickset. Fit. There were at least two dozen men in the room who matched that description.