Free Out of the Ice by Ann Turner Page A

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