Free Poison Bay by Belinda Pollard Page B

might help,” she hedged.
    Adam said, “And we need to try and get over this mountain. How about I carry her? I’ll give her a piggy-back, if she can hang on. If one of you guys takes my pack, and the other takes Sharon’s, we can at least keep moving.”
    Kain said, “It’s too dangerous scouting a route in this weather with two packs on. We have to get over that pass. Hurry!” He turned and started back up the mountain, leaving the load-sharing problem behind him.
    Jack stared at his retreating back.
    Callie said, “It’s okay. He’s probably right about a scout needing mobility. I can carry Sharon’s pack, clipped to the front of mine. Jack, can you manage Adam’s as well as your own?”
    “I’ll give it a go,” he replied. “Kain’s definitely right about one thing—we need to get over this pass before the snow gets any worse.”
    ***
    Another hour, and the wind had risen, and the top of the pass seemed as far away as ever—what little they could see of it. The snow swirled into their faces, stinging their skin. Jack’s eyelashes were working overtime to keep the snow out of his eyes, and he knew they would soon freeze into hard spikes. He longed for his snow goggles, lying in the back of a cupboard at home, souvenir of an ill-judged ski trip seven years ago.
    His heart pounded with the effort of supporting the extra dragging weight of Adam’s rucksack as well as his own. Attached to his front, it banged forcefully on his knees each time he tried to reach a foot up to the next rock. He’d tried it on his back, but it pulled his center of gravity too far backwards, and threatened to send him tumbling down the mountainside to a messy death.
    Ahead of him, Callie labored with Sharon’s pack. She’d always complained about how she’d like to be petite, but her strong frame was a godsend today.
    A little further up, Adam kept making determined, laborious progress up the mountain with Sharon strapped to his back. He had begun with his arms hooked under her knees, as though piggy-backing a child, but she had been too weak to grip his shoulders effectively, and he’d also had no hands available to steady himself in a stumble on the uneven ground. Rachel had been the one to suggest they use a rope and a small tarp like a large papoose to strap Sharon on, and it was a much better solution.
    They hiked close together now, not strung out over a hundred meters or so, as they had done. They needed to be close to each other, and not just for emotional reasons. As the visibility dropped, it became all too easy to lose someone in the whiteout.

17

    “Peter!” Amber exclaimed, as he walked in the front door of his tiny police station. He’d been home for a quick shower to wash the anxiety of the flight away, and now he wanted to take the pulse of his station and his team.
    “You’re back early,” she said.
    “Quick, better look like you’re working.” He knew she’d take it as a joke, since she was the least idle person he’d ever met. As well as managing their watch house where offenders were detained before transfer to Invercargill, Amber was his front-desk interceptor and all-round source of the local knowledge no one else would tell him. A duffel bag lying on the floor against the counter caught his eye. “What’s this?”
    Amber nodded towards a woman sitting in their “waiting room”, a glorified name for two upright chairs off to the side. “It belongs to Mrs Carpenter. She’s just arrived from Brisbane. She says she’s staying here until she can see the officer in charge.”
    Peter raised one eyebrow at her, and turned to greet the woman in jeans and t-shirt now rising from one of the chairs. A slender, elegant woman, fairly sensible looking, but behind the fashionable glasses her eyes showed signs of recent tears. Tread carefully, Peter , he thought.
    “Peter Hubble.” He held out his hand to her. She shook it firmly and replied, “Ellen Carpenter.”
    “What seems to be the