Melt Page 11

  ‘A bear has been here,’ he says. ‘Broke the door.’

  A bear? Perhaps I am dreaming this. I want to ask if it’s safe, but my mouth seems to be all frozen up too.

  Yutu puts me down gently, propped up against the wall. He disappears for a few minutes, then returns with an armful of things from the snowmobile. I feel my eyes closing.

  ‘Bea! Stay awake,’ he says.

  I watch. Unable to help. All my energy is concentrated on keeping my eyes open. He gets out the survival blanket.

  ‘Try to sit up,’ he says. Then he carefully leans me forwards and wraps the silver blanket in a cocoon around me. He unfolds a caribou skin and lays a sleeping bag on top. He helps me to wriggle my feet and legs inside, still wrapped in the survival blanket. He crouches down opposite me. I try to focus on his face in the gloom. I can see his eyes shining. Looking into mine with concern.

  ‘Can you clench your hands into fists, then your toes, then your hands?’ he asks. ‘Keep doing it while I light the stove. I’m going to make a hot drink.’

  I try to clench my fingers, but they feel stiff and weak. I can’t feel my toes properly. I watch Yutu set up the stove, then gather two large pieces of wood from the floor. He leans them across the doorway, almost filling the gap.

  I hear him say something under his breath as he rummages through one of the bags. He turns on the lantern torch and a soft light fills the room. He mixes something in a cup, then walks over to me. My arms are wrapped in several layers. He lifts the cup to my lips and tips it slowly. I drink a little bit. It’s warm and slightly salty. He pauses, then lifts the cup again, until I’ve drunk it all.

  ‘We should have stopped earlier,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry.’

  I concentrate on clenching my frozen fingers and toes.

  He comes back with another cup, steam billowing out. As I sip, there is a flicker of warmth in my stomach, but my feet and hands are still numb.

  I remember doing the same things for Yutu after he’d fallen through the sea ice.

  ‘Do I have hypothermia?’ I try to ask, but my frozen face makes the words sound slurred.

  Yutu seems to understand anyway. ‘You have hypothermia, but not badly. It’s my fault.’

  He gently lifts one more cupful of soup to my lips.

  ‘Are you starting to feel better?’ In the lantern torchlight glow, I can see that his eyes are smiling.

  I nod. ‘Now I feel cold. Before I couldn’t feel anything.’

  ‘That’s a start.’ He scoops some snow from the opposite corner of the cabin and puts it in a small pan above the stove.

  My eyes are drawn to the broken doorway beyond. ‘Did you say something about bears?’

  Yutu puts a lid on the pan and looks up.

  ‘Yes. They break into cabins looking for food. They have less to eat,’ says Yutu. ‘The sea ice melts much earlier than it used to and so it’s harder for them to hunt seals. They often go closer to villages and towns.’

  With a shock, I realize he is talking about polar bears. A polar bear smashed in the door to this hut looking for food.

  ‘Might it come back?’ I ask quietly.

  He looks around. ‘There’s a lot of snow inside the cabin, so there’s probably been no door for a couple of days. It will have gone back to its lair. But if it smells food, it might return. Bears can cover big distances. We will need to stay awake tonight.’

  ‘To listen for the bear?’

  ‘To listen for the bear and because it’s going to get a lot colder. There’s no cloud cover. It’s not a good night to have a hole in the door. It will be much warmer in here than outside though.’

  He carries a few armfuls of snow from the opposite corner of the cabin and packs them in front of the makeshift door, then wedges another piece of wood on top. Now only a narrow strip of sky is visible.

  He turns off the stove and joins me on the caribou rug, with a mug of tea. I look down to see the remains of my soup frozen solid in the cup.

  He sips slowly, tearing off pieces of bread to eat.

  Yutu doesn’t seem to mind if we don’t speak. Stella and her friends would fill every silence with whispers and giggles. Conversations were different too. Not comfortable and relaxed. More like quicksand, drawing you in only to suck you under. Innocent questions would trap you, compliments weren’t really compliments.

  ‘I guess we’re even now,’ I say after a few minutes.

  Yutu tilts his head. ‘Even for what?’

  ‘Rescuing each other from hypothermia.’

  He chuckles.

  ‘It will be easy for us to end up like that again tonight if we are not careful. We have to get you to your mum in one piece.’

  ‘Preferably not frozen.’

  I try to imagine what Mum would think if she could see me now, in a snowy cabin in the Arctic, wrapped in emergency blankets and caribou skin.

  ‘You said that you travel a lot with your family,’ says Yutu. ‘That sounds amazing. I’ve never really left my village.’

  The kids at school always ask where I’ve moved from, then they want to know where else I’ve been. It’s never long before they lose interest or start to think that I’m bragging.

  ‘You eat a lot of aeroplane food and spend a lot of time packing,’ I say.

  Yutu nods. He’s waiting for more.

  ‘We have lived in lots of different places. Near deserts, in the mountains, in a few big cities.’

  ‘Wow,’ says Yutu, sounding impressed. ‘You must have seen so much.’

  ‘I guess so.’ I pause. ‘I actually wish we didn’t move around so much.’ I sense Yutu watching me. ‘I just start to get used to a place and then we leave again.’

  ‘How long do you normally stay?’

  ‘About a year, sometimes a bit longer.’

  ‘Do you pack all your stuff up every time you move?’

  ‘Mum has a military-style system. She has spread-sheets for every room. They’re colour-coded.’ Now I’ve started talking I don’t seem able to stop.

  ‘What about your friends? Can you go back to visit them much? You must know people in so many countries.’

  I’m about to say that I do, and it’s hard to fit them all in. But I hear myself saying something else entirely.

  ‘I don’t really have any friends.’ The words seem to hover around me.

  Yutu doesn’t react. Maybe he isn’t surprised. ‘I did have a best friend when I was little. We played together all the time. Her name was Alex. I was heartbroken when we moved away, but I made another best friend. The next time we moved it was even worse. We sent messages to each other for a while, but eventually she stopped writing.’ I pull the caribou skin up closer to my chin. ‘At the school I’m at now, some people actually seem to hate me. I’ve only been there four weeks.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ says Yutu. ‘Did something happen?’

  ‘Not really.’ I think for a bit. ‘I guess I didn’t try all that hard.’

  ‘I’ve had the same friends since I was born. I’ve never had to try and make new ones.’

  ‘Lucky you. It must be amazing to have friends who know everything about you.’

  ‘I guess so. I’ve never really thought about it. They have just always been there.’ He is silent for a bit, then he says, ‘I do think about leaving. I think about living somewhere else. I think about it all the time. I can’t imagine being without Grandma or my friends, or not seeing them every day. But we’re not exactly into the same stuff. Maybe it’s just me, I’m the odd one out and I’d be the odd one out somewhere else, too. But if I stay in my village, I’ll never know.’

  It’s the longest I’ve ever heard Yutu speak in one go. He is still looking at me. Then he turns to stare through the gap at the top of the doorway for a while.

  ‘Isn’t there anyone you could be friends with?’

  I think about the jar of honey in my locker. ‘Maybe,’ I say quietly.

  Prey

  I open my eyes. I’m not sure wha
t woke me. I hear the gentle swish of wind. I see the snow on the ground and a faint strip of light at the top of the doorway and remember where I am.

  Yutu is next to me, under the caribou skin. His shoulder is level with my ear.

  ‘Bea, don’t move.’ He whispers so softly that his voice almost blends with the wind. ‘There’s something outside.’

  My blood runs cold.

  I strain to hear a noise through the walls, hardly daring to breathe.

  There is a snuffling sound. Moments later I hear the crump of snow compressed as something heavy walks across it, then bumps against the side of the hut. I feel the wall vibrate. I want to look at Yutu, but daren’t move. I take shallow breaths, trying not to let the sleeping bag rustle. I am aware that Yutu is moving, slowly, soundlessly. His body is no longer touching mine. The soft crumping sound starts again. I hear sniffing. It’s right in front of us, by the door. The planks move as something nudges against them.

  In a split second Yutu leaps up, shouting, and shining his halogen torch at the gap in the door. I hear a grunting noise outside. Yutu carries on yelling.

  There are thuds on the ground next to the hut, then silence.

  I feel a flutter in my chest as Yutu goes right up to the door and shines his torch outside. After a few minutes he comes to sit down on the caribou skin.

  Neither of us speaks. Once more the only sound is the wind.

  I turn to look at Yutu. He is staring at the doorway, motionless. His face sculpted by the torchlight.

  He seems to remember I am there.

  ‘So the bear came back for another look,’ he says quietly, still looking towards the door.

  My heart thumps a little faster again.

  ‘Do you think it’s nearby?’

  ‘I don’t know. It wasn’t expecting a nasty, noisy bright light. We just have to hope it’s not desperate enough to try again. It might feel braver second time round.’

  Yutu goes over to the bags and takes something from a side pocket. ‘If it does come back, shine this and make as much noise as you can,’ he says, passing me a torch.

  I switch the torch on and off. It’s like the one Dad bought me for our hiking trips as my emergency flashlight. I bet he never imagined me in this kind of emergency. I feel an ache in my chest as I think about how much I want to speak to him. To tell him what’s happened. To see his face alive with surprise, with pride, with amazement, when he hears about our journey.

  A warm tear rolls down my cheek, leaving an icy trail in its wake.

  ‘I’m sorry I fell asleep,’ I say, turning to look at Yutu. ‘I know we both need to stay alert.’

  He’s sitting very still, staring through the gap at the top of the doorway, a faint smile on his lips. For a second, I wonder if he’s actually frozen, like the soup.

  I follow his gaze, and gasp.

  Beyond the doorway, the sky is dancing. Greenish ribbons of flickering, whirling light illuminate the night.

  ‘Aurora borealis,’ says Yutu softly. ‘The Northern Lights. You often see them on clear nights.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whisper. ‘Like Mother Nature is playing while people sleep.’

  ‘Or the spirits of those who have died, playing a ball game with a walrus’s head as the ball.’

  I look at Yutu. ‘What?’

  ‘That’s the story people tell here. It’s the legend.’ He chuckles softly. ‘I didn’t think it sounded strange until just now. We have stories for everything in nature. They’re a good way to pass the time in winter.’

  ‘I want to hear more of them,’ I say.

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘But in return, you have to tell me some too.’

  I think about ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ or ‘Puss in Boots’. Maybe the stories I grew up with sound weird too.

  I am going to make it through the Arctic night like Yutu’s ancestors. By sharing stories.

  Dawn

  My eyes are drawn once more to the gap at the top of the doorframe. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but the oblong of sky seems a shade lighter. Yutu follows my gaze.

  ‘Sunrise. You noticed before I did. Nature is claiming you back,’ he says. ‘Let’s have something to eat. Then we should leave. A hungry bear might find it hard to resist the smell of seal soup again.’

  ‘And maybe Miki wasn’t able to convince everyone to start searching in the opposite direction,’ I add darkly. ‘Someone might have picked up our trail.’

  Yutu nods and sets up the stove in a dry patch on the floor.

  For the first time since we arrived, I ease myself out of the sleeping bag and pull on my snow boots. I stamp my feet and jump up and down a few times, trying to get my blood circulating.

  ‘Letting the bear know it’s breakfast time?’ Yutu smiles, poking a frozen lump in the saucepan.

  I roll up the sleeping bag and blankets and stuff everything back into the bag. Yutu passes me a cup of soup and some bread.

  While I dip the bread and eat, I feel a flutter in my stomach as I think of the journey ahead, and whether we are being followed, or there’s someone waiting for us at the other end. Getting closer to home makes me more nervous that something might go wrong. Anything seems possible after what happened to Dad.

  Yutu packs up the stove and then places something in the corner of the room, on a piece of paper which had been wrapped around the bread. It’s the mittens.

  ‘It doesn’t really make up for having your cabin ripped up by a bear, but Grandma would still want me to leave them.’

  I hadn’t thought about the owner of the cabin, and how hard it might be to fix up a cabin, miles from the nearest town.

  ‘It’s going to be very cold until the sun makes it over the horizon,’ says Yutu. ‘But I’ll be going slowly until the light is better, which should help a bit.’

  He tugs at the board covering the top of the doorway. It’s frozen to the walls of the hut and comes away with a loud pop. The second board is wedged deep in the snow he piled up last night. I rush over to help. It’s hard to get a good grip through my sealskin mittens, but with both of us pulling, the second plank comes away.

  As we step outside, icy air steals my breath away. It was so much warmer in the cabin, despite the snow.

  I push my hood back a little and scan the horizon, like Yutu does. The sky glows pinkish orange. In the pale light, the snowy landscape is a thundery grey mass. The wind whispers and a gentle rhythmic creaking sound rises up from the sea ice in the bay. Otherwise there is silence. It’s beautiful. Dad would love it here.

  I spot Yutu bending down near the back of the snowmobile and realize that the bear might have damaged it.

  I walk over to see what he’s looking at.

  Pressed deep into the snow, next to one of the skis, is an enormous paw print. I could fit both my hands inside the dip.

  ‘We were lucky,’ says Yutu. ‘It was a big bear.’ He straightens up and looks over at the hills behind the hut.

  I have a strange sensation of what it might feel like to be prey. A bear could be watching us, waiting for the moment to attack. Even a snowmobile couldn’t outrun a bear over bumpy ground.

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Yutu.

  He turns the ignition and the engine revs with an explosion of sound to shatter the peace.

  Melt

  Our track snakes along the edge of a shallow hill. It’s smoother than the rest of the route so far. Perhaps well-used by whoever owns the cabin.

  A fiery strip of orange creeps above the horizon. The thundery grey hills turn pale yellow. I marvel at how I used to think the Arctic was white.

  The snowmobile begins to slow and Yutu points to something up ahead. There are two peaks, higher than the others.

  ‘We are almost there!’ I shout.

  Instinctively I turn to look at the route behind, but I see no dark shape. No one following us.

  We race through the snow and I realize I’m enjoying the speed. My muscles ache less, and we haven’t been on the move long enough for
me to feel really cold.

  We glide down a hill, gathering momentum. Yutu steers left to avoid some rocks at the bottom. When we are almost level with them, I realize something is wrong. He tries to slow down but we skid from side to side. Instead of pressing harder on the brakes, he accelerates again. There is a cracking sound. The skis hiss like we’re driving through slush. I look again at the rocks and realize they aren’t rocks at all. They are dark patches of water. We’re crossing a river which has begun to thaw. The right-hand ski is partially submerged. The engine is whining at full revs but we’re losing speed as the ice softens beneath us.

  Yutu drives us forwards, leaning to the left so there is less weight on the right-hand ski. All it would take is one big crack beneath the machine and it would go under, pulling us with it.

  The right side of the snowmobile drops down and I breathe in sharply, but there is enough traction at the front to pull us clear of the slush. We are almost at the opposite bank, where the ground rises steeply. I cling to Yutu, leaning left or right when he does.

  We go over a big bump and the whine of the engine drops to a deeper sound. The skis are on solid ground again, but the added grip propels us forwards too fast. We spin to the right. Yutu turns left to try and straighten up but we keep on spinning. There is a loud crunching noise and the snowmobile jerks to a stop. Yutu lurches onto the handlebars at the front as I tumble onto the snow.

  A few seconds pass. All I can hear is my breathing, fast and shallow, amplified within my hood. My knee hurts, and my thigh, from when I fell before. Yutu is silent. I push my hood back and look up at the snowmobile. He is slumped across the front of the machine.

  I get to my feet and take a few deep breaths. I kneel in the snow and gently lift his hood. His eyes are closed. I try to stay calm. I shouldn’t move him in case he’s damaged his back or neck, but I can’t leave him like this for long. While I am staring at his face, trying to work out what to do, his eyelids flutter. He opens his eyes, and looks at me, sunlight reflecting golden brown in his eyes.

  ‘Does anything hurt?’ I ask.

  He blinks, then pushes himself up from the handlebars. ‘My chest,’ he says. He rubs his hand across his ribs and winces. ‘Lucky I’m wearing so much padding.’