Melt Page 6

  Excitement fizzes in my stomach. I want to leave before Mum decides this is a bad idea and Dad should go without me. A hundred cat cafés couldn’t offset that disappointment.

  ‘Dad! I’m ready,’ I shout in the direction of his office.

  After a minute or so Dad emerges, pale-faced. ‘Where’s Hester?’ he asks. Dad has never shown any interest in my cat.

  ‘She’s on my bed. Don’t forget to say goodbye to Mum, too,’ I add quietly. Perhaps a few days away will be good for Dad as well as for me. I know it’s a work trip, really, but even he can’t be glued to his laptop and fly a plane at the same time.

  Dad comes back downstairs with Mum. He heads to the door, picking up his bag on the way. I hadn’t noticed it sitting packed and ready beneath the coats.

  Mum gives me a hug. ‘Enjoy your adventure,’ she says. That’s all. No list of potential dangers to avoid. As I gather my things, she adds, ‘Look after Dad.’ The tone of her voice makes me look up. She is waiting for an answer.

  ‘Of course,’ I say, trying to sound more casual than I feel. ‘Dad doesn’t need me to look after him.’

  As I get into the car, Dad turns on the radio. He never listens to the radio. He tries a few different stations until he finds one playing music. He winces as the thumping baseline kicks in.

  ‘Do you mind if I flick through?’ I ask.

  ‘Go ahead,’ he says, sounding distracted.

  We drive the rest of the way listening to something good. Normally I would be delighted. Today, I wish Dad and I were chatting about wind speed and journey times, like we usually do before a flight.

  We breeze through the terminal. In fact, I have trouble keeping up with Dad. He almost seems to have forgotten I’m here.

  There is no one to escort us to our plane this time. I run-walk across the tarmac, my large bag thumping against my leg. We stow our things in the tiny baggage compartment and climb into the cockpit.

  Dad clips in and starts checking the instruments. He seems to relax a little.

  ‘Can you double-check the wind speed?’

  ‘One-two-eight-delta-foxtrot, you are cleared for take-off, no delays,’ crackles a voice through the radio.

  We taxi down the runway then gather speed. The G-force pushes me into my seat as the plane lifts then climbs, the engine whining as we ascend.

  After a few minutes we enter some light cloud. The plane rolls and bumps through the uneven pressure, then we break into clear sky.

  ‘How high?’ Dad asks.

  ‘4,500 feet,’ I say.

  ‘Good. We’ll stay at this altitude for most of the flight.’

  He stares ahead and his expression begins to harden. I don’t want serious Dad to return.

  ‘So what’s our ETA, Group Captain?’ I can’t believe I’ve actually said this.

  Dad takes a second to reply. ‘Flight time is around four hours. We should arrive well ahead of sunset.’

  ‘OK.’ I feel a flutter in my stomach, as I try to imagine landing in the Arctic.

  ‘What will I do while you’re working?’

  ‘The company has a local contact who’ll come to collect us.’ Dad pauses. For a second he seems lost in thought again. ‘I haven’t told them that you’re coming, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Tomorrow you can have a look around. We’ll be in one of the northernmost settlements. I think it’s pretty small, but there’ll be snow of course.’

  I smile. ‘How will we know when we’ve crossed into the Arctic Circle?’

  ‘Well, it depends. Some people say it’s where the treeline ends, so where it’s too cold for anything big to grow; others say it depends on the average temperature, or you could just follow our map coordinates. Most maps have a circle drawn on them, to show the area where the sun doesn’t rise for a whole twenty-four hours in mid-winter.’

  I love the idea of being on top of the world, literally.

  ‘So we won’t be near any big towns?’

  ‘We’ll be hundreds of miles from almost everyone else in the world. Humans have messed around with nearly every part of the planet, except the Arctic.’

  ‘So why are you going there for work?’

  Dad stares straight ahead, his lips pressed tightly together.

  ‘Nothing exciting. Just additional survey material.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time for a snack,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you see what’s in there?’ He points vaguely behind the seats, without turning round.

  I reach behind for a small sandwich bag, feeling confused. Dad wanted me to come, but I can’t help thinking he’d rather I wasn’t here.

  ‘We still have a way to go. Did you bring anything to do?’ he asks. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t remind you.’

  ‘Yeah, I have some music and a book,’ I say, passing him an apple. He puts it down without taking a bite.

  I finish mine in silence, then put my earphones in and rest my head against the window. Clouds merge to form a colossal bumpy duvet beneath us, obscuring my view of the ground. Thinner, wispier clouds spin out above. It’s not quite the fun trip I’d imagined, but with every passing second, I am travelling further away from new house, new school, new streets. I close my eyes.

  A sudden jolt startles me. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. The plane shudders again.

  I turn my head and see Dad gripping the side stick.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he says, ‘but I’m afraid we’ve hit some bumpy weather. There were medium winds forecast for the final part of our journey, but I’m afraid this is more like a Force Nine.’

  A cold wave passes down my back.

  ‘How far is the airport?’

  ‘We’re just beginning our descent.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘Keep an eye on the altimeter and airspeed and be ready to take the controls if there’s any kind of emergency.’

  I swallow. ‘OK.’

  Dad turns to look at me. He smiles. In an instant it’s gone, but it felt warm and reassuring, almost like a normal Dad smile.

  We’re surrounded by white. The clouds above and below have joined forces and we’re inside a giant foggy mist, travelling at 170 knots.

  ‘How can we land if we can’t see where we’re going?’ I say.

  ‘That’s why we have all these instruments,’ Dad says calmly. ‘You don’t actually need to be able to see, it’s just a lot easier.’

  ‘And safer?’ I ask.

  ‘If I’m not happy with our approach, I’ll pull up and we’ll try again. I programmed in the whole journey. The plane knows where it’s supposed to go.’

  The plane shudders and shakes in response. We drop a few feet and my stomach lurches. I clutch the edges of my leather seat. My palms are sweaty.

  As we descend, the engine makes a whiny noise.

  ‘What’s our altitude?’ Dad asks.

  ‘1,000 feet.’ I don’t think Dad needs me to check. He’s keeping me busy.

  The cloud seems thicker. It whips past the cockpit in smoky trails. As we reach 500 feet the plane develops a steady rattling sound.

  Dad continues with the landing routine.

  A dark shape appears within the swirling white. Without warning we emerge from the thickest cloud into a light mist. I can just make out the solid lines of a runway ahead. The dark shape is a building at the opposite end.

  ‘Flaps down,’ Dad says.

  The ground approaches fast. I feel the wind pushing us to the left as Dad tries to hold us steady. The back tyres bump down, then the front, and the engine roars as Dad begins to brake. The propellers slow and we come to a gentle stop.

  ‘That wasn’t so bad after all,’ Dad says. He turns to look at me. ‘Well done, Wing Commander. I’m going to recommend you for promotion.’

  ‘That was bumpier than I thought it would be,’ I say, trying to sound calm.

  ‘A bit different to the forecast,’ Dad says. ‘But it’s already starting to lift a little.’

  I look up and
see that the mist is thinning out.

  ‘Welcome to the Arctic,’ Dad says. ‘Why don’t you stay here while I find out if my contact has arrived to show us where we’ll be spending the night. No point in us both freezing.’

  Dad trudges through the snow towards the small building. It makes me realize that airports don’t need much to function. This one doesn’t even have an air traffic control tower. There is only one other plane, a four-seater, similar to ours.

  While I wait for Dad, I think about what the settlement will be like, and how people keep their houses warm when it’s so cold outside. I’m glad Dad insisted on thermals now, and endless layers. I pause my daydream when I realize that he’s been gone for a while. Maybe ten minutes. I unclip and put my coat on, zipping it right up to the top.

  As I push open the door, icy air rushes in. I pull my hood up and step onto the snow. It’s packed down hard, but not slippery.

  I follow Dad’s footsteps towards the building, my snow boots crunching on the frozen ground.

  When I’m about ten metres away, I stop in my tracks. There’s another sound. I strain to hear it above the wind. It’s voices. Raised voices, coming from the building. I start walking again, slowly. One voice sounds like Dad’s, then I hear someone shouting. There is a thump from inside the building, like something hitting the wall. I gasp, and run the last few metres, crouching down below the only window, my heart thudding.

  I hear a man’s voice again. Not Dad’s. I can’t make out what he’s saying, he isn’t shouting but he sounds angry. Dad starts to talk. It’s easier to tune in to his words. I hear something about lying. The man says no, then Dad replies. The man shouts. There is another thump. I can’t bear not seeing. I stand up and peer through the glass.

  I can’t work out what’s going on. There are three people inside. One man is gripping Dad. Dad is wrestling to get free, then I see him slump to the ground.

  For some reason I cannot move. My legs feel heavy. I look at Dad, lying motionless on the floor. It feels like minutes have passed, but it must be a split second. The man who was holding Dad is huge. He looks over to the window. Our eyes lock, his widen in surprise.

  ‘I think we have another problem,’ I hear him say slowly.

  The other man follows his gaze, and his eyes rest on me.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ says the smaller man. ‘Get her. We don’t know what she heard.’

  The big man moves towards the door. Suddenly my feet unglue themselves.

  I turn and run.

  The door scrapes open behind me. I look left and right, my chest burning as I suck in the freezing air. There’s nothing but white on either side. Nothing but snow. The only shape to interrupt the emptiness ahead, is our plane.

  ‘We just want to talk to you!’ the big man shouts.

  I don’t believe him.

  ‘Who are you?’ he shouts.

  He swears, then I hear the crunch-crunch of running feet. He is coming after me. I must not turn round, it will slow me down. I’m only ten metres from the plane now. I sprint towards the passenger door, then at the last minute swerve towards the pilot’s side. I fumble with the handle and swing the door open.

  Through the cockpit window I can see the big man powering across the runway. I start the engine. I have no plan except to get away from him. The plane roars into life. The propellers start to spin. I drive forwards. The man waits until I’m level with him, then jogs alongside the passenger door. He grabs the handle and rattles it. As the plane gathers speed, he’s forced to jump aside, but I’m running out of runway. Ahead is the building and the other plane. I need to turn around, which means slowing down. I steer hard to the right.

  The big man loops to one side, avoiding the propellers, then he sprints towards my door. The smaller man has joined him. He shouts something, and they both stop running.

  For a moment I am relieved, then I begin to understand. They don’t need to chase me. There is nowhere for me to go. Eventually the plane will run out of fuel as I taxi up and down, and I will have to stop. Then Dad and I will both be in that little room with no one to help us.

  The building is behind me again. The engine idling as I inch forwards. I press my face against the window and see both men standing at the side of the runway, waiting for me to give up. The door to the building swings open and Dad staggers out, clutching his head. He is looking at the plane. He shouts something towards me. I can just make it out above the drumming of the engine.

  ‘Go!’ he’s shouting. ‘Take off!’

  The smaller man runs over to Dad. The bigger man starts walking in my direction. Perhaps he’s decided not to take any chances.

  I realize, with horror, that Dad wouldn’t tell me to go if there were other options.

  He thinks I can do it. The clouds have lifted. The visibility has improved. I line the plane up in the middle of the runway, my heart thumping, and begin to accelerate. I imagine Dad is sitting next to me, running through the flight checklist. I begin to feel strangely calm. When I concentrate on what I need to do, there is no space for panic.

  The speedometer dial reaches seventy knots. There is a familiar heavy feeling as the plane lifts. The wheels leave the ground. I watch the altimeter tick past one hundred feet.

  I am flying a plane. Solo. I push that thought from my head and focus on procedures.

  I check airspeed, pitch and altitude. Visibility is OK beneath the clouds. I won’t be able to rely on the altimeter because the air pressure may have risen since the storm passed. I need to stay low but cannot stay too low in case there is a hill or a tall building. The plane purrs through the air.

  I look at the fuel gauge and my heart skips a beat. The tank is almost empty.

  I scan the ground beneath. I need somewhere flat, but the landscape is a patchwork of snow-covered hills. The endless white makes my eyes ache. An alarm sounds. The fuel gauge is flashing.

  I look desperately from left to right. A horseshoe-shaped ridge rises up ahead. I can’t risk climbing higher with an empty fuel tank. To my left I spot a dark shape in the snow, like a small building.

  As I focus on it, my perspective sharpens. Within the endless white, I can see that close to the hut, the ground flattens out.

  I steer the plane round towards it. I check the altimeter and airspeed. I’m going too fast. I pull back as the plane descends. It’s wobbling from side to side. I try to steady it, but it’s hard to concentrate on everything at once. I stop looking at the altimeter and concentrate on what I can see. I’m still going too fast. A few metres above the snow, I pull up again. The back wheels hit the ground hard. The plane jerks from side to side. I pull on the brakes and the plane starts to spin slowly sideways, towards the building. I hold onto the controls. There’s nothing more I can do. The plane lurches to the right, and my head hits the window.

  Lost

  I open my eyes. My head hurts. At first I can’t work out where I am, then I remember Dad in the building, the men chasing me. Flying the plane on my own. I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious. Maybe only a few minutes. It’s still light.

  I lift my head from the window and gently touch my forehead. There is a smooth lump near my right temple.

  My seat is leaning to one side. The plane has come to a stop against a small ridge. It’s resting on the right-hand wing, which means the wheels must have come off. I’m lucky the fuel tank was empty and nothing caught fire.

  I stare out at the snowy landscape and try to think straight. Who were those men? What have they done with Dad? They weren’t expecting to see me. Were they expecting to see Dad, or did he surprise them too?

  I shiver. I realize it’s not just because I’m frightening myself. I am cold. I have no idea where I am. I have no idea where the nearest settlement is. I saw nothing from the air. No roads, nothing. All I have is what’s inside the plane. I try not to panic.

  I look through the window at the hut. This feels like a pointless place to build anything. It doesn’t look big enough to
live in, but if you did build a hut in the middle of the Arctic, so far from everywhere, you must have a good reason. It might have something useful inside.

  I try to ignore the fact that the sky is growing gloomier. Soon it will be dark.

  I don’t want to leave the plane and step into the icy wind, but I need to see what’s in the hut.

  I put my hood up, then open the door. The plane has tilted so much the snow is up to the level of the door. It was cold inside the plane. Outside, the freezing air stings my face.

  I stand next to the hut for a minute, listening. The only sound I hear is the wind.

  The door isn’t bolted. I lift the latch and push. The hinges creak. There are no windows. I have to let my eyes adjust to the gloom. I begin to make out shapes. There is a pan hanging on the wall. On the floor is some kind of bed, or pile of animal furs.

  I walk over for a closer look. I bend down, and then leap back in shock. Within the pile of furs, is a boy’s face, framed by a fur hood. His skin is pale. He looks about the same age as me.

  I stand still and wait for my heart to slow a little, then I creep back towards the boy. I kneel down next to the furs. His lips are bluish. I remember learning that you can find out if someone’s breathing by holding a mirror above their mouth, to see if it steams up. I have no mirror, but I could check for a pulse. I don’t want to move the furs to find his wrist. I know there are other places where your pulse can be strong, like your neck, or your temples. I reach over and place two fingers on his temple, level with his left eye.

  I feel nothing, then just as I am about to remove my fingers, there is a gentle bump. I keep very still. There is another bump. He is alive.

  Why is he here?

  I look around the hut for clues. There are a few wet patches on the floor. Some of them are from the snow on my boots. The others were already there. I don’t think he can have been in the hut very long.

  I lift the edge of the rug to see what he is wearing. Perhaps that will give me some idea of where he’s come from. It’s surprisingly heavy. In the dim light, I can just make out that he is wearing ski trousers and some kind of thick jacket. He is also wearing snow boots. One of them has a puddle of water beneath it. I touch the edge of the ski trousers. They are soaking wet. I look at his face again. His lips are still a faint bluish colour. I think he might have hypothermia. Dad taught me about it. If you go for long hikes, it’s something you need to look out for. Thinking about Dad makes tears prick my eyes. I try to focus on what I know. If you get really cold, then sometimes it’s not possible to warm you up again. Not unless you’re in hospital. There’s no hospital near here. I’m the only chance he has.