Melt Page 8

  The ridge has dropped away. For a minute I stare, then the meaningless shapes beyond it begin to make sense.

  ‘The bay,’ says Yutu, still pointing to a wide arc filled with lumpy ice and darker, flatter patches which might be water.

  As the bay magically configures before my eyes, I become aware of a low humming noise. I spin around, trying to work out where it’s coming from.

  Yutu stands motionless beside me, scanning the horizon.

  ‘Aeroplane,’ he says softly.

  A wave of panic passes through me.

  Yutu slides the bag round so that it’s hanging across his front.

  ‘Do you think you can run?’ he asks. I nod.

  Gripping the bag with his left arm, he sets off.

  I scramble after him. As I pick up speed my feet start to slip. The treads on my boots are packed with snow. Before I can slow down my left foot slides away. I tumble forwards to the ground and roll over a few times. My thigh hits something hard beneath the snow. The pain takes my breath away. For a few seconds I lie still, waiting for the pain to ease.

  The humming sound has morphed into the throb of an engine. I turn to see the dark line of an aeroplane in the distance. The dark line doesn’t move left or right. It is heading straight towards us. I get to my feet and try to catch up with Yutu. My thigh burns with every step.

  Yutu slows down and waits for me where the path drops more steeply. The drone of the plane drowns out the crunch of my boots through the snow. I begin to slip again but Yutu reaches out his hand. Together we run towards a grove of stunted pine trees. The plane is so close that I can hear the thump of the propellers. Yutu pulls me towards the edge of the thicket, past the snow-crusted branches. He lets go of my hand and dives between the thin trunks, lying flat on his stomach. I dive down beside him and rest my head on the ground. The tallest tree is no higher than Yutu, but layers of snow cling to the thin branches making a dense canopy.

  My chest heaves up and down. The noise from the plane vibrates through my body. It must be flying very low. Drifts of powdery snow shiver from the trees as it passes overhead, engines roaring. Yutu reaches out his hand for mine. Through two layers of gloves, I feel the gentle pressure.

  I start counting. After twenty seconds, the plane will be a kilometre away. Too far to see us. But when I reach five seconds, the pitch of the engine begins to change.

  ‘It’s coming back,’ I say, panic rising in my chest.

  The rumble of the engine gets louder, and I fight the urge to run.

  I feel Yutu squeeze my hand again. ‘They can’t land here,’ he shouts.

  The plane roars past for a second time. I start counting. When I reach thirty, the engine noise has faded to a low humming noise.

  I become aware of the chill seeping through my clothes.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Yutu’s voice draws me back to the snowy copse.

  I sit up and nod.

  ‘Planes don’t usually fly down the coast,’ he says.

  ‘Or do U-turns in the middle of nowhere,’ I add.

  We are silent for a few minutes. Neither of us mentions who might have been flying it. We both know.

  Yutu says, ‘They will have seen your plane.’ He is staring at me. His dark eyes flick around my face. ‘They probably know you survived the landing, now, too.’

  My heart starts to beat a little faster.

  ‘Where is the nearest road?’ I ask.

  Yutu shakes his head. ‘There are no roads up here. Everyone gets around by snowmobile, or aeroplane.’

  I feel a glow of relief. Then another thought occurs to me.

  ‘Where is the nearest airport?’

  Yutu doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

  ‘My village is the nearest place to land,’ he says quietly.

  I feel myself breathing more quickly. ‘Then I’m trapped out here on the ice?’

  Thoughts race through my head. How long can I last out here? Where will I sleep? What will I eat?

  ‘I told you before,’ he says. ‘It’s not I, it’s we. I’m not leaving you here. We just need to get to my village before they do,’ says Yutu calmly. ‘If they’re not from the area, it will take time to work out where we might be heading. They will need clearance to fly, too.’

  I feel tears pool at the bottom of my eyes, instantly chilled by the icy air. I blink them away.

  My mind races. ‘If there are no roads for miles around, what will happen when we get to your village? Won’t we be trapped there instead?’

  Yutu looks at me anxiously.

  ‘We don’t have any choice. There’s nowhere else,’ he pauses, ‘and I need to go home. People will be worried about me. I was supposed to return yesterday.’

  I bite my lip. I’d forgotten about Yutu disappearing. That people will be wondering where he is.

  I think about home. About Mum, alone with Hester, waiting for a message from Dad to say we have arrived safely.

  ‘That sounds like a good plan,’ I hesitate, before adding, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think about your mum and dad. Of course, they will be worried.’

  ‘My mum and dad died when I was little,’ he says. ‘My grandmother will be waiting for me.’

  Yutu starts fiddling with his boot, tugging at the plastic bag which pokes out of the top. I just assumed Yutu’s family was like mine, without bothering to ask.

  After a few moments Yutu looks up. ‘We should get going,’ he says, pushing himself to his feet. Rather than leaving the spinney the same way we entered, he walks his way into the middle of the thicket, then stops. He is staring at something in a small clearing. I push through the branches and follow his gaze to a snow-covered lump attached to some skis.

  ‘My snowmobile,’ says Yutu, turning to me with a smile.

  Race

  The engine growls into life first time.

  A flicker of hope stirs in my stomach.

  Yutu beckons. ‘Climb on!’ he shouts. ‘If you need something, tap me on the shoulder.’

  ‘OK,’ I yell back.

  He presses the accelerator and I jerk backwards, grabbing his coat to stop myself falling.

  We glide across the snow, an icy wind pushing against my face. After a few minutes my cheeks are numb. I try to tug my zip a bit higher. At the same time, we drive over a bump and my other hand slips from Yutu’s waist. I feel myself tip back. Instantly he slows down, which has the effect of pushing me forwards again. We come to a stop, the engine idling rhythmically.

  ‘It’s best not to move around too much,’ Yutu shouts. ‘Makes it difficult to steer. And you might fall off.’

  ‘You could have told me that before I nearly fell off,’ I shout back.

  We start to move again, gradually gathering speed.

  I cling on more tightly.

  As we race through the tundra, the flicker of hope grows. Still no aeroplane.

  I notice we are following the soft curve of the shore, beyond which lie lumpy peaks of sea ice. After a while, Yutu steers inland. Hills rise and fall, some smooth, others with wind-blown patches of dark rock at the peak. Between them, flatter ground makes natural pathways. Perhaps it doesn’t all look the same.

  After an hour or so, I spot a shape ahead, slightly darker than the hill behind, but not dark enough to be rock.

  As we get closer, I see it’s some kind of hut, in better condition to the one where I found Yutu.

  He slows to a stop a few metres away and switches off the engine. My ears ring in the silence. They have grown accustomed to the relentless buzz.

  Yutu climbs down and stamps his feet.

  ‘My cabin,’ he says, nodding towards the hut. ‘Well, my grandmother’s cabin. We can have a quick break here. Something to eat and drink.’

  He walks around the hut a few times. I see that the front of his coat and the fur around his jacket have a thin layer of ice on them.

  ‘Someone has been here,’ he says.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Tracks in the snow. Anot
her snowmobile.’ I look at him in alarm. ‘They’re not here now,’ he adds quickly. ‘There are tracks which arrive, and tracks which leave.’

  I feel my heart racing.

  ‘Are you sure they’ve gone?’

  He turns to look at me. Without warning, he smiles. ‘I think it was someone looking for me, not you,’ he says. ‘Someone from my village, come to see where I’ve got to.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, taking a deep breath of cold air.

  He unclips a bag from the back of the snowmobile, and rummages around inside.

  ‘Here,’ he says, passing me a small lump of something. ‘Eat this.’

  I take a bite. It has a texture like fudge but leaves a greasy feel on my lips. It tastes a bit like fish.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask, putting my hand out for the second piece he offers.

  ‘Seal fat.’

  I feel the saliva rise in my mouth. I stare at the lump of fat on my glove.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ says Yutu.

  ‘I just—I like seals,’ is all I manage.

  ‘I’m sure I’d like sheep if I ever met one,’ he says.

  ‘But sheep are meant to be eaten,’ I say.

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Well, they’re bred to be eaten.’

  ‘Poor sheep,’ says Yutu. ‘This seal was free.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ I say, ‘they’re wild animals.’

  ‘We kill what we need, not what we want.’ He looks at me, his expression neutral, but his eyes are flashing with an emotion I don’t recognize. ‘And now we can’t even do that.’

  I put the seal meat in my mouth and chew. Wondering what he means.

  ‘You should try this, too.’ He passes me a piece of bread with a lump of berries in some kind of butter.

  I take a bite. Sweet and sour berries mix with a creamy butter which melts in my mouth.

  ‘What was it?’ I ask.

  ‘Cloudberries in seal fat.’ He looks at me, the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

  He turns to look at the horizon.

  Instinctively I whip round, wondering whether he’s heard the hum of an aeroplane engine.

  The grey-white sky is empty.

  ‘We should go,’ he says. ‘The days are still short here. But first I need to melt some snow for us to drink.’

  ‘Can’t we just put some in our mouths?’ I say, surprised.

  ‘It takes a long time to melt a small amount of snow in your mouth. It also cools your body down, which isn’t a good idea.’

  He disappears into the hut, taking a tiny stove and pan.

  I climb off the snowmobile. My legs are very stiff, and my feet are cold. I stamp them, like Yutu did. They tingle painfully.

  I follow him inside. Like the first hut, there is a raised area. This one has a neat pile of folded rugs and caribou skins. On a wooden box in the corner are some carved figures. I walk over to look more closely.

  ‘Bone,’ says Yutu. ‘They’re carved from bone.’

  Everything is neatly arranged. There is a sweet smell of wood, mixed with something earthy.

  When Yutu has finished, we gather up the things and head outside. He slides the bolt back across the door.

  I shiver. The hut felt cosy, if cosy applies in subzero temperatures.

  ‘Are you warm enough, Bea?’ he asks, as he stows the pan and stove.

  ‘I’m OK,’ I say. ‘How about you?’

  He smiles again. ‘I only really feel the cold when I’ve fallen in the sea.’ He sighs. ‘I’m not looking forward to telling my grandmother what happened. She thought I was staying at my friend’s house.’

  ‘Who do you think came to look for you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe my grandmother’s old friend, Petur. He uses our cabin sometimes. He knows the way.’ He pauses. ‘My grandmother didn’t want me to go on my own. I guess she was right.’

  ‘My mum doesn’t like me flying,’ I say.

  ‘At least she lets you leave town.’

  I think about how many towns we’ve left. How many cities. When I wished we could have stayed.

  ‘We only have a couple of hours of daylight left,’ he says, climbing onto the snowmobile. ‘Ready?’

  Tired

  We speed over flat ground, the snowmobile humming. Hills rise and fall on either side. Every few minutes bumps or ridges jerk the whole machine from side to side, turning the hum into an angry buzz. My thighs ache from gripping the seat, and my arms feel weak from clinging to Yutu.

  I think about Stella and Becky sitting in class, wondering where I am. Then I realize that it’s Sunday. The familiar knot in my stomach begins to tighten, even though Stella and Becky are hundreds of kilometres away. I don’t need them here, in the middle of the Arctic. But when I try to push them away, thoughts about Dad creep in. I’m frightened of where they will take me. Every passing minute feels like time wasted until I have some answers. I must find out where he is. I have to help him. My sense of dread grows when I think of him with those men. I feel myself losing control of my fear.

  My eyes flick to the endless space, expecting a town or village to appear. I wish my head could share the emptiness around me, instead of crowding with anxieties.

  I want to focus on something else. Mum drifts into my head, Mum in the kitten café with her cream moustache. Hester curled up on my bed. I lean further forwards, resting on Yutu’s back.

  I feel so tired. I have no idea whether we’ve been driving for one hour or two hours.

  The sun sinks to meet the horizon, casting a golden glow across the snow. The hum from the snowmobile makes a kind of white noise, blocking out the thoughts which frighten me.

  I fight to keep my eyes open.

  Something grabs at my arm. I pull away in panic and see Yutu gripping a chunk of my coat. I am leaning sideways from the snowmobile, my head skimming the ground. I grab his arm and struggle to pull myself upright. The snowmobile rocks from side to side and slides to a stop. Yutu twists right round in his seat and lifts me the rest of the way up. I slump forwards onto his chest and sit like that for a minute, trying to catch my breath, trying not to think about how close I came to being pulled beneath the skis.

  There is no humming sound. The engine must have cut out when Yutu took his hands from the accelerator. When I finally sit up, Yutu doesn’t look angry, he looks concerned.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, I think so. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s another thing I should have warned you about,’ he says. ‘It’s easy to fall asleep on the back, but not a good idea.’

  I nod. ‘Is it much further?’

  The sky has turned a purplish grey. Dusk is falling.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ he says. ‘Five minutes.’

  He revs the engine.

  My stomach twists. I am closer to helping Dad, but also closer to finding out what’s happened to him.

  After a few minutes I notice a faint yellowish haze up ahead. Perhaps it’s the lights from Yutu’s village.

  He steers in a big arc around the bottom of a steep hill, then slows down so the engine is just ticking over.

  A building appears, hidden until the last moment by the curve of the hill. It seems to be made of the land on which it sits. Rocks and moss. It looks like a relic. An ancient building from another age. Yutu drives the snowmobile up alongside. He switches the engine off and climbs down. He sticks out his chest, arching his back in a stretch.

  ‘This is my house,’ he says in a low voice. ‘I need to go in first, to speak to my grandmother. To explain. To let her know you are here.’

  He walks towards a small doorway, barely visible in the gloom.

  Home

  After a few minutes, Yutu hasn’t returned. The sun has set, and the temperature is dropping rapidly. I was cold when we arrived. Now I’m shivering.

  I hesitate before knocking on the door. It makes a warm, hollow sound. Yutu answers. Behind him is a small lady with white hair, neatly braided
. She is looking at me with a mixture of shock and surprise.

  ‘Who is this?’ she asks.

  ‘This is Bea, Grandma.’

  She beckons me inside. She isn’t smiling. I’m used to people not smiling at me.

  ‘Please have a seat,’ Yutu says. There are only two, and his grandmother has gone to sit in one of them, so I sit down next to her. She is still staring at me. I can no longer tell if her expression is one of shock, or curiosity, or both.

  She turns to Yutu. ‘You need to tell me what happened,’ she says. ‘Now, Yutu.’

  I thought Yutu’s grandmother would be friendlier. More like him. Perhaps it’s because she’s been worried about him. Parents have a habit of seeming cross when they’re worried. I guess it must apply to grandparents too.

  Yutu collects a small stool from the corner of the room. It’s smooth and creamy-white, like the bone figures in his cabin. He places it a few metres in front of the chairs. He’s too big for it. When he sits down his knees rise up, so he has no choice but to rest his elbows on them.

  He licks his lips and begins to talk. Yutu looks younger when he’s speaking to his grandmother. He tells her that she was right. There were no seals in the bay. He tells her that Petur was right too, it’s because the water is too warm. The sea ice was melting, even though it’s early spring. He describes the storm closing in and the white-out. His grandmother lifts her hand to her forehead and closes her eyes.

  It’s the first time I’ve heard the whole story of how Yutu came to be in the hut. How Yutu managed to pull himself out of the sea ice and walk half-frozen through the blizzard.

  ‘That’s where Bea found me. I had hypothermia. She gave me blankets and dry clothes. She gave me something warm to drink.’

  He looks over at me and I realize that I’m staring. Wisps of hair which have escaped from my hood are defrosting. I brush away the melted ice as it drips down the side of my face.

  Yutu’s grandmother nods slowly, then starts talking to him in a language I don’t understand. Even though she spoke English when I arrived.