The Chilling, page 17
‘We have to get you warm,’ she said, gripping him by the shoulders and steering him inside.
As they entered the relative warmth of the bar, she noticed droplets of blood on the floor and a few bloodied footprints leading to the door. ‘Dustin?’ she called, scanning the room. He clearly wasn’t there. She thought about phoning Bill, but decided to make Nick her priority. Wherever Dustin was, she hoped he was taking shelter.
Near the couches, she helped Nick to peel off his raincoat and instructed him to get out of his wet trousers, while she frantically searched the cupboards for sleeping bags. She knew they were kept there because a few of the regulars would get them out and sleep on the couches during the day. Like most of the gear at Macpherson, the bags were suited to extreme cold weather, made from the highest quality down for camping on ice and snow. She found two single sleeping bags of the same length, and started unzipping them to form a double.
She turned to look at Nick, who was seated awkwardly on the hard floor, still fully dressed and with only one boot off. ‘We have to get you undressed,’ she said sternly, forcing him to look her in the eye. ‘You’re cold, Nick—you could be going into hypothermic shock. Come on, you’ve got to help me.’
Finding a vestige of strength, he bent over and tugged off his second boot. He then started fumbling with his belt buckle, looking helplessly at his waist.
Kit had gone back to zipping up the sleeping bags. When she noticed him struggling, she instructed him to stop what he was doing and to stand up. Once he was upright, she went over and hooked her hands roughly under the front of his belt, loosening it enough to unbuckle it. Then she unzipped his trousers and tugged them down, urging him to take them off.
All this time, Nick was silent and passive. He did nothing unless instructed to. While Kit finished joining the bags together, he remained stiff and motionless, his pants still clinging to his knees.
‘Okay,’ she said, finishing her task and laying the conjoined bags over a rug on the floor. ‘Come here.’
Standing in front of him, she used her foot to force the trousers down between his legs and onto the ground. She then gripped the bottom of his polar-fleece top and his undershirt, pulling them up over his chest. When they got caught under his chin, she yanked the clothing over his head and off his arms. With his damp hair standing on end, he looked even more dazed than before.
‘There you go,’ she said, ‘now take those off and get into the sleeping bag.’ She pointed at his boxers and then to the floor.
Out of politeness, she turned her back as she took off her own boots and her cold weather suit. When she faced Nick again, he was still standing there, shivering in his underpants, both arms hugging his naked chest.
‘Nick, what are you doing?’ she asked in annoyance. ‘It’s not like I haven’t already seen you naked.’ She pointed at the floor. ‘Get in the friggin’ sleeping bag!’ In exasperation, she sprang forward and tugged his damp underpants off him. Gripping him by the arm, she then helped him clamber down into the bag. He nestled all the way in and pulled the top up to his chin.
Meanwhile, Kit stripped off her own clothing. She was bitterly cold, but she knew she was nowhere near as cold as Nick. He would benefit from her body warmth. That was the idea, anyway—it was a recommended first-aid technique.
She squeezed in next to him, then fully zipped and cinched the sleeping bag. With the two of them snug inside, their limbs were restricted. His bony knees were up against hers, his left elbow was sharp beneath her ribcage, and their faces were too close for comfort. She asked him to roll away onto his side. After some twisting and turning, she snaked her left arm over his waist and let her hand come to lie on his damp chest. She then pressed the rest of her body close to his. The soft skin on his back felt cold and clammy. His torso kept spasming and jerking as he fought off the urge to shiver.
She held him tightly. Against her face, his hair smelt like frying oil, and she remembered that he’d been on slushy duty the night before. She turned her face away and leaned against his shoulder, his muscles like marble beside her cheek.
After a while, his body stopped shivering. The wind persisted with its guttural moaning, and there was the occasional rifle crack in the sky or thunderous rumble under the floor. But it didn’t seem as if the building would be ripped apart and consumed by the elements.
Once they were suitably warm, Kit took the opportunity to jump up and phone Bill, who would be waiting for an update. He was relieved to hear that she and Nick were fine but disturbed that Dustin couldn’t be located. ‘Let me know as soon as you hear anything,’ said Bill.
Wondering where the doctor could be, she returned to the welcoming warmth of the sleeping bag. Now conscious of her nakedness, she shyly nestled back into Nick’s side.
A few minutes later, he shifted his large body uneasily on the hard floor.
‘Are you uncomfortable?’ she asked, a glow rising in her cheeks.
‘Um, think my hip’s gone to sleep,’ he murmured. ‘Can we turn over for a bit, so that I’m spooning you?’
‘Sure,’ she breathed out, trying to turn around without tangling herself in the bag.
He rolled over, keeping his hips a respectful distance from her backside and his arms bundled close to his chest. Strangely disappointed she was no longer touching him, Kit distracted herself by talking.
‘Why were you out in the storm?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘I was supposed to be meeting Dustin at the bar.’ His breath was warm against her neck. ‘I was helping out one of the plumbers at the tankhouse and came over when the storm hit a lull. But I got caught out, big time. Looks like you did too, huh?’
‘Yes, but I was better dressed for it.’
‘Yeah, I was a bit complacent,’ he admitted.
‘Bit stupid, more like it.’
‘Okaaaay.’ He gave a soft chuckle. ‘In my defence, the wind blew my coat open.’
‘It should’ve been done up properly.’
‘You’re right. And why were you out in the storm?’
‘I came to help Dustin.’ She explained everything that had happened.
Nick whistled in surprise. ‘Dustin was outside in the storm …?’
They fell silent again as the wind hammered at the roof. When it stopped, Nick was so quiet that Kit wondered if he was still awake. It had been three weeks since her accusations at the parlour game, and she’d been hoping to ask him a few follow-up questions. When he coughed into the silence, she saw her chance.
‘So, how’ve you been?’ she probed.
‘Fine, fine.’
‘Has anything jogged your memory lately?’
‘Pardon?’ he asked, seemingly thrown.
‘Has anything come back to you?’
‘Oh, not really.’ He paused. ‘Except,’ he added, ‘for the past few days … I’ve gotta say, I’ve really felt like a cigarette.’
Her ears pricked up. ‘You used to smoke, you know.’
‘Did I?’ he asked, sounding mildly surprised.
‘What about when you’re asleep? Do you see people in your dreams? I think dreams might tell you about what you’ve forgotten, in a mixed-up kind of way.’
‘Yeah, well, my dreams are pretty mixed up, all right,’ he drawled.
‘What do you mean?’
There was another pause.
‘I have a recurring dream,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sitting at the bottom of a great snow hill, and there are people on top, and they’re moving in strange, contorted ways.’ His voice was soft and wistful, as if coming from far away. ‘Their movements are frightening and disturbing. Their heads are thrown back, and their legs are flying, with their arms waving about in the air.’
He raised his own arms to demonstrate, making the sleeping bag rustle about her face, and she batted it back down.
‘I’m seeing them at a great distance,’ he continued, ‘and I always wonder what they’re doing.’ Then, sending a chill down her spine, he whispered in her ear, ‘What are they doing? Why are they moving like that? So I get closer, and I can hear music. It’s this crazy, zany, big-band tune. All of a sudden, I realise … I realise what they’re doing.’ He paused again for effect. ‘They’re dancing. They’re just dancing.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That all sounds very … metaphorical.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ he admitted in his everyday voice. ‘Except for the part when a bald man comes out at the end and tries to shoot me.’
‘Oh, right. Ha-ha. Very funny.’
‘No, I’m serious.’ He laughed as though daring her to believe him. ‘A bald man comes over with a gun, at the end.’
‘Okay.’ Feeling curious, she decided to go along with Nick. ‘Do you see his face?’
‘No, it’s just a blank.’
‘But he’s bald?’ she asked. ‘Very bald or just a bit on top …?’
‘Very bald—all over.’
‘Sounds scary.’
‘Mmmm.’ A few seconds later, Nick was snoring.
Kit lay wide awake beside him, her mind busy. She thought about walking into the snowstorm and trying to get to Dustin, only to find Nick. She wondered if there was anything she should have done differently. Should she have turned back to the Green Store when she had the opportunity?
Finally she came to some peace when she realised that given a second chance, she would have done everything exactly the same. She was glad she’d found Nick; she would check on Dustin in the morning.
Kit drifted off to sleep.
24
When Nick opened his eyes in the morning light, the first thing he noticed was the resounding silence. There was no rattling, banging or cracking. The wind had gone.
The second thing he noticed was that he was lying naked beside Kit Bitterfeld. He was possibly the warmest he’d ever been in Antarctica.
They were tucked up in the double sleeping bag, their legs messily entwined, and he was spooning her from behind, leaning into the curve of her body. As she slept in his arms, he could feel the ebb and flow of her breath. His chest was pressed against her back, and his left arm encircled her waist. She had one arm lying over his, keeping him in place with a firm grip on his hand. When he became conscious of the silk of her skin, his body tingled, and he found himself growing hard against her.
He held his breath and wondered, What would a gentleman do in this situation?
Reluctantly, Nick loosened her grip and pushed himself back. He wanted her to think he was a good man, even if he wasn’t. In his new position, he was less warm and comfortable, but he wasn’t touching her intimately without her consent. It was the right thing to do.
Still asleep, she sighed and shifted her legs. With a lazy wriggle of her hips, she positioned herself right back into the warmth of his lap.
His breathing grew laboured, and he struggled to stay rational. It was true that she’d been the one to suggest they sleep naked together, and he’d anticipated that he might find the situation uncomfortable. But Christ, she’d only suggested it to raise his body temperature—it had been an emergency.
He reminded himself that a good man wouldn’t just presume her nakedness gave him a licence to snuggle up to her. A morally upright man would get out of the sleeping bag and put his sodden clothes on. The storm was over. He’d recovered from the cold, and he really should be on his way.
But when Nick prepared to retreat, she gripped his arm even tighter and tucked it against her chest. With a heart-stopping thrill, he realised that he could feel the curve of her breast on his arm, and he grew harder, his breath uneven.
Trapped in her embrace, he pressed his nose to her neck, drawing in the scent of her hair. She smelt like coconut oil and vanilla, definitely not the regulation-issue shampoo. His lips brushed her skin.
He wasn’t sure exactly when her breathing changed its rhythm, but her body was more alert than before, as though she were holding her breath.
‘Kit?’ he whispered.
Her response was to entwine her fingers with his. She exerted a gentle pressure on his hand, guiding it until his palm was cupping her breast, his thumb resting against her nipple. He moved his hips in closer, pressing himself to her and kissing her neck. With a sharp intake of breath, she tightened her grip on his thumb, then began stroking it back and forth across her nipple. Following her lead, he caressed her, breathing hard into her neck until she moaned softly.
That day in the sick bay, when they’d first met, it was as if she was the only woman he’d ever seen. He was struck by her glacial loveliness. With her clear blue eyes and short blonde hair, she looked Scandinavian, and there had been a rosy pink glow to her fine-boned features. He’d had to suppress an instinct to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin. Now, as she arched under his caresses, he could hardly control himself again: he wanted nothing more than to immerse himself in her. ‘Kit?’ he said, his voice rough.
She released his teasing thumb and turned to face him. Her eyes were half closed, and her face was flushed. Again, she didn’t respond in words—this time she gripped his head in her hands and brought his mouth down on hers. He smoothed a hand down her hips, slid it into the small of her back and pulled her closer. Licking her swollen lips, he parted them with his tongue. She matched his intensity, grabbing his hair and pressing her breasts against him.
As they kept kissing, he rolled her onto her back. She opened her legs and met his eyes with a smile. He rested in the cradle of her thighs, feeling the thrill of her heat against him, about to push forward—
Suddenly, she went rigid in his arms.
At first he was confused. Had she been asleep after all? Had she just woken up? Or … did she think he was someone else?
But when he looked at her face, he could see that something had distracted her. She raised her shoulders from the ground and cocked her head to the side. Her eyes were wide and alert—she was listening for something outside.
All he could hear was his ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart.
‘Something’s wrong.’ She placed her hands on his bare chest and gently pushed him away, then scrambled out of the sleeping bag and reached for her clothes.
And then he could hear it too. A man was shouting, loud and panicked, from the direction of the harbour. ‘It’s the doc! It’s Dustin!’
25
Dustin looked as though he were seated on a white throne, wearing a billowy cloak of crushed silk embroidered with ice crystals. He was sitting on a large cardboard box in the middle of Wineglass Harbour, about a hundred metres north-west of the bar. It seemed that he’d come to rest there in fatigue and despair, perhaps once he’d realised how lost he was, out on the sea ice with no lights or markers to give him any bearings. His back was straight and stiff, and he looked almost proud and dignified.
It wasn’t a position in which Kit would have chosen to die. Lying down on the ice would be less uncomfortable.
A frozen shroud covered much of Dustin’s head, leaving only one eye and the left side of his cheek visible. The eye was wide open and surrounded by fine ice-lashes. It seemed to be coolly watching the activity. Blondie had cleared a top layer of loose snow with his hands, while Warren was using a shovel to chip at the bottom layer of ice surrounding the legs. Closer to land, an idling Hägglunds was waiting to transport the body to the Red Shed.
Bill watched on in stony-faced silence, his arms crossed over his chest, his legs apart. He had instructed them to cut the body free and bring it inside, but the task was easier said than done. They were unsure where Dustin’s limbs were positioned under the ice, and no one wanted to sever anything. Progress was slow.
At least it was a bright day with blue sky and fluffy white clouds, only disturbed by the occasional feisty gust of wind—a cruel contrast to the storm. In the distance, a mountainous pale blue iceberg sat majestically stationed at the edge of the sea ice.
When they were ready to lift Dustin off the box, Blondie, Warren and Skelly manoeuvred the corpse onto a stretcher. They didn’t realise that the top of the box was stuck to the back of Dustin’s freezer suit. When the men hoisted him, the cardboard ripped open. Half the contents of the box spilled out onto the ice, forming a tiny mountain of pristine pills. The men ignored the vitamins and threw a tarpaulin over Dustin’s body, their faces stricken as they straightened the edges.
The Hägg headed back to the Shed.
Out on the bay, Kit watched the vitamins tumble about, feeling sick with misery. She was better equipped than most expeditioners to deal with the scene. But she was eaten up with regret. As she had told Bill, she wished she could have done something more to help Dustin. She regretted that she’d left the bar with Warren. If only she’d stayed put.
Her distress was compounded by the fact that no one had heard from Sally for at least twenty hours. She hadn’t signed back in, and no one could confirm that she’d returned to station before the storm. Kit’s anxiety grew exponentially every moment her friend failed to appear. Repeated efforts to reach Sally on the radio had been fruitless. Kit fervently hoped that instead of trying to come back in the storm, her friend had built a snow trench and bunkered down for the night.
Bill had organised a search-and-rescue with experienced colleagues for later that day, once they’d recovered Dustin’s body and collected the right gear. It was no small thing to initiate a SAR response, and it had to be handled with care, to ensure that no one else was placed in danger. Kit knew that Bill was following strict procedure, but she was anxious that Sally might not be found in time—she might be stuck down a crevasse.
With that in mind, Kit was careful to follow the trail of footsteps back to shore and to avoid anything that looked remotely like a crack. The strong winds had broken up some of the ice further out to sea, making her nervous and mistrustful.
•
They made a rather grim party at dinner that night.
In difficult terrain, the SAR team had fought their way out to the Weddell seal breeding site where Sally had last been seen by Kit. Despite Dustin’s reported sighting, they couldn’t be sure she’d ever returned to base; her Ski-Doo was still missing and she hadn’t signed back in. But the team—made up of Bill, Blondie and Gareth—could find no trace of her amid the great white expanse. They started to search the surrounding area before it began to snow heavily and they were forced to come back. Visibility was poor, and the blizzard had created hazards along the track.
