The Chilling, page 22
Before she could register what she was seeing, the wind picked up and blew her gloves to the ground. Without a second’s thought, she stepped forward to retrieve them.
She heard the hush of her footstep—then she realised that the sound was different to the hard crunching she’d expected to hear.
With a sickening lurch of the stomach, she fell through the snow and down into open space, her arms flailing and her camera smashing against the crevasse wall.
32
Kit landed with a dull thud on a narrow ledge about halfway down the gaping pit. She fell on her hip, on her left side, with the safety rope pulled tight above her.
Her first thought wasn’t one of terror or shock but of embarrassment at how stupid she’d been. Some part of her mind had known that the crack probably indicated the leeward edge of a crevasse.
When she was sure that she hadn’t broken anything, she slowly placed her back to the wall. She looked up to see Nick peering at her from the lip of the crevasse, several metres above. ‘Kit, are you all right?’ He seemed pretty shaken.
‘I’m fine,’ she called. ‘Just a bit bruised, I think.’
‘Can you move?’
‘I can probably get out of here … with a little help. Can you … can you throw down another rope, please? This one’s stuck.’ She tugged at the rope; it was embedded in the ice at the edge of the crevasse.
‘Just give me a few minutes. I’ll have to uncoil and re-anchor.’
Once he’d gone, Kit pulled her balaclava down over her face and made sure all her zips were done up. She hadn’t noticed the drop in temperature yet, but she knew that a crevasse was like a freezer. If she was going to do this on her own power, she didn’t want to grow too cold too soon.
Comforted by the noise that Nick was making above, panting and shuffling as he uncoiled the rope from his waist, she found the courage to look down into the crevasse. It wasn’t as deep or as wide as she’d expected, just a few curved pockets of beautiful glacial-blue ice, one on top of the other, for a few metres down. She didn’t feel quite so afraid then—things could have been much worse. She could have broken her hip, or been knocked unconscious, or dragged Nick down on top of her. She could have fallen forty metres and been killed by the impact. She would be okay.
Then she looked across the ledge to the other side of the crevasse. Right opposite her, wedged deep into a corner, was something large and yellow, about the size of a suitcase. Her first thought was that it was a climber’s backpack. She took out her torch for a better look. When she shone the light into the corner, it was apparent that the thing wasn’t a bag.
Kit couldn’t help herself—she screamed.
In an instant, Nick appeared at the lip of the crevasse, knocking some loose snow into the hole. His voice brought her back to reality. ‘Kit!’ he yelled. ‘What’s wrong?’
With the snow falling in front of her face, she pointed across the ledge with a shaking hand.
She realised that from where Nick was crouched, he couldn’t spot where she was pointing. ‘What is it?’ he repeated. ‘What can you see?’
‘It’s a man!’ she cried. ‘There’s a man over there, on the other side.’ She waved her hand, gesturing across the divide.
A black-haired, beardless man was suspended in the ice, his face greyish-white and his blue-lipped mouth frozen open.
‘Is he …?’
‘Yes, he’s dead. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.’ Her voice held a note of panic.
It wasn’t that she’d thought he might be alive—that wasn’t what had frightened her. It wasn’t that he was obviously one of the British men killed in the plane crash—there was a Union Jack on his coat—yet he looked as though he’d died only yesterday. It was because, for one terrifying moment, when she saw the short dark hair, he looked like someone she knew.
For that brief moment, he’d looked like Sally.
Kit was desperate to be out of there. When the knotted rope came down, she snatched at it with greedy hands. Nick had attached two slings to prusik knots; she used one of those slings as a waist belt to hook herself up, and she placed the loops of the other sling under her feet. Then she took a ragged breath. ‘I’m coming up,’ she called, standing and placing all her weight on the foot loops.
Turning away from the dead man, Kit puffed and panted as she loosened the knots and slid them up the rope, gradually ascending. Nick had anchored padding at the top, to help her get over the last lip by herself. But when she reached the edge, he grabbed her harness and hauled her out.
Breathing heavily, they lay together on the snow a safe distance from the crevasse opening. Nick placed a reassuring hand on her back and his touch calmed her nerves, dissipating the tension in her limbs. She resisted the urge to throw herself in his arms and sob with relief. Once she’d disentangled herself from the mass of ropes, she stood up.
On shaking legs, they headed back to camp for lunch. Two-minute noodles had never tasted so good.
Later that afternoon, they arrived at Muddleroo Hut just as the sun was setting. They planned to wake before dawn and return to the station as soon as they could. They’d been unable to contact Prudence for two days, and they didn’t want to worry her any longer.
•
In the field hut that night, Kit lay awake on the top bunk, her head uncomfortably close to the ceiling. She was agitated and restless in her thoughts. Fully dressed in her polar-fleece gear, with her beanie still on, she was tucked up in her sleeping bag. The mattress was soft, the hut was warm, and after two nights in a tent it felt utterly luxurious. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the events of the past few days. And about Nick.
Since their arrival at the hut, he’d been uncharacteristically silent. He seemed like a different person from the man with amnesia: less childlike, or less open and artless in his manner, more introspective and a little colder towards her, not as solicitous for her attention. In the tent he hadn’t tried to move any closer or touch her; they’d slept in separate bags, and in the morning he’d had his back to her. In the hut, only hours after saving her life, he’d patted her on the arm as he said goodnight, then got straight into bed.
Now she looked dejectedly at the spot where he’d touched her. She could only assume that the memory of his stunning ex-wife had dulled any attraction she once had.
Nick was curled up in the roomier space of the bottom bunk, flicking through a two-year-old New Scientist magazine. The pages swished at a rate that suggested he wasn’t reading anything. Eventually he flopped the magazine on the floor and switched off the light.
Saddened, she rolled over to stare at the wall. If she had ever needed the distracting comfort of another human being, it was now.
Sally, where are you?
Kit had been shocked and upset by the circumstances of Dustin’s death. She felt sorry for the man himself—it was a terrible way to die. And the harsh reality of his demise, followed by her encounter with the body in the crevasse, had made her even more fearful for her oldest friend. What had happened to Sal? Was she in the ice now too? With each passing hour, Kit grew increasingly anxious.
Just when she felt like exhaustion might pull her under, a pressure in her bladder became impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, she clambered to the ground. The toilet was in a small room adjacent to the hut. She would have to put her outdoor gear on, but she wouldn’t need to go far, and while the weather was unbearably cold, it was clear and windless. She would be back within minutes.
Before heading out, she glanced at Nick’s outline. He looked sound asleep.
•
Upon her return, Nick was waiting at the door. Without a word, he gestured for her to turn around and helped her off with her coat. The old Nick would have greeted her and engaged in some lighthearted banter, but this one was silent.
He flicked the drift off the coat and hung it up. He then moved the few steps over to the kitchenette and leant his tall frame against the benchtop, his hands resting on the edge. As she took off her boots, she waited for him to say something. His face was in the shadows, but she could see that the buttons on his flannelette shirt were undone to the waist. In the half-light, she glimpsed a trail of dark hair leading to his navel. She recalled what it had been like to hold her naked breasts to that chest and shivered involuntarily.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied too quickly.
After a brief silence, he said, ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
He hesitated. ‘Do you think I’m a bad person?’
The question caught her by surprise, and she waited a second too long before answering.
He chuckled mirthlessly.
‘Look, I don’t know,’ she said in a hesitant voice.
‘Well, you should know by now. You should at least have an opinion, don’t you think?’ He moved his arm and knocked a tin on the bench. Ignoring it, he hunched his shoulders and shook his head. ‘I was paid to work for an unscrupulous oil drilling company. My work has violated the Madrid Protocol and could destroy a pristine environment. I visited the scene of a horrific plane crash, but I failed to report it. I went back to work as if nothing had happened. I left the family of those five people in an agony of suspense for years—the bodies of their loved ones have never been recovered.’ He paused. ‘And I left that guy—’ He gestured outside, faltering as he swallowed. ‘I left that poor guy,’ he said, ‘to freeze to death in a crevasse.’
‘You don’t know that for sure.’
‘Yeah?’ he responded sceptically. ‘Well, I guess we’ll never know. But that shouldn’t stop you from making up your mind. You should probably think I’m a bad person anyway, just to err on the side of caution.’
He had a good point. The things he’d confided had reflected badly on him. Plus, there was no independent evidence to corroborate his version of events. The true story might be much worse. There was no reason to put her blind trust in everything he’d said.
But her thoughts flashed to his concerned expression at the top of the crevasse. He’d saved her life without even thinking about it. She knew he’d never hurt her.
‘You’ve made mistakes—you’re only human,’ she replied cautiously. ‘You’re doing what you can to find redemption.’
‘But what if I can’t find it? What if the Petrel crew are lying dead under that ship, frozen in the ice like that British guy, and that’s all because of me? Would there be any coming back from that?’
She gazed at him in horror. ‘Is that what happened? Are those people beneath the ship?’
‘No … I’m not sure.’ He shook his head with a frown. ‘I have no idea where they are.’
She moved closer to him. She could feel the heat of him and see his chest rise and fall beneath his loose shirt. ‘All right,’ she said, deciding to be totally honest and see what happened. ‘Yes, I did think you were a bad person. I never understood why the others just accepted you. No one seemed to think much about why you were the only one not with the rest of the crew. When you came to base, you hypnotised the others with your laidback charm and your, your … charisma.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘But you should never have gotten off that easy. There’s a whole lot of people missing—’ She thought of Dustin as well, then caught her breath. She didn’t want to accuse him of anything like that, not on a mere suspicion. Besides, if he were guilty, it would be foolhardy to voice her thoughts. She needed to proceed with care. ‘You have to remember, Nick,’ she said more quietly, touching his sleeve. ‘You need to tell me exactly what you did. Why were you in that coolroom?’
He looked away, refusing to make eye contact. ‘I don’t remember what happened on the ship. I don’t know what I did.’
Shaking her head, she sighed. She sensed she wasn’t hearing the full story. His words had a ring of falsity.
‘I have to get out of here,’ he said suddenly, pulling away. ‘I have to go.’ He took two great strides to the back of the hut and started gathering outdoor clothes.
‘Nick,’ she said, following him to the bunk bed. ‘Nick, don’t be ridiculous.’
He threw his trousers and a thermal top on the bed, then took his shirt off. As he reached to put the thermal on, she snatched it away.
‘Give it back,’ he said seriously, his hands on his hips.
She hid the top behind her.
He dropped his arms to his sides. ‘Kit,’ he said in warning, gesturing for her to hand it over. His jaw tensed.
When she still didn’t comply, he moved in, pinning her arms behind her back and pulling her to his bare chest. As he yanked at the top, she tightened her grip. He breathed heavily against her, then tugged the garment free.
Before he could step away, she leaned in and kissed him.
With a start of surprise, he pulled his head back, his eyes searching her face.
Feeling embarrassed, she broke eye contact and brought her hands up in mock surrender, conveying, Okay, my mistake.
When their eyes met again, he parted his lips and, with a quick breath, seized her by the waist and kissed her deeply.
The touch of his lips and tongue sent a lightning thrill down her back. She brought her hands onto his shoulders, and he pulled her in tighter, pressing his chest against hers. She responded by sinking her fingers into his hair. His lips caressed hers with greater intensity, then moved to her neckline, nuzzling her, making her heart beat faster.
Despite the fact it was minus thirty degrees outside, the hut became unbelievably warm. She was wearing too many clothes. To assist, he raised her arms and pulled her jumper over her head, followed by her thermal, leaving her hair a mess of static. As he flung the tops aside, she smiled and moved to take off her pants. The leggings got caught on her ankles, and she used one foot at a time to liberate herself, stomping them into the floor. He held her by the elbows to steady her, then dispensed with his own leggings.
Kit was left wearing only a merino singlet and a pair of knickers; Nick wore only his boxers. They took a moment to gaze at each other. She observed that his head wound was now a faded scar, and that there was some redness from the frostnip on his collarbone. She noticed a shadowy hint of hair in the middle of his chest, accentuating his muscles. When she glanced down and saw his arousal, she drew a short breath.
He reached out and whispered, ‘Come here’.
They kissed again, more slowly this time, revelling in their closeness. He moved his lips across her cheek and nipped at her ear. Shivering in delight, she pressed her hips against him. With a faint murmur, he grabbed her backside in his large hands and squeezed, pulling her even closer. His touch set her on fire. As he kissed her mouth again, his right hand sought out and caressed her breasts under her singlet. He rubbed his thumb against her nipples, and her body tensed with pleasure.
At the back of her mind, she marvelled at the insanity of what she was doing. In only a few days, he had become a stranger to her again. She didn’t really know him. She didn’t trust his story. She couldn’t understand how he made her so powerless—even if she’d wanted to resist, she couldn’t have. How had she lost control?
What was it she’d said to him? That he’d hypnotised the others.
In her research before the trip, she’d read a theory that living in Antarctica made people more susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. Could Nick have hypnotised some of her colleagues? And was that what was happening to her now?
At the plane crash site, she’d known there were crevasses throughout the terrain, yet she’d walked across that snow bridge. Was she doing that again now? Was she walking across a precipice in a trance?
She couldn’t stop herself. If he had held back for a second, she would have begged for more.
He edged his free hand under the waistband of her knickers. With a flattened palm, he cupped her as he kissed her. She gasped when his fingers slid between her thighs and out again. Then his fingers slid back in and lingered, moving in slow circles around her centre until she thought she’d lose her mind. When he dipped down to slip a finger inside her, she could only cling to his shoulders.
Stepping back, he gazed down at her, his lips parted. Without a word, he tugged her singlet over her head and dropped it to the floor, throwing a meaningful glance at the lower bunk. She nodded, grabbing the waistband of his underpants and raising an eyebrow. He obliged by stepping back and pulling them down, while she stripped off her own.
When they embraced again, she guided him backwards onto the mattress and straddled him. As she pressed herself to him, liking the feel of his hardness against her, he moved his hands over her back, massaging her skin, kissing her neck, her chin, her mouth.
Again, she wondered: what was she doing? It wasn’t like her to leap into bed with a man; she usually took her time, to establish some trust. She tried to excuse her recklessness as an affirmation of life in the face of death—a natural response to the trauma of the day. But who was she kidding? She traced the contours of his shoulders, and leaned into his hair, revelling in the sheer power of him. She’d never wanted anyone so badly.
She tilted her hips back and forth, teasing him. He gripped her fiercely, using his legs to bring her hips against him. She could feel his breath coming in short pants, and her own breath quickened even more.
When he bent his head to take a nipple into his mouth, the buzz surged down her waist, into her pelvis and straight to her core. Moaning against his hair, she grasped the back of his head and held him to her. She could feel the heat of him straining to move within her.
He whispered, ‘Kit.’ And then, more desperately, ‘Kit.’
She opened her legs wider, and he entered her. Placing his hands on her sides, he guided her back and forth in a frantic rhythm. The tension mounted at her centre and built like a storm.
He seized her hips and groaned, pulsating beneath her, until he stiffened and cried out her name.
Then the storm broke within her. Her back arched as the sensation spread, saturating her with bliss. She collapsed against him and struggled to breathe.
