The Dark Freeze

by Peter Gregory

  Both Liz and Helga felt sorry for Kurt and Henrik. Negotiating their way through the rubble ice, the jumble of ice fragments covering the polar ice cap, was bad enough, but having to haul a heavily laden sled as well must be murder. Progress was painfully slow. Every so often they’d pause to give Kurt and Henrik some respite and allow her and Helga to take readings from the iridium detectors. The signals were still weak. They weren’t there yet.

  Ahead, a jagged ridge of ice blocked their way. A pressure ridge. Although it was no higher than 10 feet, it may as well have been a thousand. To Liz, it looked impassable. ‘How on earth do we cross that?’ she asked Kurt.

  Kurt had encountered pressure ridges many times. He knew exactly what to do. ‘First, we have to unload all the supplies from the sleds. Everything. Then Henrik and I will haul the empty sleds behind us as we clamber over the ridge. Finally, we have to carry the supplies over by hand.’

  It was the only way to do it. After unloading the two sleds, Kurt and Henrik clambered carefully over the ridge, dragging the empty sleds behind them. Liz and Helga watched in hushed silence, keeping a sharp lookout for any stray polar bears. One slip on the jagged ice could mean a broken leg, not something you wanted in a place as hostile as this. After one or two stumbles and a lot of cursing and swearing, the two sleds sat firmly at the other side of the ridge. Liz and Helga were glad that Kurt and Henrik were with them. There was no way they could have got the sleds over the ridge.

  With the sleds safely on the other side, Kurt and Henrik began the tedious task of repeating the same procedure with the supplies. ‘Do you want us to help?’ asked Helga, realising that Kurt and Henrik would have to make several forays across the treacherous ridge.

  ‘No,’ replied Kurt firmly. ‘It’s too dangerous. You might slip and injure yourselves. Leave it to us. We’ve done it many times.’

  ‘I’ve done it before too,’ thought Helga and, ignoring Kurt’s advice, slung a heavy rucksack over her shoulders and started to ascend the ridge. All was going well until her foot slipped on an icy slab and, as her body twisted to compensate, the rucksack swung around, shifting her centre of gravity and causing her to overbalance. She screamed as she slid backwards, only stopping when her leg jammed in a crevice. Kurt and Henrik were there in an instant. Gently, like a mother with a child, they eased her out of the crevice, taking extra care with her jammed leg. Kurt pinched her ankle. Hard. ‘Ouch. That hurts,’ winced Helga.

  ‘Not as much as if you’d broken your leg,’ he barked, clearly angry that Helga had disobeyed his instructions.

  ‘I was only trying to help,’ she said, in a muted, apologetic tone. ‘To speed things up.’

  ‘Well don’t,’ said Kurt rather brusquely. ‘Leave things like that to us.’

  He ran his hand up and down her leg, feeling for any signs of a break. ‘You’ve been lucky this time,’ he said. ‘There’s no break. But next time I give you instructions, obey them. Okay.’ This was his soldier’s voice. His leader’s voice. A commanding voice. A voice used to being obeyed.

  ‘Okay,’ said Helga sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.’

  When all the supplies had been reloaded on to the sleds, Henrik spoke. ‘We need to move on. I don’t want to make camp near a pressure ridge. It’s too dangerous. We’ll move to somewhere safer.’

  During their training in Norway’s Special Forces, both he and Kurt had been told about the early Arctic explorers who wouldn’t sleep near a pressure ridge for fear of drowning in case a lead suddenly opened up while they slept. The Arctic Ocean is up to three miles deep and the strong ocean currents cause the surface ice sheets to shift and move constantly. This incessant movement pulls sections of the sheets apart, creating open channels of water called ‘leads’. Fast flowing deep water at temperatures as low as minus 40°C. Anyone unfortunate enough to fall into a lead would either drown or quickly freeze to death.

  They made camp about two hours later in a flat section of rubble ice, exhausted after crossing the pressure ridge. This time, they were more careful with the evening meal. They didn’t want to attract any unwelcome visitors. Although still relatively weak, the iridium signals were getting stronger. They were definitely heading in the right direction.

  After a light breakfast, they set off towards the epicentre of the meteorite cluster. The signal strength was increasing. Not far to go now. Suddenly, without any warning, Henrik, who was leading the way, stopped. He motioned for them to follow suit. The ‘day’ was still and quiet. The wind of the previous few days had abated, resulting in a stillness that bordered on the eerie. Henrik removed his headgear and cupped his large hands behind his ears. Listening. Initially, he heard nothing. Just the stillness of the Arctic winter. Then he heard it. Heard what he was listening for. A faint groaning and creaking coming from the ice. ‘Get back! GET BACK NOW!’ he barked, turning on his heels and running as fast as he could towards them, the heavy sled trailing in his wake. Liz, Helga and Kurt followed his lead, turning around and running back the way they’d come as fast as they could.

  Suddenly, an almighty crack shattered the Arctic silence as the ice where he had been standing just a few seconds earlier split asunder, opening up a channel of fast flowing water. A lead.

  ‘Shit, that’s the last thing we need,’ spat Kurt. ‘A bloody lead.’

  Everyone stood looking at the torrent of freezing water that had appeared out of nowhere. A torrent that was getting wider by the minute. It was already five feet wide, too wide for them to jump. ‘We’ll have to wait until it settles down,’ said Kurt, obviously disappointed at having this formidable obstacle thrust upon them at the last minute. ‘We may as well rest and eat lunch.’

  After about four hours, the lead seemed to have settled down. It’s width had increased to 15 feet. ‘It’s far too wide to jump and too wide to straddle with the sleds,’ said Kurt, considering his options. ‘We’ll have to use the dinghy.’

  It was something he’d hoped they wouldn’t have to use. The small dinghy had to be inflated and could only carry one person, necessitating at least six crossings; four for the people and two for the sleds.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ said Kurt, clambering into the flimsy craft carrying a coil of rope, a hammer and a metal spike. Even though the lead was only 15 feet wide, the strong current made the crossing extremely difficult. It took all Kurt’s strength and skill to reach the other side. Although he paddled furiously, because of the strong current he reached the far side a good 10 yards downstream. After clambering ashore, he hauled the dinghy out of the water and walked back until he was directly opposite them on the other side of the lead. Then, he did what Henrik had already started doing: he hammered the metal spike into the ice.

  Having checked it was secure, he tied one end of the rope to the spike, threaded the other end through the eyelet of the dinghy and threw the rest of the coiled rope across the lead to Henrik. Henrik pulled it taught and secured it to his spike. Kurt slid the dinghy back into the water and began pushing it away from the ice with his walking pole. As it reached the middle of the lead, Henrik took over, pulling it to their side of the lead with his walking pole.

  ‘I think we should send the sleds across first,’ said Kurt. ‘To make sure it’s safe.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ replied Henrik, sliding one of the sleds on the dinghy. Both sleds were transported across the lead without incident.

  ‘Right. Which one of you ladies wants to go first?’ Henrik said to Liz and Helga.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Helga, ruefully rubbing her badly bruised leg. ‘Standing here in the cold is making my leg ache.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Henrik, holding the dinghy as steady as he could. ‘Step aboard.’

  ‘Right, pull her over,’ he shouted to Kurt. Less than a minute later, Kurt was helping Helga clamber out of the dinghy.

  ‘Two down and two to go,’ shouted Kurt, pushing the dinghy back towards He
nrik.

  ‘Your turn, Liz,’ said Henrik. Gingerly, Liz stepped into the dinghy and squatted down. The lead was only 15 feet wide but she was dreading the crossing. She hated water. She’d never been a swimmer or a sailor.

  ‘Okay Kurt, she’s all yours,’ shouted Henrik. ‘Pull her over.’ Liz grabbed the sides of the dinghy for dear life as the flimsy craft moved slowly away from the edge of the ice. She could feel the current trying to tear it free from the rope. She was just about to close her eyes – something she did when she was frightened – when a dark shape in the water caught her eye. Something upstream that was coming towards her. Fast. At first, she couldn’t make out what it was, but as it closed in, she knew exactly what it was. A black fin. The fin of a shark!

  She panicked. ‘SHARK!’ she screamed, standing up and pointing to the black fin rushing towards her. It was a mistake. She lost her balance and toppled into the fast flowing, freezing water.

  7

  The Find

  Kurt’s training kicked in immediately. He assessed the situation in a flash. Liz was in the middle of a lead of fast flowing water being swept along by the strong current. There was no way he could drag her out from the middle of the lead: she was too far away. She had to be close to the edge of the ice for him to reach her. He had to act fast. She wouldn’t survive for long in water at minus 40°C.

  He scanned the lead for any sharp bends or turns. They were in luck. About 50 yards ahead, the lead swung sharply to the right. At that point, the current would sweep her close to the edge of the ice. He had to get there before she did, or she would die. It was their only chance.

  Kurt also knew that a fast flowing lead meant only one thing. The water was heading for a massive hole in the ice, a hole that could be miles deep, a hole where the water would plunge into the Arctic Ocean, taking Liz with it. A spectacular Arctic waterfall.

  All these thoughts flashed through his head in an instant and he started running the moment he spotted the bend in the lead. He ran like he’d never ran before, knelt down at the point of the bend and dug his knees and the toes of his snow shoes into the hard snow, making himself as secure as possible. He didn’t want the impact of Liz’s body to drag him into the lead. Then, he discarded his gloves. He needed uncluttered, bare hands to haul her out of the water.

  As she came rushing by, he plunged both his hands into the icy water – the pain was instant and excruciating – grabbed her under both armpits and yanked her to the edge of the ice. The force of the water and the weight of her body almost caused him to topple in. It took all his strength and years of training to prevent the water from tearing her from his grip. His muscles and sinews were stretched to breaking point. He could feel his grip start to loosen as numbness began to creep along his hands. He couldn’t hold on much longer.

  It seemed like he’d been in this position for ages – in reality it was no more than 30 seconds – when he felt a figure loom over him and grab Liz’s arms. ‘Okay Kurt. Let’s pull her out,’ said Henrik.

  Henrik had assessed the situation too and crossed the lead as fast as he could, sprinting the 50 yards to where Kurt was holding on to Liz. Together, they hauled her from the freezing water. She was barely conscious and in a state of shock as they laid her gently on the snow. Her clothes were wet through and she was shivering uncontrollably.

  ‘We have to get her wet clothes off NOW!’ yelled Henrik. ‘Helga, you take off her clothes and wrap her in foil. I’ll erect the tent and fire up the stove.’ And, looking at his friend’s hands, he said, ‘Kurt, put your gloves back on.’

  As Liz and Kurt thawed out by the stove, Henrik examined Liz for signs of frostbite. The skin on her extremities, her fingers, nose, ears and toes, was white and cold. He didn’t want to disturb her to ask if they felt numb, but he was sure they would. She was exhibiting the early stage of frostbite – frostnip. Of more concern was the hardness. If it persisted, she could have the intermediate stage of frostbite, but they wouldn’t know that for another day or two.

  Kurt was less of a worry. Only his hands had been exposed to the freezing water, and for less time. He should be fine. At best he wouldn’t have any frostbite. At worst, just mild frostnip.

  For their evening meal, Helga prepared a pot of steaming hot tea and a bowl of warm broth. She stroked Liz’s cheek. ‘Wake up, Liz,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve got a mug of hot tea and a bowl of broth to warm you up.’

  Liz’s eyelids flickered, then opened. Slowly. She looked confused. It was the first time she’d regained consciousness since being pulled from the water. ‘What… what happened? Did I fall into the lead?’

  ‘I’m afraid you did,’ replied Helga softly. ‘You stood up, shouted ‘‘shark’’ and then fell in.’

  It all came flooding back. ‘I… I remember now,’ she said. ‘I saw a fin. A dark fin. I thought it was a shark. Was it a shark?’ she asked.

  Henrik looked at Kurt and smiled. ‘No, Liz. It wasn’t a shark. It was a baluga whale. Probably a young one that got separated from its pod. Adult ones are white. It was probably lost.’

  ‘Or injured,’ interjected Kurt. ‘If you saw a fin the whale must have been on its side. Balugas don’t have dorsal fins. Anyway, it wasn’t a shark.’

  ‘Then I needn’t have…’ She was about to say ‘panicked’, but decided against it.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Henrik, seeing her distress. ‘It was a natural reaction.’

  Liz felt foolish. Foolish and childish. She’d panicked and almost died. And, worst still, she’d put the lives of her colleagues in danger.

  ‘Who pulled me out?’ she asked.

  ‘Kurt,’ replied Helga. ‘He acted so fast and was so brave, plunging his bare hands into the…’

  ‘It’s what I’m trained to do,’ interrupted Kurt. ‘Just part of my job. And it wasn’t just me. I couldn’t have done it without Henrik’s help.’

  ‘That’s enough talking for now,’ said Helga. ’Let’s get some tea and broth into you.’

  For the next two days they rested, allowing Liz to get over her ordeal and regain her strength. And to allow Henrik to assess the extent of the frostbite. As he feared, it had progressed beyond frostnip: she was displaying the signs of superficial frostbite. Her nose, ears and fingers had turned red and blistered. But it wasn’t too bad, just the top layer of skin. She should be fine in a few days. Thankfully, her toes were okay. At least she’d be able to walk.

  The first meteorite they found was the size of a cricket ball. Helga’s keen eyes spotted the irregular shaped greyish-black lump of extraterrestrial rock from outer space lying on a bare sheet of ice where the fierce Arctic wind had blown away the snow. It was one of the few meteorites they found that was visible to the naked eye. Most were buried beneath the snow and had to be located by the iridium detectors.

  They came in all shapes and sizes. The smaller ones, those less than the size of a golf ball, resembled smooth nuggets. The larger meteorites were less smooth and more irregular shaped, in part because fragments had broken off the surface on impact.

  All the ones they’d found seemed normal, natural meteorites. Just lumps of extraterrestrial rock. None showed any sign of intelligent, alien design. Liz was disappointed. Perhaps Rupert was right. Perhaps she was a deluded young woman.

  The following day, Liz detected a strong signal. It was emanating from a depression in the snow. Excitedly, she scraped away the snow to expose the bare ice, but there was no sign of any meteorite. She checked the detector. The signal was still strong. Puzzled, she scraped away more snow, exposing an area of ice about 12 feet in diameter. But still she found nothing. No meteorite, no signs of a meteorite impact. No fragments. Nothing. But lots of iridium. Strange. Panting from scraping away the snow, she squatted on her haunches and called to Helga.

  ‘Helga, can you come and check my readings with your detector? I’m getting a strange result.’

  Helga
knelt beside Liz and switched on her detector. The signal was very strong. ‘Where’s the meteorite?’ she said to Liz. ‘It should be here.’

  Kurt and Henrik strolled over to the two women sat on the circle of ice. ‘Is there a problem?’ asked Kurt.

  ‘Not exactly a problem,’ said Liz. ‘But it’s puzzling.’

  ‘What is?’ asked Henrik.

  ‘Well,’ said Liz, glancing at Helga, ‘our iridium detectors are receiving strong signals from this area, but there’s no sign of a meteorite or a meteorite impact. I’ve shifted the snow to extend the search area,’ she continued, pointing to the 12 foot diameter circle of ice with her hand, ‘and still found nothing. It’s strange.’

  Kurt and Henrik rubbed the ice with their gloves until it shone like polished glass and examined the surface with expert eyes. It didn’t take long for them to spot what they were looking for. A patch of roughly circular ice that had melted and refrozen. Unless you knew what to look for, it would never be noticed. Just a barely perceptible, irregular shaped ridge where the reformed ice met the existing ice. To the untrained eye, it was invisible.

  ‘This patch of ice has melted and refrozen,’ said Kurt, tracing out a shape approximately three feet in diameter with his gloved finger. ‘The meteorite must be buried in the ice.’

  Helga looked perplexed. ‘For a meteorite to penetrate the ice,’ she said, as if speaking to herself, ‘it must have been travelling very fast. And to have been travelling very fast, it must have been fairly large. And if it had been fairly large, it should have made a large impact crater, one much bigger than this,’ she said, pointing to the three foot diameter circle of refrozen ice. ‘It’s strange.’

  ‘Strange or not,’ said Liz, ‘it must be in the ice. The question is: how do we get it out?’