The Girl Who Died

by Ragnar Jónasson

  ‘The door—uh—it’s sticking,’ Gunnlaugur called in a despairing voice. He seemed completely out of place out here, battered by the savage elements.

  ‘Let me try.’ Helena pushed him aside. ‘It’s only locked.’ Her voice was calm. It took a good deal to throw Helena off balance.

  ‘What, locked?’ Daníel exclaimed. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be an emergency refuge?’

  ‘Some huts are kept locked,’ Ármann replied. ‘There should be a key box here somewhere.’ He directed his torch at the wall beside the door and, sure enough, there was the box.

  ‘Can’t we open it?’ Daníel could feel his heart pounding. He had to get inside, into shelter.

  ‘I don’t have the code,’ Ármann said. ‘I didn’t know we’d be coming here. Let me think for a minute …’

  Daníel moved closer. ‘Shit. We must be able to break it open?’ He took off one glove and attempted to tear the box off the wall. But it wouldn’t budge and now he was more aware than ever of the merciless cold. Hastily he pulled his glove back on, but he’d already lost most of the feeling in his fingers. ‘We need a tool of some sort.’

  ‘Can’t we just break a window?’ Gunnlaugur asked, his teeth chattering.

  Ármann gave him a look. ‘Break a window? And try to sleep in sub-zero temperatures tonight? Good luck with that …’ His tone was acid.

  ‘We must be able—’ Gunnlaugur began but Daníel interrupted:

  ‘Why the hell’s the hut locked? Aren’t these refuges supposed to be for people in our situation? We’ll die of exposure if we can’t get in!’

  ‘Calm down, Daníel,’ Helena said. ‘No one’s going to die of exposure.’

  Once again, tensions were rising among the group.

  From the moment he’d stepped off the plane Daníel had started regretting his decision to take part in this weekend trip, and the feeling had grown steadily worse. He would have given anything to be at home in his little flat in London with his new girlfriend. She was an actress too, fifteen years younger than him, and already more successful than he was, though he wouldn’t admit to the fact in anyone else’s hearing.

  ‘Should we try calling—try the phone?’ Gunnlaugur asked.

  ‘We’re in the highlands, Gunnlaugur,’ Ármann said flatly. ‘We’re alone here. Miles from the nearest house—the nearest person. We just need to face up to the fact and sort this out ourselves. No one’s coming to rescue us—or not any time soon …’

  ‘It’s a bloody pain that there’s no phone signal here,’ Daníel muttered, more to himself than the others.

  But Ármann heard and replied: ‘We were aware of that. I mean, wasn’t that the plan? To be in the middle of nowhere together and try to switch off for a while? That was the whole idea, wasn’t it?’

  Helena intervened: ‘Just leave it, guys. Look, we need to get this door open, make ourselves comfortable and get some whisky down our throats before bed. So can we concentrate, please?’

  ‘It’s a pretty flimsy door,’ Gunnlaugur pointed out. ‘We could probably …’

  ‘We’ll break open the key box. We won’t do anything stupid. Then we’ll buy a new box to replace it. End of story.’ Ármann took the shotgun off his back.

  Daníel jumped. It wasn’t that he was actually expecting Ármann to shoot anyone; it was just an involuntary reaction.

  ‘No need to worry, mate,’ Ármann said with a grin, but in this strange situation Daníel had the feeling that his words were charged with meaning. There was an indefinable smell of fear in the air, among the thickly falling flakes.

  Ármann raised the barrel of the gun and started hammering at the box, again and again, until it came loose, then kept on bashing at it until he could finally extract the key.

  ‘Right,’ he said firmly. ‘It worked. Now we can relax a bit.’

  He put the key in the lock and after a brief struggle to turn it, opened the door. They were met by pitch darkness.

  ‘Well, let’s get inside.’

  Helena didn’t wait to be told twice and almost pushed past Ármann.

  Gunnlaugur followed behind, in no apparent hurry. Daníel patiently awaited his turn. At times Daníel wondered if Gunnlaugur was only half alive, he was so placid.

  Daníel directed his torch in front of him as he entered. It was hard to work out the size and layout of the hut with his friends’ torch beams flashing this way and that, criss-crossing the room.

  He put down his backpack in the corner and drew a deep breath. It was chilly in here but a little warmer than it had been outside, and Daníel felt as if he could finally get enough oxygen in his lungs, finally catch his breath and relax a little …

  It was then that Gunnlaugur gave a yell.

  It was a piercing yell, so disturbing in the darkness and the quiet that Daníel felt an icy shiver running down his spine. There was a confused noise and it took him a moment or two to work out that Gunnlaugur had cannoned into Ármann, sending them both flying.

  After that there was dead silence.

  Daníel stood rigid with fear for a moment or two, trying to work out what had happened. Gunnlaugur had seen something, that much was obvious.

  Daníel walked a little further towards the back of the hut, peering to both sides and illuminating the interior with his torch, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Then he shone the beam straight ahead, at the wall facing the front door.

  The sight that met his eyes was so unexpected, so horrifying in its simplicity, that he felt as if his heart had missed a beat.

  Daníel tried to cry out but couldn’t utter a word, couldn’t move, just stood there, staring.

  He felt suddenly cold all over and the shivering spread through his body with terrifying speed.

  He had never been so afraid in his life.

  ALSO BY RAGNAR JÓNASSON

  The Mist

  The Island

  Rupture

  The Darkness

  Blackout

  Nightblind

  Snowblind

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  RAGNAR JÓNASSON is an internationally number-one bestselling author who has sold more than two million books in thirty-two countries worldwide. He was born in Reykjavík, Iceland, where he also works as an investment banker and teaches copyright law at Reykjavík University. He has previously worked on radio and television, including as a TV news reporter for the Icelandic National Broadcasting Service, and, from the age of seventeen, has translated fourteen of Agatha Christie’s novels. His critically acclaimed international bestseller The Darkness is soon to be a major TV series. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Map

  Author’s Note

  Part One: Several Months Earlier

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Part Two

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII


  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  Chapter XVIII

  Chapter XIX

  Chapter XX

  Chapter XXI

  Chapter XXII

  Chapter XXIII

  Chapter XXIV

  Chapter XXV

  Chapter XXVI

  Chapter XXVII

  Chapter XXVIII

  Chapter XXIX

  Chapter XXX

  Chapter XXXI

  Chapter XXXII

  Chapter XXXIII

  Chapter XXXIV

  Chapter XXXV

  Chapter XXXVI

  Chapter XXXVII

  Chapter XXXVIII

  Chapter XXXIX

  Part Three: Four Weeks Later

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Teaser

  Alos by Ragnar Jónasson

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group

  THE GIRL WHO DIED. Copyright © 2018 by Ragnar Jónasson. English translation copyright © 2021 by Victoria Cribb. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Excerpt from Outside copyright © 2021 by Ragnar Jónasson. English translation copyright © 2021 by Victoria Cribb.

  Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

  Cover art: woman © Maria Angeles Estevez Seco/Arcangel; mottled texture © Corrie Mick/Shutterstock.com; wooden texture © Dmitrii Lisenkov/Shutterstock.com

  The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 978-1-250-79373-7 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-250-79374-4 (ebook)

  eISBN 9781250793744

  Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.

  Originally published in Iceland under the title Þorpið by Veröld Publishing

  First published in Great Britain by Michael Joseph, a Penguin Random House company

  First U.S. Edition: 2021