Melt

by Ele Fountain

  I make a decision. I’m going to get my stuff. Perhaps it’s a stupid idea. It might be warmer in the plane, but I really don’t want to be on my own, and the boy needs my help. Night is falling, so I have to be fast.

  I start piling luggage in the snow: my bag, Dad’s bag, the emergency kit and a blanket. I go to the cockpit and tug the sandwich things out from behind the chair.

  I run over to the hut with the biggest bag and sling it inside, then I come back for the rest.

  I find my torch and hang it from the door handle, then I sit on the floor and begin to play back everything that happened after landing the plane. Dad walking to the building. Seeing those men through the window, Dad collapsing on the floor. I get as far as accelerating down the runway when I realize my whole body is beginning to shake. I pause. It’s too much to think about in one go. I also need to help the boy. With every passing second he must be getting colder.

  I peel back the rugs, then tug gently at his right boot until it slides off. Water spills onto the floor. I pull off his sock and then the other boot, which is dry. If I’m going to warm him up, I know it’s essential to remove any wet clothes. I pull at the ski trousers, peeling them down one leg at a time then reach for the blanket and wrap it around his legs and feet, draping the driest fur rug on top of that. I try to heave him into a more upright position. He begins to stir. This must be a good sign. He’s not too deeply unconscious.

  I look for the lunch bag in the pile of luggage. My stomach twists uncomfortably. I’ve had nothing to eat since the apple. It reminds me of the apple which Dad didn’t touch. I start to wonder whether someone has found him, or if he’s still with those men, and if they will give him something to eat.

  I sit next to the boy and pour a tiny amount of hot tea into the lid of Dad’s flask, then hold it up to his lips. Slowly, I tip the cup. A small amount of tea runs down his chin. I lean his head back a little further and try again. I manage to get some in his mouth. I see the top of his neck move as he swallows, so I try the same amount again, then a little more. After one whole cup, the boy’s eyes flicker open. At first he doesn’t seem able to focus on anything, then he turns to look at me. His eyes are the darkest brown.

  ‘I think you have hypothermia,’ I say.

  He looks down at the cup in my hand. I fill it again and lift it to his mouth. He drinks it all. He looks around the room, like he’s trying to piece together the same mystery as me. Where did he come from? How did he get here?

  Just when I think he’s about to close his eyes again, he speaks. It makes me jump, even though his voice is quiet.

  ‘Is it dark outside?’ he asks, so softly that I can barely hear. He has an accent I cannot place.

  ‘Yes, since about an hour ago,’ I reply.

  ‘Can I have some more tea?’ he asks. I pour another cup.

  It seems incredible that the lifeless person beneath the rugs is now talking to me. Asking for tea.

  I’m so glad not to be alone. Only this morning I couldn’t wait to fly away and leave everyone behind.

  I realize that I am starting to feel very cold too. I need to eat. I take a packet of sandwiches from the lunch bag. I wonder whether they were mine or Dad’s. I have no appetite, so I try to imagine Dad is here, telling me to eat up. I know he would think it was silly to go hungry. My mouth is dry, so I pour myself a small amount of tea, to help the sandwich go down. The boy is watching.

  ‘Would you like something to eat?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies, but doesn’t move. I wonder if he can.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I ask.

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m not hurt. I am just feeling weak.’

  I nod. I position the sandwich so that he can take a bite.

  He chews very slowly. His face is still pale, but his lips aren’t blue any more. After a few minutes have passed, he speaks again.

  ‘I think you might have saved my life.’

  I wonder whether anyone has come to Dad’s rescue. Whether someone has saved his life. Or spared it.

  A minute or so passes before the boy adds, ‘Why are you here?’

  He is looking at me like I’m some kind of unicorn. A girl, alone, in the middle of a frozen wilderness. Yet a few hours ago, I discovered him, alone, in the same wilderness, soaking wet, even though I saw no lakes or water when I was coming into land.

  ‘I—’ Nothing else comes out. I try again. ‘I lost my way,’ is all I manage to say. Biggest understatement ever.

  Part of me wonders whether any of this is happening at all, or if I step outside the hut again, I’ll be back at the airport and Dad will be returning from the building at the end of the runway, smiling.

  ‘I fell through the sea ice,’ he says.

  ‘You fell through some ice?’ I say.

  ‘Sea ice,’ he corrects. ‘I was hunting for seals. I shouldn’t have gone alone. I fell through the ice. Many people die that way.’ His voice is clearer now. Stronger.

  I begin to understand what he’s telling me.

  ‘The sea is near here?’

  ‘You really don’t know where you are, do you?’

  ‘I must have missed a signpost,’ I say defensively.

  He tilts his head to one side and looks confused. He wasn’t trying to make me feel stupid. He’s just surprised.

  I realize how tired I am. Instead of words, all that comes out is a sob, a noise which doesn’t even really sound like it’s come from me.

  I am aware of the boy trying to move, rubbing his legs and his arms.

  ‘What happened?’ he says. ‘Can you tell me?’

  Something about the boy’s voice makes me feel calmer.

  I think about how unreal my story will sound. How unbelievable. Then I remember the aeroplane outside the hut.

  The boy is staring at me, waiting.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘I flew up here, with my dad. He has a plane.’

  The boy doesn’t nod or say anything. He is letting me take my time.

  ‘Dad was coming for work. We were supposed to meet someone at the airport. When we got there, two men were waiting for my dad.’

  I stop talking as the tears roll down my face.

  Still, the boy waits.

  ‘They attacked him. Then they came after me. I ran away, back to the plane.’ I pause. ‘I managed to take off, and—’

  ‘You flew a plane?’ The boy’s expression has remained completely unchanged. Now his mouth hangs slightly open, and the hint of a smile spreads up to his eyes.

  ‘Yes, I flew it here. But I ran out of fuel. The landing was bad, and I nearly crashed into this hut. I didn’t know you were inside.’

  The fact that I nearly crashed an aeroplane into the hut where he was sheltering doesn’t seem to bother him. He’s more interested in the fact that it happened at all.

  ‘How did you learn? Who taught you to fly a plane?’

  ‘My dad,’ I sniff.

  ‘Have you done it before? Flown on your own, I mean.’

  ‘No. I don’t think it’s even legal.’

  He slumps back against the wall, but his eyes are shining. Definitely much better than when I arrived.

  I don’t want to talk any more, but he keeps on asking questions.

  ‘Do you know who the men were? The ones who attacked you.’ It’s almost as if he’s been reading my mind.

  ‘I have no idea.’ I shake my head slowly. ‘There was one other plane at the airport. I thought it must be theirs.’

  ‘They have a plane too?’ the boy says.

  ‘Yes, a four-seater like the one I was flying.’

  The boy stares at the wall, like he’s thinking something over. After a few minutes he says, ‘They might come looking for you.’

  A coldness runs through me. Nothing to do with the icy air. My plane will be very easy to spot from above. I swallow, even though my mouth is dry. I remember Dad saying the most important thing you can do in an emergency is stay calm. He didn’t say whether that rule appl
ies if there are three emergencies, or even four, one after the other.

  ‘When the sun rises, I have to go. No one knows I’m here. They will be worried,’ he says.

  My heart thumps in my chest.

  ‘But what should I do? I don’t even know where I am. I need to call the police. I need to call my mum. I—’ I feel the sob rising in my chest again. How can he be so matter-of-fact after everything that’s just happened?

  ‘When we get to my village, then maybe I can help you.’

  I try to take in what the boy is saying.

  ‘You’ll be able to call the police. Let them know what’s happened.’

  He’s offering to help me.

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘Can you walk?’ I ask.

  The boy smiles. ‘I feel much better. I’m just tired,’ he adds.

  ‘Is your village nearby?’

  ‘Not too far,’ he says. ‘If you have a snowmobile.’

  I remember arriving at the hut. It looked deserted. I would have noticed a snowmobile, or snowmobile tracks.

  ‘I have one,’ he adds. ‘I just need to find it.’ I must look confused. ‘There was a white-out,’ he says. ‘I lost my way, and I lost my snowmobile. If the visibility is good, then I’ll know where to go.’

  ‘But it all looks the same out there,’ I say.

  He shakes his head. ‘People always think that. People who don’t know this land. Just because it’s not covered in roads and houses. We should leave here at sunrise. It will be very cold still, but it will give us more time. Do you have everything you need from the plane?’

  ‘Yes, all the bags and the emergency kit too.’

  He has gone from hypothermic to expedition planner in the space of an hour.

  He looks over at the pile of stuff on the floor and opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak, then stops himself. After a moment, he says, ‘My name is Yutu. What’s yours?’

  ‘I’m Bea, short for Beatrice,’ I say.

  I wait for him to react in some way, but he doesn’t. He just rubs his legs again, then pushes the rugs to one side. When he stands up, his head almost touches the ceiling. He stretches, then picks up his ski trousers and hangs them from the back of the door. He tips his right boot upside down to empty out the rest of the water.

  ‘I think tomorrow I will need to wear a plastic bag on my foot,’ he says. He catches my expression. ‘Inside my boot. To stop my sock getting wet.’

  He picks up one of the rugs and lays it across a raised platform which spans half the hut. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before. He picks up the blanket and the other rug and lays them on top.

  ‘We have a very early start tomorrow, so I think we need to get some sleep. It’s warmer if we sleep on this,’ he says, patting the platform.

  ‘I guess,’ I start slowly, ‘some of my dad’s clothes might fit you.’

  He looks over at me but says nothing.

  I unzip one of the bags and pass a bundle of clothes to Yutu. While he puts on a few dry layers, I look in the other bag for my hat and an extra jumper.

  ‘I almost feel warm again,’ Yutu says, pulling on a second pair of socks. ‘Thank you. We should both get under the rug, before it gets any colder. It’s caribou skin. It will trap our body heat.’

  The rug is surprisingly soft.

  ‘I’ll wake you at first light,’ says Yutu, and then rolls over with his back towards me.

  I switch the torch off. I notice the sounds of the wind, gently whistling across the tundra. The hut creaks. The rhythm is reassuring. My nose is cold, but I am warm beneath the caribou skins. I try to picture Dad, sleeping in a bed somewhere, but the image of him lying on the floor, unconscious, appears instead. I think about Mum, at home. I wonder if she even knows that anything is wrong. Who will tell her? I want to get up and pace around, but I know I have to stay beneath these rugs. I can’t let my body temperature drop. I need some rest. I need to sleep.

  Kit

  ‘What’s in the bags, Bea?’

  My eyes flick open. It’s dark. I’m cold. The air is icy on my face. I try desperately to remember where I am.

  I turn towards the voice and see a tall figure moving around in the gloom.

  I remember what happened yesterday. My dad. The two men. Yutu.

  I feel around for my torch and switch it on.

  Yutu is by the door. He’s already in his snow boots. Next to him is the pile of luggage I took from the plane.

  ‘It’s just clothes, and stuff for the weekend,’ I say. My voice sounds hoarse.

  ‘Is there anything we can leave behind?’

  I push the caribou skin to one side.

  ‘Here.’ Yutu passes me my boots. ‘Put them on while your feet are still warm.’

  I go through the bags, taking one set of warm clothes from each. The clothes smell of home. Of a different Bea.

  Yutu flips open the clasps on the emergency kit and examines the packages, taking them out one by one. ‘Waterproof matches, emergency blanket, whistle, compass.’ He lifts out a second layer. ‘Folding water bottle, fishing line and hooks, dried food. Wow,’ says Yutu. ‘Your dad travels prepared.’

  I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak without my voice cracking up completely.

  I don’t like him going through my things. Dad’s things.

  ‘How about in that one?’ He points to the lunch bag.

  I snatch it and put it on my lap.

  He glances at me in surprise.

  I need to calm down. I need to remember that he’s helping me.

  I empty everything onto the caribou skin. There are sandwiches, bananas, power bars and some cake. ‘Let’s share it out,’ I say.

  Yutu smiles. ‘I am so hungry,’ he says. ‘We should eat something now. It’s important to eat a lot when it’s cold. Your body needs to burn more energy to keep you warm.’ He picks up a banana. ‘We don’t get many of these,’ he says.

  ‘So does everyone from your village hunt for seals?’ I ask, trying to sound friendly.

  Yutu frowns a little. ‘Not everyone,’ he says. ‘There are some other things to do,’ he smiles.

  ‘I meant, does everyone know how to?’ I say, my cheeks burning in the cold air.

  ‘They used to,’ he says. ‘Not so much now. My friends prefer gaming.’

  He looks at me, like he’s waiting for the next question. I try to think of something to ask. I’m used to being the curiosity, not the conversation starter. He doesn’t seem to mind that I say nothing.

  ‘So do all your friends know how to fly?’ he says.

  I like that he assumes I have friends.

  I shake my head.

  ‘My dad works for an oil company. They let him borrow a plane. He’s a geologist, so he needs to do aerial surveys sometimes. If he has a chance to fly at weekends, then he takes me with him.’

  Yutu looks like he’s hanging on my every word.

  I think about sitting next to Dad when we go flying. About how we discuss our favourite sandwich fillings and variations in air pressure. About how he makes me feel I can do anything. Then I think about our flight yesterday. It felt like he was barely there with me at all. It’s almost like I haven’t seen Dad properly for weeks.

  ‘We haven’t flown much lately. Dad got really busy at work.’

  ‘Do you think that’s why he wanted to bring you with him?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  Yutu watches me. ‘The sun will rise soon.’ He rolls up the blanket and stows it in the bag.

  ‘What about the caribou skins?’ I ask.

  ‘This isn’t my hut. They belong to someone else.’

  I can’t imagine why anyone would ever come here. I don’t say that to Yutu.

  ‘Ready?’ he asks.

  I nod.

  Search

  The freezing air snatches my breath away.

  Yutu also gasps. He is looking at the plane.

  ‘You landed that?’ he says.

  ‘Not exac
tly landed. The wing is broken, I think the wheels, too.’

  ‘No. I meant, it’s amazing.’

  I can’t quite make out his expression, behind the fur on his hood. He walks round to the back of the hut, where the ground is higher and stands there for a few minutes, looking at the patchwork of hills ahead. On the horizon, a blaze of orange creeps upwards to meet the dawn sky.

  Yutu turns to me. ‘Time to go,’ he says.

  I nod. He slings the bag over his shoulder and picks up his long stick with a spear at the end.

  ‘Stay close to me,’ he says. ‘There might be snowdrifts or rifts just beneath the surface. We need to follow the coastline.’

  I crunch through the snow a few metres behind him, running a little to keep up. The layers of clothing and thick boots make it hard to walk.

  Yutu seems to know where he is going.

  However hard I stare, I can’t see the shape of the coastline, or any particular shapes at all. The land just seems to roll up and down, with dark patches where the snow has blown off the rocks, and small humps which might be trees. There are no buildings to break the horizon. No sounds apart from the wind and the crunching of our feet. No snowmobile. I’ve never been so far from a town. So far from people.

  Yutu walks with a steady rhythm, like he’s on autopilot. Finding the flattest ground takes all my concentration. After about ten minutes my legs begin to ache. I notice that we are following some kind of ridge. I can’t see what lies beyond it.

  Without warning, Yutu stops right in front of me. I bump into the bag slung over his back.

  ‘Look!’ he says. I scramble to his side, desperate to see what he’s pointing at.