Zodiac Station by Tom Harper Read Free Book Online

call them nunataks.
    And it never got dark. The five-month-long polar day hadn’t quite dawned, but it was coming. Even when the sun got below the horizon, you knew it hadn’t gone far. We travelled in a protracted twilight, dim enough to see the tail light of the snowmobile in front, light enough that I could still make out the snow on the distant mountains. A few of the brighter stars peeked through the velvet sky. In that wide, wide space, so close to the top of the world, I could almost feel the planet spinning on its axis under me.
    Eventually, where the ice dome funnelled into a glacier between mountains, Greta stopped and waved me to come up behind her.
    ‘The last place his GPS clocked in was near here,’ she shouted over the idling engines. She jumped down and disconnected the sleds, then tied two lengths of rope between the snowmobiles.
    ‘What’s that for?’
    ‘Crevasses.’
    I surveyed the unbroken snow. ‘Are there many around?’
    ‘It only takes one.’ She made the rope fast in an intricate cradle of knots and carabiners. ‘Keep it tight. And don’t drive over the rope or you’ll rip it.’
    We moved down the glacier in harness. The snowmobile didn’t want to go slowly: if I feathered the throttle, it would rev but not move; if I pressed harder, it suddenly popped into gear and lurched forward. It took all my concentration not to mow down the rope … let alone watch for crevasses … let alone spare any thought for Hagger. I wasn’t even sure the rope would do any good. If Greta went into a crevasse, the rope would more likely pull me in on top of her than save either of us.
    Greta stopped. I let go the throttle so suddenly I almost fell off.
    ‘Is it a crevasse?’ I shouted. Then I saw it. A blue snowmobile, parked where the glacier rubbed up against the mountains. Pieces of equipment were scattered over the ground around it, hard to make out in the gloom.
    I got down from the snowmobile.
    ‘Wait,’ Greta called. ‘Hold on to the rope. And check the snow.’
    ‘I’ll follow your track.’
    ‘Check it,’ she repeated. ‘The snowmobile has better weight distribution than you do.’
    I edged over the snow, one hand on the safety line, the other holding the barrel of my rifle, using the butt to probe the ground in front. A hard crust had formed on top of the snow, but that was deceptive. It squeaked under my boots like polystyrene – and, like polystyrene, it snapped under my weight. Each time it broke, my heart froze while I waited for the drop. Each time, my feet landed softly in the powder snow underneath.
    Greta was prowling around, examining the equipment he’d left.
    ‘Don’t you have to worry about crevasses too?’
    ‘Martin knew the drill.’ She pointed to four fuel cans that made a rough diamond around the abandoned snowmobile. ‘He marked out a safe area.’
    ‘So where’s he gone?’ I looked at the snowmobile. I looked at the boxes of equipment. No sign of Hagger. A shovel stood planted in the snow beside a square pit, about a metre deep. An open Thermos stood upright on one of the boxes, lid off, cup beside it, as if Hagger had been about to pour himself a cup of tea. The water inside the Thermos had frozen solid.
    ‘Here.’ Greta bent down and lifted a red climbing rope out of the wind-blown snow. It had been tied off on Hagger’s snowmobile. She followed it across the glacier.
    Then she stopped. She leaned forward. The rope went taut behind her. I hurried over.
    A dark cut opened in the ice, a snaking fissure going down – I couldn’t see how far. Narrow enough that you didn’t see it until you were nearly there; wide enough you could easily climb in. Or fall. The rope trailed down into the void.
    ‘Martin,’ I shouted. I stepped forward. My foot caught a lump of ice half buried in the snow and kicked it over the edge. Loose snow showered down after it.
    ‘Careful.’
    Greta took a head torch from her pocket. Wrapping the strap around her wrist, she shone