Trapped in Ice (16 page)

Sometimes the Captain was there to listen. That made me nervous all over again. He liked my stories, especially those that take place way down south where the weather was always warm and sunny. He said it helped him to keep warm and …

 

I shook the pen to try to force a little more ink out of it. The ink in the bottle had continued to get thicker and
thicker and was now just a frozen mass. If I wanted to continue I'd have to reheat the bottle. I decided to finish later. The storm was subsiding and I wanted to go outside. I closed my diary. One of the few good things about the cold was that the ink dried the instant it was set on the page. I lifted up one of the covers on my bed and tucked the diary inside. Figaro, sleeping at the bottom of the bed, opened one eye and then stretched. I reached over and scratched him behind one of his ears and he pressed his head against my hand. He'd spent all of the last four days in our shelter and I hoped the Captain didn't miss him too much.

Coming out of the entrance tunnel I was pleased to see the storm was almost over and it seemed to have left behind some light. In the sky, just barely above the horizon was the sun, as if it wanted to peek out and see everything was still all right. It was the same fiery ball I remembered, but it sent down no heat to warm away the chill from the air or the ache in my bones. I just stood there and watched it for a full fifteen minutes until it dropped out of sight and the eerie twilight returned. It had been up in the sky for less than thirty minutes.

Then I remembered what Captain Bartlett had said to us at that first meeting: “We're goin' ta make a run for it. Have ta go when the sun returns ta light the way, but before it burns off the ice and drops us inta the ocean.”

It was time for us to leave.

 

M
OTHER HAD BEEN IN CHARGE
of making the flags, which, of course, meant Michael and I had worked along with her. We'd started making them before the ship went
down. In all we'd made almost two hundred and fifty of them. I knew the number well. Two flags for every mile of ice. Two hundred and fifty flags for one hundred and twenty-five miles of ice. They were small red triangles of material attached to wooden stakes. They were much taller than me but once they were driven into the ice the flag at the top would be level with my head.

When we first started working on them I found the job tedious and boring. Then, once it was explained how important these flags were, I worked more intently. They would be our path markers to safety and had to be strong and secure enough to ensure that no storm could rip it from the pole. The poles would guide us.

I grabbed an armful of flags and pushed them down the incline of the tunnel and out of the ice shelter ahead of me. I slid out after them. Michael walked back, empty-handed. He'd already dropped off some of the flags.

“Give me a hand,” I ordered.

“Why should I?”

“Because I'm your older sister and I'm telling you to help.”

“Not good enough,” he smirked.

I picked up one of the poles. “Because if you don't obey me I just might take one of these poles and smack your bottom with it.”

“You wouldn't ... and besides it hardly would hurt through all my clothes.”

“I would ... and I guess we'll find out,” I answered.

Michael quickly bent down and grabbed one of the poles. I wasn't sure whether he was going to help or try to hit me with it. He bent down again and grabbed a second
and a third and a fourth. I gathered up the rest. We carried them to where the sleds were being loaded.

They were using the sleds Mother had helped to build— the komatiks. They were both loaded down with supplies. The poles were being added and then the entire load would be tied in place under skins. I counted the dogs ... seven ... hooked up to each sled. Daisy was the lead dog for one of the teams. The dogs were mostly just lying on the ice, waiting.

“Here they are, Jonnie,” I said, handing him my handful of poles. Mr. Hadley took the others out of Michael's arms and they divided them between the two sleds.

As they started to tie things down my attention was caught by the Captain. He wasn't far away. He was holding his sextant, gazing through it to figure out our location and the direction we'd need to be travelling. Up here, so close to the magnetic north pole, the compass was almost useless so they'd be guided by his readings. If he was out by even a few degrees we'd never find the island, or at best, would have to travel much farther to finally get there.

The Captain would be leading the first team. He had told me he needed to make sure these first few legs were completely accurate and he wanted to take the sextant readings along the route. With him would go Jonnie and Kataktovick. I wished Jonnie wasn't going; I liked talking to him.

Today they'd travel to the ice shelters where I spent my overnight. From there they were going to cover between twenty and thirty miles, marking the trail with the flags. At the farthest point they'd build more shelters.

About twelve hours after the original group left, a second party would head out. This party, led by Mr. Hadley, would follow the flags towards the waiting shelters. Even though they'd be much more heavily loaded down with supplies, they'd be able to travel more quickly because of the trail created by the first team.

The two parties would meet at the shelters and spend the night. In the morning one party, carrying supplies and flags, would set out to mark the next part of the trip. The other group would leave almost all their supplies and gear at the shelters and return to camp. These supplies would be used later, when we all started our journey. The returning party could travel fast because of the lighter load, but if they were delayed by a storm, they would only have enough food or fuel to survive for a few days. This was part of the gamble.

Before the second party had returned to the camp, a third would set out. They'd meet the returning party somewhere along the route. This third group would be made up of six men. They'd have to be strong because they, and not dogs, would be pulling one of the two large sleds weighed down with food. They'd leave their entire load at the first set of shelters and return to camp.

Closing my eyes I tried to picture what they would be doing; how it was going to be there on the ice; how lonely it would be; and most important, how it would feel to be out there myself. I knew it would be different than on the short overnight trip. In just a few days I'd find out just how different.

 

 

Chapter Twenty

I 
TURNED AND SHIFTED
on my cot. I couldn't get to sleep. I could hear the soft breathing of Mother and Michael, asleep just off to my side. Mother was whistling a little with each breath. The only other sound was the ever-present wind outside stirring up the snow. It wasn't blowing hard, just hard enough for me to hear it through the walls.

My thoughts continually turned to the men out on the ice. There were fourteen of them, in three groups, out there, somewhere. I was sure they were all headed back towards our camp now. It had been eight days since the Captain left. Just before he started he'd told me it would take them between seven and ten days to set up the first three “stepping stones.” After completing them, they'd all return to camp, rest for a day, and then we'd all leave.

The camp had become my safe haven in the same way the ship had ... well, at least before it sank. I knew we couldn't stay here, but I was afraid to leave. And when they returned, I knew we'd soon be gone.

“Helen …” Michael called out.

“What?”

“I gotta go.”

“Go where?” I asked vacantly.

“You know, outside, to relieve myself.”

“Now? Can't you wait?”

“No,” he quietly moaned.

“All right,” I said reluctantly. “But sssshhhhh! We don't want to wake Mother.”

She'd been having trouble sleeping for the past week and had taken some sleeping powder before going to bed this evening. Dr. Mackay had given her some in the first weeks of the trip and she'd saved one dose.

It was pitch black in the shelter and both Michael and I had to get up and feel our way to the tunnel. He was already there by the time I'd worked my way over. I pushed aside the curtain and slid down the incline after him.

The moon was nearly full and was high in the sky. Its light bounced off the ice and provided just enough light for us to see. It was funny how the darkness seemed so much more heavy and frightening ever since a little daylight had come back. I didn't like to be outside at night any more. Somehow darkness at twelve midnight was more scary than darkness at twelve noon.

Each day, the sun stayed up in the sky for fifteen minutes longer than the day before. Yesterday it appeared at just after ten in the morning and didn't dip below the horizon until almost two in the afternoon.

There was a light frosting of snow being blown around and it whipped up into my face as I trudged after Michael. It stung my cheeks so I dipped my face down. There was always snow blowing around up here but it rarely “fell.” I'd learned that although we were on the ice in the middle
of an ocean we were also in the middle of a “desert.” There was as much precipitation here each year as in the Sahara Desert.

“Hey!” exclaimed Michael as I bumped into him.

“Sorry,” I said, and moved backwards a step.

He turned to face me. “Do you mind?”

“Mind? Mind what?”

“I wanted you to come out here with me ... not stand right beside me. Could I have a little privacy?”

“Certainly, your highness!”

I walked away five or six steps, back towards the camp. I turned around. I didn't know where his modesty was coming from but I understood what he meant about some privacy. We were all in such close quarters there was almost no place to just be by yourself. We were the only people for hundreds of miles in any direction, but we were all trapped together in the ice shelters. Looking back at the camp the blowing snow was now at my back and it suddenly felt less cold and harsh.

There were over a dozen different-sized shelters. The light reflecting off the ice gave an eerie glow which highlighted the buildings and caused them to throw long shadows stretching almost out to where I stood. The flag flapped away noisily and the line pinged against the pole. It was almost beautiful.

Some of the shelters were filled with life; people were inside, sleeping. But others, more than half of them, were empty. The men who would have filled them were still out on the ice.

I reached into my pockets to get my gloves but of course they weren't there. At night I always used them as
a pillow and they were still inside on my bunk. I was always forgetting to take them outside.

“Hurry up, Michael,” I said, looking around.

“I'm trying. It's hard to rush with all these layers of clothes on.”

“Try harder, I'm getting cold and …” I stopped in mid-sentence. My eyes had caught a blur of movement—a flash of grey. I looked hard. There was nothing, nothing at all. It had to be just a trick of the light coming in across the ice.

Then something caught my eye again. Movement, and then nothing. I tried to stare through the darkness. Everything was just different shades of grey. I stared harder.

“What ya staring at?” Michael asked. He had finished and was right behind me.

I almost jumped into the air.

“What's wrong?”

“Ssshhhhhh,” I hissed at him. “I think there's something there.”

“Yeah ... some igloos.” He started walking. “Come on, let's get back to the shelters. It's cold and I want to …” He stopped a dozen steps ahead of me.

We both saw it at the same instant. It looked like a big, shaggy, oversized dog as it moved slowly and deliberately, lumbering from behind one of the shelters, its nose to the ground. In the dim light it didn't seem white, just a darker shade of grey. It lifted its head and swung it back and forth, from side to side, like it was trying to find something.

I remembered the stories Kataktovick had told about polar bears. The polar bear, or Nanook, was a big part of
their myths and lives. He had said they couldn't see very well. In the dim light, with all the shades of grey, they could only pick out things that moved. Of course, anyone or any animal seeing a polar bear would try to run away. To make up for their poor sight, they possess an incredible sense of smell. That was why the Captain wouldn't let us bring food into any of the shelters except the cook house.

There was one other thought that kept spinning around inside my head: polar bears think of people the same way they think of a seal or walrus or deer or fish, just another source of food.

The bear continued to swing its head around. I could see the nostrils flaring and realized it was smelling the air, trying to “see” with its nose. We'd be okay as long as we were downwind of the bear. Downwind ... my heart sank. We were directly upwind. Walking away from the camp the snow had been blowing right into our faces, back into our tracks. Now the wind was blowing right past us to where the bear stood.

“Helen, it's …” Michael started to say.

“SSSHHH!” I hissed loudly. Too loudly. The bear turned around and stared directly at where we stood. It knew something was out there, but wasn't exactly sure where. The bear took a few steps forward and then stopped. It made a low hissing sound, like a cat or a snake. I shuddered. I knew what the bear was doing. It was trying to make the invisible prey move.

I heard Michael quietly whimpering. I prayed the sound hadn't reached the bear. The bear took two more tentative steps towards us and stopped. It opened and closed its jaws
repeatedly, and I could hear the sound of the teeth chomping together. Again it hissed, this time louder and longer. Almost in answer, Michael whimpered. It stared straight ahead, straight at us, but still I prayed it didn't see us.