“Can you see Källa?” she shouted.
He shook his head.
Sudden pressure shoved her deeper into her seat, as if the balloon had been thrown forward. A
boom!
followed, like a dozen
cracks of thunder. David twisted around to look—and pedaled faster.
Fire streaked by to the left, falling in a steep arc. A burning rock, Annika realized. She waited, waited, panting in her mask and her chest aching, certain that the next would crash into them and ignite the hydrogen, sending them spinning to the ground in a fiery explosion—but there were no more rocks. She glanced back, saw more streaks closer to the plume of ash and steam, but none coming nearer to their balloon. Ahead, she could see the shadowed edge of the glacier, the ridge of mountains beyond. The ash wasn’t so heavy now.
“Källa?”
David pointed northwest, higher into the air. Annika glanced over at the glacier below. Their balloon had lost altitude. She pushed down the flaps. No tension. Her heart sinking, she looked back at the assembly. The shaft had broken, the end sheared clean away, the sharp edge burnt black. The altitude flaps were gone.
“David?”
He glanced back. She couldn’t see his expression behind his mask. “Can you fix it?”
What did she have? She didn’t need the shaft; a rope could lift and lower the flaps. But there was nothing sturdy enough to replace those, except for the rudder—and if she used that, they couldn’t pilot the balloon.
Her throat tight, she shook her head.
David looked forward, as if gazing out over the expanse of white. His hand squeezed hers. “As far as we can!”
They pedaled, Annika watching the surface of the glacier coming nearer and nearer. When they were a few feet above it, she held up her hand. David stopped pedaling with her. They touched down a moment later with a soft
thump
.
And they were all right. Not out of danger, but safer.
Annika stepped out, sinking up to her shins in snow. A fine
layer of ash whispered across the top. David shouldered their packs, shook his head when she reached for hers. He pushed his mask up. Grateful to finally see his face again, Annika followed suit.
“Will Källa send someone back?”
“She’ll probably come herself.”
He nodded, then looked north. “We need to get off this glacier. There are no explosives under the ice here, but God knows what sort of reaction he’s set off. Keep your hood up and your mask on. The ash doesn’t look so bad now, but the particles are sharp as glass. You don’t want that in your eyes or in your lungs, especially since you don’t have nanoagents to clean them out.”
No, she didn’t. She pulled the mask over her face again.
He turned to examine the balloon. “Is there anything on this we can use?”
“That pole.” Her voice echoed hollowly in her ears. “To feel through the snow ahead of us.”
“Good. What about for snowshoes or a sled runner?”
She crouched as best she could in his boots, studying the cart frame. Just light aluminum tubing. Nothing flat enough, nothing smooth enough, nothing long enough. Not anymore.
“The altitude flaps,” she said, and he laughed a little, shaking his head.
“I’ll break through the snow ahead of you, then. It’s not too deep, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
But it was still slow going. The terrain roughened near the glacier’s edge, with sharp rocky protrusions, deceptively stable beneath the snow, threatening a bloody gash or worse if they tripped. Quakes rattled loose shelves of ice, shook Annika’s nerves into a shattered mess. They picked their way across the ice, backtracking when they came upon a crevasse. An hour passed, then two. Exhaustion began to settle in, and she had to stop herself from looking out over all the white, had to stop herself from thinking about the
position they were in, and focus on putting one foot ahead of the other, testing every single step.
Finally they wound their way down a slope studded with jagged ice and boulders. David paused, slipped his arm around her when she stopped at his side.
He pointed ahead. “We’ll hike up on that rise and stop for the night. I doubt we’re in danger of a flood here, but it’s best to take high ground. Ready?”
She was. The snow deepened as they climbed. Though David plowed through ahead of her, breaking a trail, the heavy boots and the incline soon felt as if she wore cannonballs strapped to her legs. Her breathing was labored when he finally stopped, the inside of her mask humid with sweat.
He set down the packs, drew her against him. Carefully, he slid back her mask, the cold air heaven against her cheeks.
His concerned gaze searched her face. “You’re all right?”
As long as she didn’t think. “Just…out of breath.”
“Rest. If you watch for dogs, I’ll build the snow house.”
She shook her head. “I’ll watch for dogs. But I’ll help. I’m too sweaty—if I stop now, I’ll get cold. I need to keep moving.”
Without a shovel, though, there wasn’t much for her to do until he’d dug out the base and began cutting blocks out with his steel hand. She helped him stack the blocks in a ring a few feet in diameter. An hour’s hard work, though he seemed tireless. Her arms were aching with fatigue by the time she slowly lowered the last block into place from inside the domed house, then smoothed the interior with mittened hands.
As he finished the entrance, she spread out the blankets and lit the small oil lamp. Quietly, she sorted through the packs, searching for the stores left over from when they’d fled
Phatéon
. Di Fiore’s men had gone through their things, but they’d have no reason to take potatoes or—
Three pieces of flatbread were left. Annika stared at them, then
searched again. Nothing more. Despair and fear thickened her throat. She forced them away.
Källa would come for them.
She stuffed the food back into the packs. She couldn’t think of this now. Her mind felt dull. She’d seen too much today, done too much, and she was worn down from exhaustion.
Tomorrow would be brighter. She’d be able to see the way forward better.
David stuck his head through the entrance, met her eyes. Her heart gave a crazy leap of hope. They were still together. And they
would
be all right.
He unbuckled his coat. “It’s already warmer in here.”
“A little,” she said. “But it’ll warm up a lot more with both of us.”
His smile started, then froze as a quake gently shook the ground. Silent, they braced their hands against the blocks. A few small clumps of snow fell, a few crystals drifted down.
“Nicely built,” she said when it stopped. “Did they teach you this in your survival course?”
“Yes.”
He grinned, crawled the rest of the way in. It was a tight fit. They’d have to sleep around each other. With his coat beneath them, providing another layer of protection from the freezing ground, and her coat over them, they’d remain more than warm enough.
She waited until he removed his coat, then curled up into a ball. David settled in behind, wrapping his arms around her, tucking his knees against hers. Despite her exhaustion, she wasn’t ready to sleep yet. She listened to his breaths, soaked up the warmth of his body.
His breath stilled when a growl grumbled through her stomach. She slid her fingers through his.
“There are a lot of dogs,” she reminded him, and felt his tension ease.
He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “It may come to that,
unfortunately. Källa might have to wait before the eruption stops before she can come for us. It could be a few days.”
Or more. She’d heard of eruptions in this region that lasted for weeks. But even if it did, they’d be all right. They were warm. They had food.
“I also have bread in my pack from
Phatéon
.”
“Brown?”
“No. It’s frozen, though, so at least it will have a better texture.” She smiled when his laugh rumbled against her back. “We’ll keep it for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, yes.” His voice was slightly rough. “Until then, we’ll rest.”
Annika closed her eyes, willed sleep to come.
And tried not to think.
David’s feet were cold. He couldn’t remember the last time
they had been. In the boots, he usually didn’t notice temperature at all. Now he was toasty beneath Annika’s coat, except for his feet, which touched the snow wall. Though the cold didn’t hurt, the impulse to bring his legs up beneath their cover and warm his toes against her skin was just the same.
Annika probably wouldn’t enjoy waking up that way.
If she wasn’t already awake. He listened to her quiet breathing. Too shallow for sleep—as if she were trying not to make any noise and was carefully holding herself still. Probably trying not to think of where they were. Probably feeling the same dread that David did.
She knew this island. She had to know what a dangerous position they were in, though they’d both glossed over it the previous night. Källa might very well come for them and find the balloon they’d left on the glacier, but she couldn’t know where they’d headed afterward. Nor would they be easy to spot if she did continue north,
especially as they’d taken shelter in a snow house. Though he’d go outside as often as possible, David couldn’t stand in the cold indefinitely, hoping to see her in the sky—and Annika should stay inside, conserving her warmth and energy. With nanoagents, David could get by longer on little food, was more resistant to the freezing temperatures.
If they stayed, Källa might not be able to find them. But they could also try to walk back to Vik. David didn’t like that option any better. The glacier wasn’t large—only twenty miles across—but they’d have to go around it, through the pass, where the rivers would likely be swollen with meltwater, and they’d be in the path of any floods sweeping across the valley floor. Thirty miles through the snow, just to walk clear of the glacier—and then thirty more miles to Vik, across the floodplains…and on three pieces of bread.
That bread wouldn’t last any longer here, though. Whatever route they chose, they’d have to forage or hunt—and under the ash and snow, the dogs would likely be their only prey.
The dogs would be looking at them in the same way.
With a soft sigh, Annika snuggled back against him. She must have realized that he’d woken. “Just a few minutes more.”
He had to laugh. “As long as you like. What are you dreaming of?”
“You.”
Smiling, he pushed her hair back. They’d made love yesterday—the greatest pleasure he’d ever known. Nothing could have prepared him for it. Not just the luscious clasp of her body, but her trust, her complete abandonment to the need between them.
Only yesterday. It seemed so long ago, now—too long. Bending his head, he kissed his way up her neck, took a long taste of her mouth. Not to arouse, but the sheer wonder of being with Annika. David could hardly comprehend how much he loved her.
But he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her now.
She looked up when he broke the kiss. “That was better than the dream.”
“As it should be.” Though reluctant to leave her, he sat up, tucked the coat back against her side. “I’ll go out and look around.”
“Take my red scarf. Tie it to the pole.”
A bright flag that could be seen from a balloon. “Good thinking.”
He dropped another quick kiss to her mouth and crawled through the angled entrance. The sun hadn’t yet risen. An inch of ash lay over the snow, powdery and light like flour. No trees grew on this slope, and if there was any vegetation, it was all covered. Dark clouds huddled overhead.
To the south, a plume of steam and ash still rose over the glacier, but not the billowing volume of the night before. If any lava still flowed, it had cooled enough to lose its fierce glow. Some of his tension eased away. Lorenzo had triggered an eruption, but not a catastrophic one, and it was already decreasing in strength. His gaze searched the edge of the glacier. No evidence of a flood, but he hadn’t expected one in this direction. Most of the damage, if any, would have occurred on the southern side.
For now, he couldn’t let himself dwell on his worry for his aunt, Dooley, everyone in Vik. They knew floods might follow an eruption. They knew to find high ground. They knew to stay out of the ash—and nobody lacked for goggles and scarves. If Lorenzo had fulfilled his promise, they wouldn’t lack for food, either.
He and Annika still did. Switching to his thermal lens, he searched the barren slope for signs of heat, for a dog or a rabbit holed up in the snow. Anything to bring back to her, to reassure her that they’d be all right.
There was nothing.
A heavy weight settled in his chest. He moved across the slope and farther up the rise. The sun slowly rose, throwing a band of brilliant pink across the eastern sky. He listened for a chirping bird, a bark. Nothing.
Bundled in a blue scarf and fur hat, aviator goggles over her eyes, Annika emerged from the snow house as he came down again. Her gaze swept the slope.
“No tracks,” she said.
Not one. “Maybe frightened by the eruption and still hiding under the snow.”
“Or there weren’t any here.” She pulled off her mitten, reached into her coat. “I thawed it, despite the texture. I don’t want it to break our teeth.”
The flatbread, ripped in half. David shook his head. “I’m infected.”
“You still need to eat.”
“Not as much.”
“You’re twice as big as I am.”
“And a quarter of it is metal.”
“David.” Her gaze was warm and steady. “You have to consider the rest.”
“Don’t say the rest, damn it.”
She did, anyway. “This will last us three days. If Källa can’t come for us by then, if we haven’t found something else to eat, we’ll be in serious trouble—and we’ll both need to be as strong as possible.”
“It can last you six days.”
“And by the end of six days, what then? I’m still hungry. And you’re dropping into a fever as the nanoagents try to save you from starving.”
Certainty filled her voice. David couldn’t even argue. He’d gone a few days without before, but never that long. “How do you know that?”
“My mother’s infected, too. She got caught out during a storm once, got turned around in her troll. She was raging with bug fever when we found her, and had to put her in the snow to cool her down.” Beneath the certainty, the patience, he heard the strain in
her words. “You may be the only one who can save us, David, so you will eat this
now
.”