wear and tried to ratchet it into the snow one-handed, but the snow was almost soupy and she couldn’t get the screw to catch. Her ice axe continued to slip infinitesimally, and she was not sure how much longer it was going to hold. Tundra and the sled, while adding some weight to keep her out of the hole and Soren from falling any further, were not heavy enough to hold them alone.
“Replant your axe,” she yelled. “I need two hands.”
“It won’t hold for long.”
“I can’t get the screw in. You’re going to need to try.” Sasha pushed her own axe as hard as she could into its spot in the snow with her other hand.
“On three,” Soren said.
The jolt when Soren said three was fierce. But then the rope slackened again.
“I’m in,” Soren said. “Go!”
Sasha let go of her own ice axe and dug frantically at the soupy snow to get down to the firmer ice layer below and then ratcheted in the screw again. This time it held. She attached Soren’s carabiner to the screw as well as her own harness, checking twice to make sure she had not inadvertently fastened it to thin air. Then she drove her ice axe back into the snow. She needed to add another screw. She placed the second screw a few inches ahead of the first, but when she tried to loop the rope around the second screw, she couldn’t get enough slack.
“Soren, can you pull yourself up on your axe for just a second? I need a tiny bit of slack.”
“Yup.” His grunt seemed to come from too far away.
The rope loosened again and she looped it around the second screw, then she risked unhooking her own harness from the rope. She felt the rope and the screws again and again to make sure they were holding.
“Now what?” she called. She considered crawling in the direction of Soren’s voice, but it was too risky.
“I’m going to climb out with my prusik. Put two pickets in the snow and attach your spare rope to them on an angle, like I showed you. Make sure the anchors stay put.”
“You can do that blind?” Sasha asked, feeling once again for the solidity of the screws, the tautness of the rope.
“I don’t have much choice, do I? If something happens to me, there’s a spare set of station keys in the dryer exhaust pipe in the wall of the station opposite the bay door, right by the emergency exit from the west wing.”
“Don’t say that,” Sasha said.
She drove the pickets into the snow with her axe and then attached the spare length of rope to them in the layout that Soren had ordered her to learn a few weeks ago. Then she attached Soren’s carabiner to rope and called okay to Soren. She was checking the arrangement for the third time when a low whooshing sound broke through the howling wind and intensified into a full on thunder and squeal as something hurtled past overhead at unbelievable speed. It had to be a fighter jet, or jets, flying extremely low. She had a wild brief thought that the military had come to rescue them and threw her arms skyward, to signal them. But these planes did not sound like they were slowing to approach the station runway, and they would be too big to land there anyway.
A few seconds later, a huge explosion rocked the air, throwing Sasha to the ground. Tundra jerked forward with the sled, and Sasha was dragged along the snow for several feet before he listened to her screams to stop.
What had just happened? Had whatever had just flown overhead hit the mountains?
She instinctively reached out to recheck the ropes that held Soren in place, but she couldn’t find them. She had been pulled too far away.
“Soren!” she called. “Are you alright?”
“All is lost, all is lost,” said a voice right next to her.
A seize of sick fear clutched her gut. “What? Soren? Is that you?” It was a stupid question. She knew it wasn’t his voice, and that he could not have gotten out of the crevasse, or crater, or whatever it was so quickly, but the sudden appearance of someone right next to her in the Arctic
“Replant your axe,” she yelled. “I need two hands.”
“It won’t hold for long.”
“I can’t get the screw in. You’re going to need to try.” Sasha pushed her own axe as hard as she could into its spot in the snow with her other hand.
“On three,” Soren said.
The jolt when Soren said three was fierce. But then the rope slackened again.
“I’m in,” Soren said. “Go!”
Sasha let go of her own ice axe and dug frantically at the soupy snow to get down to the firmer ice layer below and then ratcheted in the screw again. This time it held. She attached Soren’s carabiner to the screw as well as her own harness, checking twice to make sure she had not inadvertently fastened it to thin air. Then she drove her ice axe back into the snow. She needed to add another screw. She placed the second screw a few inches ahead of the first, but when she tried to loop the rope around the second screw, she couldn’t get enough slack.
“Soren, can you pull yourself up on your axe for just a second? I need a tiny bit of slack.”
“Yup.” His grunt seemed to come from too far away.
The rope loosened again and she looped it around the second screw, then she risked unhooking her own harness from the rope. She felt the rope and the screws again and again to make sure they were holding.
“Now what?” she called. She considered crawling in the direction of Soren’s voice, but it was too risky.
“I’m going to climb out with my prusik. Put two pickets in the snow and attach your spare rope to them on an angle, like I showed you. Make sure the anchors stay put.”
“You can do that blind?” Sasha asked, feeling once again for the solidity of the screws, the tautness of the rope.
“I don’t have much choice, do I? If something happens to me, there’s a spare set of station keys in the dryer exhaust pipe in the wall of the station opposite the bay door, right by the emergency exit from the west wing.”
“Don’t say that,” Sasha said.
She drove the pickets into the snow with her axe and then attached the spare length of rope to them in the layout that Soren had ordered her to learn a few weeks ago. Then she attached Soren’s carabiner to rope and called okay to Soren. She was checking the arrangement for the third time when a low whooshing sound broke through the howling wind and intensified into a full on thunder and squeal as something hurtled past overhead at unbelievable speed. It had to be a fighter jet, or jets, flying extremely low. She had a wild brief thought that the military had come to rescue them and threw her arms skyward, to signal them. But these planes did not sound like they were slowing to approach the station runway, and they would be too big to land there anyway.
A few seconds later, a huge explosion rocked the air, throwing Sasha to the ground. Tundra jerked forward with the sled, and Sasha was dragged along the snow for several feet before he listened to her screams to stop.
What had just happened? Had whatever had just flown overhead hit the mountains?
She instinctively reached out to recheck the ropes that held Soren in place, but she couldn’t find them. She had been pulled too far away.
“Soren!” she called. “Are you alright?”
“All is lost, all is lost,” said a voice right next to her.
A seize of sick fear clutched her gut. “What? Soren? Is that you?” It was a stupid question. She knew it wasn’t his voice, and that he could not have gotten out of the crevasse, or crater, or whatever it was so quickly, but the sudden appearance of someone right next to her in the Arctic
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