The Curse of the Ice Serpent (14 page)

Fletcher leapt and made it to the shore, lying on the ground, gasping for breath.

But Dakkar wasn’t safe yet. The second ice island rocked close by. More gunfire told Dakkar that his purs­uers were close. He threw himself on to the next island, landing painfully on his knees, his face close to the water.

The bulbous eyes of a Qalupalik loomed out of the gloom. Dakkar caught its stench of seawater and rotten fish, and jabbed his fingers into a slimy eye. With a squeal of rage the creature vanished.

Dakkar jumped to his feet, rolling, almost somersaulting, on to the last floe. It rocked upward with his weight and Dakkar felt himself sliding off towards the waiting water. And the equally eager Qalupalik.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEATH STORM

Kicking his toes into the slick surface of the ice floe, Dakkar scrabbled forward, tipping the island back so that he no longer slipped down. But he could hear the gibbering and chattering of the Qalupalik behind him. A clawed hand grazed his foot and something snagged his trousers as he scrambled to his feet.

With one final effort, Dakkar mustered all his strength and leapt from the bobbing island, hurling himself at the shore. He had to keep low so that he was beneath the line of fire.

‘Now!’ Baines shouted.

The roar of every gun filled the air, peppering the water with shot and bringing scores of Qalupalik floating lifeless to the surface. The remaining attackers slipped back under the water and vanished, leaving Dakkar doubled up, panting for breath. The sound of gunfire still echoed as they all stared over the lake, now clouded with blood but giving no other sign of the comrades they’d lost.

Baines surveyed his remaining soldiers. ‘Four left,’ he muttered. ‘Lost three good men then. Damn shame.’ He shook himself. ‘We’ll get as far away from this cursed lake as possible then set up camp.’

They marched in glum silence for no more than an hour before Baines acknowledged that everyone was exhausted and needed rest.

Dakkar wondered at the coldness and hostility of the place. Before he arrived in England, he had only really seen snow on distant mountains. Now here he was, trudging through a frozen desert.

‘The ground seems solid and safe here,’ Dakkar said, stamping his foot on the ground.

The feeble sun stained the sky and ice alike with orange light so that Dakkar found it hard to say which was which.

Tingenek stood waiting for them, pulling a face. ‘Not good sign,’ he muttered, shadowing his eyes to stare at the rising sun. ‘Storm is coming.’

‘How can you tell?’ Dakkar said.

‘The sun,’ he said, pointing to the pale disc in the hazy sky. ‘Wrong colour. And the wind is growing.’ He grinned. ‘I can’t smell the dogs when they fart.’

‘What a lot of nonsense!’ Fletcher snorted.

A gentle breeze picked up. Dakkar noticed small fragments of ice blowing free and catching on the fur hood of his jacket. A few bits stung his eyes, making him blink.

‘I wouldn’t dismiss it so readily, Fletcher,’ Baines said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Tingenek has lived in this freezing waste all his life. What do you reckon, Tingenek?’

‘We make camp quick,’ he said.

‘You heard the man,’ Baines shouted back across the men. ‘Get a tent up at the double! And make sure everything is tied down as tight as possible.’

The wind grew stronger, whipping up larger ice fragments and sending them rattling against their coats and hoods. The tupiq flapped awkwardly, causing the men to wrestle with it.

Dakkar rushed over to help with the poles which, attached to the skins of the tent, seemed to have a life of their own, one striking him in the temple.

Ice filled the air now, hurled by the rising wind which moaned across the landscape, reducing the others to shadowy silhouettes. The tent wobbled and buckled. Dakkar could hear men cursing and hammering metal stakes into the ice but the metallic ringing was muted in the tumult.

‘Hurry, men! Get that shelter up!’ Baines shouted.

Pulling his hood hard over his face, Dakkar grabbed a guy rope, dragging it out and away from the tent alongside a struggling marine. Slowly, the tent went up, a tri­­angular shadow shivering in the wintry onslaught.

Then Dakkar noticed another huge shape that was not the tent. Tall, like some kind of tower, it loomed above them all.

His heart thudded and his grip on the rope loosened, the wind snatching it from his hands. His workmate said something then looked up too. A sudden slackening in the gale parted the blinding flurry of ice particles and Dakkar held his breath.

An enormous snake, encased in slick white fur, swayed over them. Its flat head, covered in spines, bobbed on a muscular neck. Rows of sharp teeth filled the creature’s long, grinning mouth and its gleaming red eyes bored into Dakkar’s. The Tizheruk gave a massive hiss then lunged towards them.

Dakkar threw himself to one side, searching for the rifle he had put down to help with the tent. But ice covered everything, the wind burying items that lay still.

The marine beside him managed to fire a shot. The Tizheruk made no sound but lunged forward in a fluid motion, snatching up the marine and springing back into the thickening blizzard. Dakkar caught a confusing glimpse of matted white fur and scales; the briefest whiff of rotten meat was scoured from his senses by the sharp wind. But it was the cold, hate-filled eyes that stayed uppermost in his mind.

Shouts sprang up all around Dakkar and shadows staggered around in bewilderment. The Tizheruk vanished into the blizzard of ice with a hiss. A moment later, a gunshot rang out, followed by a scream torn away from Dakkar’s hearing by the wind.

‘Sergeant Baines!’ Dakkar yelled. ‘Georgia! Over here!’

He ran towards more cries and shots that sounded out in the storm.

Another shape appeared in front of him and Dakkar ran headlong into Fletcher. They both crashed to the ground, trying to untangle themselves from each other.

‘It’s you, Dax. Thank goodness!’ Fletcher said, scrambling to his feet.

‘Georgia!’ Dakkar shouted, ignoring him.

The Tizheruk’s hiss rose above the rising howl of the storm.

‘Over here!’ Georgia cried.

Tailed by Fletcher, Dakkar raced through the chaos, following her calls. Blood splattered the ice and Dakkar came across the body of another marine.

Georgia crouched, rifle at the ready. She leapt to her feet when Dakkar appeared. ‘Thank the Lord you’re safe!’ she cried. ‘I can’t find Baines or the others.’

The shouts and hisses receded into the distance, to be replaced by the louder swishing of two sledges and the baying of dogs. Tingenek and his three men appeared on the sledges.

‘Come quickly!’ he said, waving them on.

Dakkar climbed on to Tingenek’s sledge and helped Fletcher and Georgia on board. Some of the tents had been taken off so there was more room. Tingenek gave a shout and the dogs began to bark again, dragging the sledge through the chaos.

The wind’s howling and the baying of the dogs blended into a deafening cacophony that left Dakkar confused about where they were going. They seemed to circle several times and then head in a straight line. Ice pelted by the wind made him screw his eyes tight shut and the rocking of the sledge disorientated him.

When Tingenek finally stopped, the wind still whipped around them and darkness had begun to fall. The Inuit leapt off the sledge and searched the area. Then he, Igaluk and Onartok snatched shovels from the sledge and began to dig.

‘What are you doing?’ Dakkar yelled above the gale.

‘We must make shelter or we die!’ Tingenek bellowed.

‘But what about Baines and the men?’ Georgia cried, grabbing his arm.

Tingenek shook her off and carried on digging. ‘Forget them!’ he said savagely. ‘They dead by now.’

‘No!’ Dakkar snapped. ‘You don’t know that. It can’t be true!’

‘We won’t find them,’ Tingenek growled. ‘You want to die too? You stay out here, you freeze. You want to live? Then dig!’

Dakkar turned away, intending to grab the sledge and hurry back.

But back to where?
he thought.
Which direction? And in this storm?

Instead he grabbed a shovel off the sledge and began to dig alongside Tingenek. The Inuit was right. No man could survive in this storm. Not even Commander Blizzard’s finest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HUNTER OR PREY?

Dakkar sat in the ice hole, squashed side by side with Georgia, Fletcher, Tingenek, Igaluk and Onartok. Above their heads the storm raged, flinging ice across the entrance and harmonising with the howling of the dogs. Dakkar shivered.

The digging hadn’t taken long and Dakkar was surprised at how quickly the Inuit fashioned an underground shelter from the ice. It amazed him how warm it was too, with the heat of the bodies packed into it.

‘What about the dogs?’ Fletcher asked.

‘They’re Greenland dogs!’ Tingenek said with a broad grin. ‘They love the cold.’

Dakkar felt helpless and miserable. He tried not to think of Baines stumbling around out there, at the mercy of the elements and the Tizheruk.
What chance does the poor man have?
First Oginski, now Baines and his men. How many more must die before this madness is stopped?

‘We are safe here,’ Tingenek said, his voice sounding strange and hollow in the ice shelter. ‘We’ll wait until the storm dies.’

‘Then we look for the others,’ Fletcher said wearily.

‘If you want to waste time,’ Tingenek said, shrugging. ‘Nothing can live in a storm like this. Nothing human.’

Georgia sat up a little and fixed the Inuit with her steely gaze. ‘We can’t abandon them.’

Dakkar frowned. ‘We have to keep going,’ he said although each word weighed him down. ‘Commander Blizzard would expect the mission to continue. We can only hope that Baines and the others have found some kind of shelter.’

‘But we
have
to find them,’ Fletcher said, staring at Dakkar. ‘We can’t just leave them to die!’

‘If Tomasz forces Borys to tell him where the Thermolith is then whole cities will fall. Men, women and children will perish,’ Dakkar said. ‘Or have you forgotten?’

Fletcher slumped back against the wall of the den. ‘No, I haven’t …’

‘All Oginskis are mad dogs,’ Tingenek said, a mournful look on his face. ‘I wish I’d never met them. No wonder I drink!’

Dakkar looked at the Inuit hunter and felt a pang of pity. Somehow the man had become involved in a plot not of his making. He thought of all the men who fought for the various Counts Cryptos and all their victims.

‘My Oginski was a true friend,’ Dakkar murmured. ‘
He
wasn’t mad.’

‘
Never
trust an Oginski,’ Tingenek muttered, his eyes closing. In a few seconds he sat snoring.

Dakkar’s eyes felt leaden too. The hard marching and early start, coupled with the storm and the attack, had exhausted him. Soon the gentle snores of the men lulled him into a shallow sleep laced with dreams of warm beaches and sun.

Dakkar woke with a start, wondering where he was. The walls of the ice hole seemed to close around him and someone gripped his arm. He yelled and tried to leap forward.

‘Steady, Dakkar. You were dreaming!’ Georgia said, pushing him back.

Dakkar stared at her and then around the den. He slumped against the icy wall as he remembered. Fletcher sat at his other side, rubbing his eyes.

‘Where are Tingenek and the others?’ Dakkar said, glancing at the empty wall opposite them.

‘Checking all’s clear and hunting for some food,’ Georgia said. ‘I hope.’

‘I hope so too,’ Dakkar said, half standing in the ice hole. ‘I suppose Tingenek could have left us for dead back at the camp if he’d wanted to.’

They climbed out of the hole and squinted at the bright sunlight reflected off the ice.

‘At least the storm has stopped,’ Dakkar said, stretching and searching the landscape for a suitably private place to go.

Soon Tingenek, Igaluk and Onartok arrived back with a brace of what looked like pheasants with white feathers. Dakkar watched as Tingenek cut and skinned the birds rather than plucking them. He chopped their meat into chunks, offering it to Dakkar with bloody fingers.

‘I prefer my food cooked,’ Dakkar said, wrinkling his nose.

‘Suit yourself,’ Tingenek said, popping the meat into his mouth. ‘We have no fire. You get cold and hungry soon. Wish you had meat then.’

Dakkar paused for a moment and turned to look at Georgia. She was already chewing, a telltale smudge of blood at the corner of her mouth.

‘Can’t afford to be squeamish, Dax,’ she said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Very well,’ Dakkar said, taking a chunk of meat. It tasted of iron and salty blood. He chewed, fighting the urge to spit the slimy lump into the ice, then swallowed it down.

‘Good, yes?’ Tingenek beamed and nodded. He said something to Igaluk and Onartok, who grinned and nodded. ‘We’ll make an Inuit of you one day!’