Ben Hammott: Ice Rift

When he appeared above the edge and sunk his axe into the ice at arm’s length, she could resist no more. She grabbed his arm and dragged him onto the ice. As soon as he was safe, she rolled over and straddled him, kissing him through their thermal face masks, fighting back the tears she knew would collect in her goggles and freeze. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her tight against him.

Jane felt Kyle tense. Something was wrong. With no warning she was thrown aside. As she rolled, she spotted a huge polar bear appear out of the wall of windblown snow and ice. It rose up on its hind legs and roared furiously. A flash of red captured her attention. Kyle rushed at the threat with a raised ice axe.

“Noooo!” she screamed, her muffled warning lost to the wind.

Kyle collided with the bear and slammed the axe into its large chest. Blood leaked from the wound, staining its white fur red before freezing. The bear, surprised by the unexpected attack, staggered to the side. Its foot rested on the edge of the crevasse, and unable to support the bear’s weight, the ice broke away. The animal toppled into the abyss. Unaware what was happening, it slashed out at its attacker. Its large claw-tipped paw ripped through Kyle’s coat and the skin beneath like paper. The blood pouring from the wound instantly froze. Claws snagged on the zipper. Kyle was pulled into the chasm.

Jane screamed and rushed to the edge. She glanced at the rope still attached to Kyle and tethered to her axe buried in the ice. There was still a chance he would survive. She scrambled to her feet and dived for the axe as the force of Kyle’s and the polar bear’s weight snapped the rope taut and yanked it free. She grabbed hold, but with nothing to stop her she sped toward the chasm. Her crampons sprayed two plumes of ice as they failed to find a grip. Tears filled her eyes when she realized that to save herself, she must let him go.

Her hands reluctantly released her grip upon the axe.

She slid to a stop with her face staring into the crevasse. She watched Kyle fall. He looked up at her. He blew her a kiss before he disappeared in the airborne snow racing through the chasm.

He was gone. She curled into a ball and sobbed.

After five minutes she pulled herself together and climbed to her feet.

If she remained here she would die. She would not waste her lover’s sacrifice by doing so. She had to find a way across the crevasse.

It took her three hours to find a route past the chasm and reach the ice station.

When the blizzard blew itself out the following day, she returned with a rescue party. Though they’d warned her it was possible Kyle’s body would have fallen so deep into the crevasse it might be irretrievable, she’d insisted an attempt be made. She couldn’t tolerate the thought of him down there, alone and forever frozen in his last vestiges of death.

The rescuer who climbed into the crevasse discovered Kyle’s body resting on a small ice shelf. The position of his head indicated his neck had broken in the fall. The dead polar bear was spotted deeper in the chasm, trapped between the ever narrowing ice walls.

That Kyle’s death would have been quick brought little comfort to Jane.

She accompanied Kyle’s body when it was flown home two days later.

The flight attendant pushed the cart next to Jane’s seat and glanced at the occupant, noticing the passenger’s eyes were red from weeping and held fresh tears ready to fall. The plastic tray of food was almost untouched. The attendant knew of the passenger’s connection with the body in the hold and genuinely sympathized with her loss. “Have you finished with your meal?” she asked softly.

Jane glanced at the attendant and nodded.

The attendant cleared away the plate. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thank you,” Jane replied.

As the attendant moved to the next row of seats, Jane continued her visual out through the window, wondering how she would pick up her life now that the man she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with was gone. Tears trickled down her cheek.

After Kyle’s funeral, Jane forced herself to move on with her life; it would be what Kyle would have wanted. She spent the following few years throwing herself into her work and soon became a respected scientist in her field. Though, over time, the pain had dulled, the memories of Kyle and their short time together remained as sharp as the day they were formed.

NO MOUNTAINS OR HILLS blemished the horizon and no buildings broke the monotony of the ice. It was as if a giant bulldozer had swept everything away to leave a desolate ledge of ice. Blue patches of sky among the broad stretches of grey-tinted clouds, were the only colour to invade the white pallet used by nature to paint the vista that stretched so far and wide that the curvature of the earth was distinguishable. The snow and ice pellets the ever-present Antarctic wind skittered over the surface of the ice sounded like the tiny feet of thousands of insects. But for all of its desolate appearance, it was also a beautiful and deceptively peaceful vista.

The revving of an approaching Ski-Doo shattered the relative tranquility that had prevailed over the scene. Its bright orange and black chassis and the blue cold weather gear that cloaked the driver, stood out starkly against the surrounding pallor.

The driver steering the snow vehicle over uneven and hazardous terrain was Grant Tilbury, a member of the advance party sent to scout out a suitable location for the planned base camp on the Pine Ice Glacier. It was his first trip to Antarctica.

Propelled along by twin rear tracks covered in thick-knobbed treads to grip the ice, the Ski-Doo sped up a small ice ridge and down the other side. Front skis bounced and shuddered on the rippled ice, giving the driver an uncomfortable ride.

Grant’s eyes, hidden behind dark-tinted goggles, glanced at the handheld GPS vibrating erratically where it was taped to the center of the handlebars, adjusted course and gazed ahead at the mile still to go. He had travelled a fraction of the distance when he noticed an anomaly ahead. The snow and ice carried by the wind appeared to be diving down and disappearing into the ice. He strained his vision to make sense of the snow’s abnormal behaviour. Only when he’d drawn nearer did he recognize the danger, a crevasse that could swallow vehicle and driver in an instant with little chance of survival for man or machine.

He pressed hard on the brake and turned the vehicle.

The Ski-Doo slewed to the side and skidded across the ice.

Forced to move sideways, the tracks scraped up a wave of ice until the machine juddered to a hesitant halt.

Grant twisted his head. Half of the treads hung over the edge of the deep drop. The ice beneath the vehicle cracked from the weight. The skidoo tilted. Grant gunned the engine. It climbed up the sloping slab of ice and bounced onto solid ground. He stopped a safe distance from the edge, climbed off and walked over to the crevasse. He stared in awe at the deep, wide rift that stretched for miles in both directions.

BARRY GLEG WAS LATE for work again. He turned the old car into the British Glaciological Research Society (BGRS) car park, and scanned the rows of parked vehicles for a free space. He spotted one and headed for it. He stopped a little way past the empty parking place, crunched the car into reverse and turned to back into the space. A car horn beeped loudly. Barry slammed on the brakes. Coffee sloshed from the half-full paper cup in the cup-holder onto his clothes. Barry cursed and glanced at the rear-view mirror. A red sports car drove into his space.