Hammond Innes - The Lonely Skier

Mayne became increasingly restless. He watched us all the time he was eating. I think he was afraid of us, even though we were unarmed. He watched us with cold, unemotional eyes. I remembered how Stelben had shot those men down. Here was another killer. As soon as he had got the gold, he would not hesitate to kill us. Joe might be safe as long as we could keep him in ignorance of the situation. But Engles and myself — he would most certainly destroy us. And what chance had we? It was like having lunch with the hangman on the day of one’s execution. I began to feel sick. The sweat broke out cold on my scalp, as though it were curry I was trying to eat. I pushed my plate away.

‘Not feeling hungry, Blair?’ Mayne asked.

‘Would you, if you were me?’ I replied sullenly.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said.

Joe looked across the table at me. ‘What’s the matter? Feeling ill, Neil?’

‘No, I’m all right,’ I said. But he wasn’t convinced and went over to the bar and got me a drink. ‘We’d better all have a drink,’ he said. ‘Might clear the air a bit.’

But it didn’t. The liquor seemed cold and uninteresting and my mouth remained unpleasantly dry.

As soon as lunch was over, Joe got up and said, ”Fraid I’ll have to tear myself away from this cheerful gathering.’ And when nobody showed any desire for him to stay, he went back to his developing.

Mayne got up then and went upstairs. We heard the key turn in the lock of Valdini’s room and the sound of his boots crossing to the window. Then I the door shut and the key was turned in the lock again. When he came back into the room, he said, ‘Now we can get started. Come with me, will you, Engles?’

Keramikos and I were left alone. We looked at each other. ‘Can’t we do something?’ I said.

Keramikos shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is difficult when you are dealing with a man who is armed and who will not hesitate to shoot. You might take up a chair and try to brain him as he comes in through the door again. Or you might throw a bottle at him and hope to stun him. Or again you might walk out through that door into the snow and try to get down to the bottom of the slittovia. For myself, I prefer to wait. Mayne is not the only one who has a gun. I took the precaution some time back of preparing for just such an eventuality. I have been in many difficult situations in my life. And I have discovered that always there is the moment. We shall see.’ He was very pale and the lips of his small mouth were pressed close together so that they were the same colour as his skin.

‘I’d rather take a chance than be shot like Stelben shot those men,’ I said.

Again he shrugged his shoulders. He was not interested. I looked down the passage to the kitchen. There was no sign of Mayne. I glanced at the window facing the slittovia. Keramikos had his gun — but would he use it to assist us? I didn’t trust him. My mind was suddenly made up. I crossed to the window and opened it. There was a deep bed of snow on the wooden platform below. And beyond the platform, the sleigh track, piled with drift snow, fell away into the murk of driving snow. ‘Shut the window after me, will you?’ I said to Keramikos.

‘Do not be a fool, Blair,’ he said as I climbed up on to the sill. ‘He will see your tracks. It will do no good.’

But I ignored his advice. Anything was better than just waiting for the end. I stood up in the open window space and jumped. I landed quite softly. I was pitched forward on to my knees so that my face was buried in the snow. I raised my head and wiped the snow from my eyes. It was icy cold. I was facing straight down the sleigh track. I scrambled to my feet and plunged forward on to the track. The snow was thick for a bit and moved with me in a small avalanche, so that it was not unlike scree walking, which I had often done in the Lake District at home. But then I reached a patch where the snow had been blown clear of the track. My feet slipped from under me and I found myself sliding on my back. I must have fallen thirty feet or more before I fetched up in a bank of snow. I fought my way out of it and stood upright again.

There was a shout behind me. I glanced back and was surprised to see how near I still was to the hut. A ploughed-up track in the virgin snow showed the way I had come. A pistol shot cracked out and a bullet whipped into the snow just beside me. A voice called to me again. The words were lost in the roar of the wind through the trees. I turned and plunged on down the track.

No more bullets followed me. And, when next I looked back, the hut was no more than a vague, blurred shape. I began to feel excited. I was sheltered from the wind and, though I was already wet through, my exertions kept me warm.

I made steady progress now, sometimes wading through banks of deep snow, sometimes riding a moving sea of it, standing upright, and sometimes, in places where the track was clear, sliding down on my back.

I had just slid down one of these clear patches and nearly smothered myself in a deep drift, when I looked back. The hut had now completely disappeared from view, but coming out of the snow was the figure of a skier. He was taking the slope in quick zigzags. On the soft snow he did a jump turn and with his skis parallel to the slope, rode the snow as it spilled down as though he were surf-riding.

I dived for the shelter of the trees. The snow had drifted badly here. But wading and rolling, I made the side of the track, caught at a branch and pulled myself in amongst the trees.

I gave a quick glance back and was just in time to see Mayne do a perfect Christi against the deep snow through which I had struggled. He came up standing and facing me. Barely half-a-dozen yards separated us. I felt tears of anger smart in my eyes. My feet were bedded deep in snow and the branches of the trees were thick. Mayne slipped his hand inside his windbreaker and brought out his gun. ‘Do I shoot you now?’ he said. ‘Or do you want to come back and join your friends?’

His voice was quite callous. It was clear that he did not mind whether he shot me now or later. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll come back.’ I had no choice. But it was with a bitter sense of failure that I began to trudge back up the track I had made coming down. Once a drift gave way under me and I fell. I did not want to get up. I had a feeling of utter disappointment. But he began hacking at my ribs with the points of his skis. After that he gave me his sticks. He followed a little behind, side-stepping up, the gun ready in his hand.

I was utterly exhausted by the time I reached the top. He directed me round to the side of the concrete housing. I guessed that Engles and Keramikos were locked inside, for the door was being battered from within. Outside lay a pile of tools; picks, shovels and a heavy long-handled hammer that quarry men call a biddle. He unlocked the door and, catching hold of me by the back of the neck, flung me inside. I tripped on the snow in the doorway and fell. Something hit my head and I passed out.

When I came to, I found myself propped in a sitting position against the wall. I was very cold and my eyes would not focus. I could not think where I was for the moment. There was a lot of noise and the room was full of dust. The blood hammered in my head, which felt heavy and painful. I put my hand up to my forehead. It was wet and sticky. My fingers came away covered in dirt and blood and the icy water of melted snow.

Then I remembered what had happened. I concentrated my gaze on the room. My back was resting in the corner of two walls. On the opposite side of the room, beyond the cable, Mayne stood with his back against the closed door. Under the switchboard, opposite the window, Engles and Keramikos were hacking away at the concrete flooring with pick and hammer. The room began to swim again. I closed my eyes.