Ice Bound

By Elizabeth Bourne

The drop had gone smoothly. The cached food was ready for the ski tour group to pick up. The drive from Adventdalen to Sabine Land had been easy, and the two guides decided to make a loop over Rabot glacier, Fimbulisen, and then Von Post glacier. During May the sun shone all night, and the snow was good. There was no hurry.

Sofie was lead. When they got within sight of the fjord, she spotted an opening in the glacier, and stopped. Aino pulled up beside her. It was a cave. Too steep for the snowmobiles, but they could walk. A little exploration would be fun.

After parking their snowmobiles, they put on headlamps. Aino took her gun in case of a polar bear. They climbed down the five-meter drop in a flurry of snow to land at the entrance of a huge ice cave. Inside, the walls gleamed sapphire and turquoise. Frost feathers dangled from the ceiling. Further in, ice diamonds glittered in the light of their headlamps. It was one of the biggest ice caves they'd seen.

Aino was taking a video with her phone when Sofie called her name with an urgency that made Aino slip her phone into a pocket, then take her weapon into her hands. "Look," said Sofie.

A woman lay suspended in the ice. Her naked body twisted. Her skin was white as paper. Her short brown hair spiked around her head. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth gaped open as if screaming. Aino took her phone out to make a video. Sofie said, "We have to call Sysselmesteren."

"How long do you think she's been here?" Aino asked.

"Who knows? Could be two years, could be hundreds," answered Sofie. "Let's go. This is creepy."

"Why is she naked?" asked Aino, as they headed for the entrance.

"Why is she here?" said Sofie.

Gerd stood on deck, a cold wind blowing her hair. She pulled on a knitted cap, then took the wrinkled advertisement from her pocket. "Good wages for adventurous men and boys. Sailors, harpooners, carpenters, metal workers. All modern technology! Come to Finneset, whaling capital of Spitzbergen! Good money!"

A foul smell reached her as the whaling settlement came into view. Plain wood buildings hugged the shore. Gerd straightened herself. She was as strong as any boy. She'd been a farm worker all her life. She could do anything they needed, as long as no one found out. Gerd tugged her loose sweater over her hips. She'd never looked much like a girl. No reason anyone would know.

The factor's office was near the dock. The factor, a middle-aged man with a red nose, glared at Gerd over his glasses. "What can you do? Any training?"

Gerd said, "I grew up on a farm. I can work hard. I'm willing to learn."

"Butchering?"

"Some." Gerd shrugged. "Rabbits. Chickens. I'm not afraid of blood."

"Jonas!" The factor bellowed. A tall, lanky man with greasy blond hair came in. "Jonas, this is Gerd Moldstad. He's willing to work. Farmboy."

Jonas nodded. "Ever set a trap, boy?"

"Rabbits. For the pot."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen. I'm strong."

"Can you cook? I need someone who can cook, keep the cabin clean. Feed the dogs."

"I can make a stew and bread. No one's died from my cooking. I like dogs."

Jonas smiled, a wintry light in his pale eyes. "Good enough. We leave tomorrow for my cabin. Follow me. I have a place you can stay tonight."

Gerd remained where she was. "And my pay?"

"Twenty percent of the skins. Fox, seals, reindeer. Before the boats come in spring, maybe some eider. You work hard, I'll make it twenty-five. You kill your own bear, you keep the skin. I'll buy you a gun and warm clothes. That comes out of your earnings. Mind, you'll be here in dark season. It's not for everyone."

The offer was better than Gerd expected. Better than farm work. She picked up her rucksack and said, "I'm not afraid of the dark." Then, with thanks to the factor, she followed Jonas into the rutted streets of Finneset.

# # #

The two women sat on their snowmobiles drinking coffee and eating Kvikk Lunsj. It was -20C, but with the sun overhead they were warm in their snowmobile suits.

"Sysselmesteren is sending two field officers. They're close." Sofie said. "I won't go back in there."
Aino finished her chocolate. "We could make a fortune from tourists. An actual ice queen. They'd love it. And she's naked. Imagine the selfies."

"That's really creepy. Is this more Finnish humor?"

"Maybe." Aino stuffed the crumpled paper wrapper in a pocket. "But it won't happen. Sysselmesteren will take her, and we'll never know anything more about it. They should be here soon."

As if her words were a prediction, they heard the steady roar of two powerful snowmobiles. Sofie said, "Living rooms on treads." Aino laughed as two large black machines circled them.

The police officers took off their helmets. One was a blonde woman, who introduced herself as Vigdis and her taller brunette companion as Eva. Vigdis said, "I hear you girls found something." She smiled, her white teeth shining.

Sofie pointed to the cave. "In there."

"I'll show you." Aino hopped off her snowmobile, then led Vigdis into the cave while Eva went to Sofie for their details.

A few minutes later, Vigdis and Aino returned. Vigdis was no longer smiling. "Call for the helicopter. It's a girl, nude. Young. She's in the ice. We'll have to cut her out." She put her hands out to the guides. "Let's see the pictures."

After the guides showed the photos and videos, they were ordered to delete them. Sofie frowned. Aino did it cheerfully. She'd expected this, and had already sent videos and pics to a friend. Vigdis said, "Keep the coordinates to yourselves. We'll call your employer and set up a debriefing. You girls have a safe drive back."

Eva was speaking to control about sending a helicopter, and to bring chainsaws for the ice. Dismissed, Sofie and Aino drove for the moraine.

# # #

Trapping was hard work, but not harder than farming, or so Gerd thought. They'd taken a small boat from Finneset to a valley called Gipsdalen. Jonas was the winter caretaker for a Scottish explorer who thought there was coal here. Well, there was coal everywhere on Spitsbergen. Whether it was worth getting was, in Jonas' opinion, a different question. They stayed in one of the tar paper shacks, and in return they looked after the claim.

The light slipped away quickly, but Gerd didn't mind the dark, and a routine helped. She cooked and cleaned and washed their clothes. She fed the dogs and grew to love the brown and black creatures. She learned to drive a sled, to set a fox trap, clear a fox trap, and to skin foxes. Not so different from skinning rabbits. The plush white fur was a pleasure to touch, but Jonas valued the gray foxes most. Blues, he called them. More rare than the whites with their kitten faces.

One day, out on the trap line, they were hallooed by an approaching dog team. It was two Russians, Sergei and his son Petr, with a bear strapped to their sledge. Jonas knew them. They had a camp on Kapp Ekholm. They'd hunted the bear and were taking it back. Jonas invited them for coffee.

Petr was not much older than Gerd. He followed her to the kitchen, grinning as he pushed her, making her spill hot coffee on her hands. Annoyed, she punched him. Next they were rolling on the floor, grunting and hitting each other, the dogs barking and the men shouting in Russian and Norwegian. The two older men pulled them apart. The young Russian was coughing, bent over, as if Gerd had got him in the stomach. Well, maybe she had. "Give Petr some tobacco," hissed Jonas. "No enemies on the ice."

The injustice riled Gerd. He started it. But Jonas was right. No enemies on the ice. In return, Petr poured a small cup of vodka. They shared the cup. Now they were friends again.

Hours later, after some seal stew, the Russians left. Petr complained of a headache. Sergei blamed it on bad vodka. Three days later Gerd started a fever.

# # #

Gerd died in less than a week. Jonas did his best, but the sickness was strong. He felt depressed. The boy had been company. But there was no need to waste the clothing he'd paid good money for. After he stripped the corpse, he stared. Undressed, Gerd's secret was revealed. A girl, and him not suspecting. Jonas found his hand hovering over the small breasts, his eyes drawn to the fine golden hairs on her pubis. He pulled his hand back. It wasn't decent. But what to do with the body? She had no family, at least none she'd mentioned. It was too cold to dig stones for a grave. He thought of a solution.

He wrapped the corpse in a blanket, then tied her to the sledge. After he harnessed the dogs, he directed them out of the valley, toward the glacier. He remembered a crevasse about a half day trip. He'd say a few words, then tip her into the glacier. The ice would protect her from foxes and bears. He needed to do this one thing, then when he was back at the cabin he could sleep, he was so tired. It was a pity. A girl. What a waste.

Two days later, racked with a dry fever and his head feeling like it would split from the pain, Jonas went outside one last time. He freed the dogs. Perhaps they would find food, find another camp. They deserved a chance. Jonas saw light on the horizon. He would miss the sun coming back. That was a shame. Shaking with sickness he dragged himself and a rifle down the valley towards the shining promise of the horizon. He would die looking at the light. No need to suffer.

# # #

The body lay limp on a large steel table surrounded by gutters to collect fluids. She'd been hacked out of the ice, then flown frozen to the University of Oslo where she'd been slowly thawed under controlled conditions so that the tissues weren't damaged. Bright, unforgiving spotlights shown down on her. Whatever secrets she had in life, she would have none in death.

Beside the table was a large stainless steel tray holding the instruments for her dissection. Saws, scalpels, drills. Pins to hold back skin. Four doctors, each with their own nurse, surrounded her. Their job was to understand the mystery of who, and from when, she was. The lead doctor began speaking, "The body of a young unknown female, approximately 15 years old, stomach distended, contusions on her face and torso."

The doctor adjusted her headlamp, picked up a scalpel, and made the first long incision from chest to pubis. A faint hiss accompanied the cut as gases were released from the chest and stomach cavities. Fortunately, the medical personnel were gloved and masked. Unfortunately, the room was not under negative pressure, and the air was exchanged within the university hospital's air system, spreading through the wards.

Three days later, an elderly man collapsed on an Oslo bus. He'd been visiting his wife in the hospital. He was dead in less than a week. He was the first to die from this novel bovine coronavirus that had mutated to spread to humans, and then the virus, once known as the Russian flu, had been lost. They called this new mutation the ice flu.

Elizabeth Bourne is a writer, painter, photographer and former director of the Spitsbergen Artists Center and Residency.