Tupaarnaq put her mobile on the floor and pushed the hammer away with her boot. Then she placed both hands on the handle and pushed it a couple of times. ‘Help me, will you? On three, okay?’
She counted and they both pulled outwards as hard as they could, and finally they felt the lock give and the handle follow suit. The door behind the lock and the iron handle surrendered in squealing complaint.
Tupaarnaq grabbed the door, which was several metres high, and pulled it. She had to press all of her weight against the iron to create a gap wide enough for her to slip through.
Matthew heard her sigh.
‘This is it,’ she whispered.
He held up his mobile, letting the light sweep the floor and the shiny walls. There was a dry, metallic smell inside. He closed his eyes and his heart skipped a beat. Up against the wall, in the far corner of the container, was a green blanket. He heard Tupaarnaq’s footsteps across the floor.
‘There can’t possibly be anything under that blanket,’ she said.
Her voice was trembling. It felt heavy in the empty metal box.
‘She was only eleven years old,’ Matthew whispered and opened his eyes again. ‘A little girl.’
Tupaarnaq bent over the blanket. Took hold of one of its folds.
Matthew heard her sigh again. He could see the white knuckles on her clenched hand on the fabric. She lifted it gently. It seemed dry. Stiff. Something crumbled. Scattered over the stiff folds. She stopped and let the blanket fall back. She turned around and walked towards Matthew, her eyes fixed on the narrow container exit. ‘Time to go.’ Her words were gusts of air.
‘Najak?’ He could barely hear his own voice.
‘Just come with me. We need to find somewhere to spend the night.’
62
Matthew was woken by someone tugging his arm. The room was in total darkness, which meant it must be between midnight and three o’clock in the morning. He could feel the old, battered mattress through his clothing, the springs digging into his back.
Someone pulled his arm again, and he turned over. The jacket under his head hadn’t been a good pillow and the stiff muscles in his neck complained.
‘There’s someone in the house,’ Tupaarnaq whispered.
They had found a couple of rusty beds with mattresses in one of the houses. It lay away from the rest of the ghost town; it appeared to have had a canteen on the ground floor, while the first floor consisted of a long corridor with small rooms leading off it.
The night air blew in through the broken windows. The floor was covered by detritus. Plaster. Wallpaper. Fraying fabric. Shards of glass. Most doors were damaged, either by age, weather or vandals. He heard a crunching sound coming from the corridor.
‘Did you hear that?’ Tupaarnaq tugged at his arm again.
He nodded. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could see her sitting upright with the rifle in front of her.
‘There shouldn’t be anyone here,’ she said in a hushed voice, while she slowly loaded the weapon, letting something fall into place with a quiet click.
Matthew rose to his knees on the mattress. There was more than one pair of boots out in the corridor. Two, at least. He stood up and moved next to Tupaarnaq. ‘Could it be people who got stranded, like we did?’
She shook her head. ‘I think that’s highly unlikely.’
‘Maybe we can get out through the window?’ Matthew continued, and took a step backwards so he could look out the window and down at the ground. There were shards of glass all around the window frame.
The crunching of the boots grew louder. Matthew looked at the rocky ground five to six metres below them and shook his head. ‘We’ll have to leave through the door.’
Tupaarnaq nodded. Matthew turned around. As he did, he could sense the sound through his boots before he heard it—a glass fragment breaking under his boot.
The corridor fell quiet.
‘Why have you stopped?’
The voice was Danish. Adult. Sharp.
‘I heard something.’
The other voice was deep and heavy.
Tupaarnaq looked towards Matthew’s boot. ‘Idiot.’
Matthew shrugged. ‘They would have found us sooner or later.’
‘Speak up,’ the sharp voice said out loud. ‘There’s no point whispering anymore.’
‘That sounds like Abelsen,’ Matthew whispered.
Tupaarnaq raised the rifle to her shoulder. The muzzle was pointed at the open door.
‘I bet you never thought you would run into me here, eh, Matthew? Did you really think this place was completely deserted? You’re so naive. My friend Bárdur here lives just across the road. At the bunker fuel point.’
Matthew looked at Tupaarnaq’s rifle. It was wedged in the hollow between her chin and neck. Her shoulders were calm. Her muscles tense.
‘He doesn’t care about the notebook, but I still want it. Did you bring it? You probably did—you’re such a fool.’
Matthew shook his head. Tupaarnaq nodded grimly.
‘Are you in there?’ Abelsen went on. ‘I’m getting bored out here.’
There was silence for a moment. Then the crunching resumed and grew closer. A few seconds later, a dark silhouette loomed at the doorway. He was enormous. He almost filled out the space completely.
The first shot sent a shock through the room, paralysing Matthew’s thoughts. The silhouette disappeared with a short, deep roar.
‘Run,’ Tupaarnaq hissed.
Matthew leapt towards the door. ‘Left?’ The giant had come from the right.
‘Yes—there are stairs going down at both ends.’
Matthew took a deep breath and ran out through the door. The corridor was dark. At one end, moonlight poured in through a broken door. Matthew didn’t have time to see whether there were two or three silhouettes outside before Tupaarnaq fired another shot, this time into the darkness of the corridor. He completed the short distance to the corner by the stairs in a couple of long strides, then felt himself slip on the steps, the wood bashing against his back. He grabbed hold of the banister and scrambled to his feet. He continued stumbling down the stairs. Behind him he could hear running footsteps everywhere.
‘It’s only me,’ Tupaarnaq shouted. ‘Run, goddammit… Run towards the water!’
He took a sharp right at the bottom of the stairs and headed for the front door. Another rifle shot cut through the night. Her third.
Outside, the darkness seemed less solid. The sky was pink behind the mountains on the far side of the fjord.
‘Run, damn you,’ Tupaarnaq shouted behind him.
He sprinted down the short wooden footpath that connected the house to the rest of the town. His legs were going at full speed, and he knew they would soon be crippled by lactic acid. Everything began to cramp. His lungs were hurting. His blood boiling.
The buildings along the quay grew bigger with every step he took in the pink dawn. The damaged wooden walls and the black broken windows.
‘We need to get to the boat now,’ Tupaarnaq wheezed behind him. She was panting too.
He lunged forwards when they reached the iron posts and grabbed the dinghy, which fell limply into his hands.
Tupaarnaq crashed into him as she, too, reached for the dinghy. ‘Shit.’ She looked across the water. ‘We’ll have to swim.’
A shot was fired across the sea and they heard a hissing sound in the air close to them. They both threw themselves onto the ground.
‘They must have someone on their boat,’ Matthew gasped. His voice was trembling and black spots were dancing in front of his eyes. ‘We need to get out of here.’
Tupaarnaq glanced over her shoulder. Not far behind them, Abelsen and Bárdur had emerged. Out on their boat was a man with a rifle.