Chapter 42
Helena leaned heavily against Maggie as she steered her away from the landslide. Their legs and boots were caked in mud, hair pasted to their heads.
When they were far enough away from the landslide, Helena collapsed onto the beach. Spine rounded, head hanging low, her ragged sobs echoed through the rain.
Maggie crouched beside her, rubbing her back in slow circles, talking in a low, steady voice.
“I’m so sorry,” Liz said, moving to Helena’s other side. “It’s going to be okay.”
Locked deep in her own shock and grief, Helena didn’t respond.
Liz felt helpless. There was nothing she—or any of them—could do to make this better. There was no way to retrieve the ashes. They were gone.
She also knew they had a more immediate problem to deal with. She straightened, scanning the mountainside steadily with her torch beam, searching each part of the landscape.
Joni glanced at her. “Liz? What is it?”
“Our trail out of here. It’s gone.”
Joni’s eyes widened.
Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “Gone?”
Liz nodded. She stared at the hundreds of tons of earth and rock, collapsed on the beach. There was no way they could scramble over it—the earth sinking and dangerous, loose rock unsettled. It would be impossible—deadly.
“There has to be another way out,” Joni said.
Liz answered, “There is.” She turned, looking in the opposite direction to the far end of the beach. Then her gaze lifted to the huge beast of a mountain towering there.
“Blafjell,” Joni whispered. “But . . . we can’t do it. You said so yourself, Liz. It’s too hard!”
“We have no choice. There’s no other path.”
Joni’s voice was wretched. “It’s a huge mountain. We’ve got no supplies—no water, no food, nothing.”
“There’ll be streams and waterfall runoff,” Liz said. “Water won’t be a problem.”
“And food?”
“We’ll be hungry. But we’ll survive.” She could feel her heart racing in her chest, but she needed to keep her head. The others were relying on her. “We’re in weatherproof clothes and hiking boots. If we go carefully, we can do this.” Then she remembered: “My map, I left it in the tent.”
“I’ve got my phone,” Joni said. “I took a photo of the trail.”
“Let’s see it,” Liz said, moving to Joni’s shoulder.
The rain had thinned to a drizzle, which studded the flare of the screen as Joni thumbed to the image of the map.
As they huddled close, a message appeared. Low battery 20%.
Liz’s insides tightened.
Joni swiped the notification aside and pinched the map wider with a damp forefinger and thumb.
“This is where we are now,” Liz said, indicating the beach.
“It’ll be light soon. The trail up Blafjell should be well marked.
” She’d read about the climb and knew the conditions were tough, lots of scrambling and steep elevations.
“The first peak looks okay. But the challenge is crossing the ridge. It’s half a kilometer long—and it’s narrow, which means it’s lethal if it’s wet or windy or the visibility is bad. ”
Joni’s brow was pinched tight as she said, “Even if we make it across the ridge, what then? Where do we sleep? We’ve no tent . . . No sleeping bags . . .”
“Here,” Liz said, pointing. “There’s a DNT hut.”
“What’s that?” Joni asked.
“A mountain cabin. They’re all over Norway. Little wooden huts that are left unlocked for hikers and mountaineers. Bit like a Scottish bothy. They have woodstoves. We’ll be warm. Dry. If we’re lucky there could be a food store.”
“Looks a long way. How high are we talking?”
“Over a thousand meters,” Liz said.
“Do you think Helena is going to be up to it?” Joni asked.
They both looked to where Helena remained huddled on the ground, being comforted by Maggie. Helena was shivering hard, arms hugged to her body, wet hair pasted to her scalp.
“She’ll have to be.”
Joni, pinching her lip between her thumb and index finger, asked, “What’s the alternative?”
Liz looked at the map, studying it forensically, noting the undulations of the contour lines. She shook her head. “There isn’t one.”