Far North - Michael Ridpath [144]
Suddenly the cloud seemed to lift and they were in a valley of rock and moss. There, on the left, was the hut, its door wide open. And on the right was a pickup truck, its nose pointing down towards the stream, one of its front wheels wedged in a hole, and one of its back wheels raised off the ground. The driver’s door was hanging open.
‘Slow down! You take the hut, I’ll take the truck!’ said Magnus. He jumped out of the car before it had come to a halt, ran to the truck and looked inside. Nothing. He scanned the hill. A short distance up the far wall of the valley he saw a body splayed out on the ground.
He forded the freezing stream and ran uphill. It was Björn. Stab wound to the chest. It didn’t look good unless they could get rapid medical attention.
At least he was conscious. His eyes flickered up at Magnus.
Magnus asked the key question. ‘Who did this?’
Björn tried to speak, but was finding it difficult. Magnus lowered his ear towards Björn’s mouth. He heard one word. ‘Ísak.’
‘Where’s Harpa?’ he asked.
Björn couldn’t answer, but he flicked his eyes upwards.
‘She’s gone up the hill?’ Magnus asked.
Björn nodded, just a brief downward movement of the chin.
‘And Ísak’s after her?’
Another nod.
Magnus tried for one more question. ‘And who is Ingólfur Arnarson?’
Björn closed his eyes and moved his head to the side.
Magnus waved at Páll who was trotting heavily towards the stream. ‘Get an ambulance!’ he shouted.
Páll raised an arm in acknowledgement and ran back to his car and the radio.
Magnus turned and looked up the hill. The cloud seemed to be lifting, moving off to his left down the valley. But he couldn’t see either Ísak or Harpa. He closed his eyes and listened. He could hear running water, the croak of a raven, Björn’s laboured breathing, and somewhere above, the clatter of falling stones.
He set off up the hill into the fog.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HARPA RAN AS fast as she could, which wasn’t nearly fast enough. Her wrists were a real problem; because they were tied together she couldn’t use her arms to help her balance. And she was wearing the wrong shoes, they kept slipping on the scree, sending torrents of stones falling down behind her. She fell every few seconds, it would only be a matter of time before she twisted something. Her heart felt like it was going to explode.
The fog was dense around her. Above the crescendo of the blood in her ears and her own panting, she could hear the rattle of stones below as Ísak caught up on her.
Then suddenly the mist lifted. Above her was blue sky. To her left and right was rock. And behind and in front was a thick carpet of grey. She was at the top, on the ridge between one valley and the next.
She stopped for a second. She could hear Ísak close behind. Summoning up a renewed burst of energy she sprinted downhill towards the cloud. She slipped and fell, twisting one knee and grazing the other. She couldn’t stop herself emitting a cry of pain. The fog was only a few metres away. She limped towards it.
She felt an enormous sense of relief as once again she was enveloped by the blanket of moisture. Although the slope was broadly downhill, her knee was giving out.
The fog was thick now. She spotted a cluster of boulders to the left. If she just lay down there and kept quiet, Ísak would never find her.
She changed direction and headed for the rocks.
Suddenly she heard the regular thump of Ísak’s feet hitting the ground. She couldn’t see him, but it sounded as if they were going to collide. She took the decision to keep going for the rocks.
She threw herself at them and lay still, huddled between two boulders. Except she wasn’t exactly still, her chest was heaving and her heart pounding.
Seconds later she heard Ísak lope past. She could see his legs. He was barely five metres away from her as he stopped to listen. She tried to hold her breath, but she could only do it for a few seconds. Her lungs needed the air. The sound as she exhaled seemed loud to her, but Ísak appeared not to notice. He walked cautiously forward into the mist.
She stood up,