Arctic Firepath

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As Nic Tyler looked across the bleak scene in the fading light, the cold reached through his thin clothes. The landscape was beautiful but if he didn’t find help soon it would kill him.

He knew from the guide book that average winter temperatures in Tiksi were minus 30 degrees centigrade, but often sank far lower. Tonight it was — 45 C, and Tyler experienced every degree through his overcoat. The two men who called told him the journey to the meeting would be short, so he had decided against bringing anything warmer.

But the ride was longer than expected, and he grew alarmed when they left the outskirts of the town. The man with the disgusting breath withdrew a sharp knife that glinted in the reflected glow of the headlights. Tyler feared violence, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the blade. After a fearful hush, he pleaded for his life. They ignored him and drove on in silence.

Eventually the car stopped and his heart pounded in his chest. The bodyguard with the knife got out and beckoned. Convinced he was about to die, Tyler shook his head, believing if he stayed inside he might have a chance. The man grabbed him and hauled him out. He fell to the ground and remained there, too frightened to move. He expected they would pull him to his feet and march him to some shallow grave. Instead they returned to the car and drove off.

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