by Paul Adam
He stayed tense, however, until he felt the crate touch down on the quayside, felt a forklift picking it up again and moving it away to a storage area. He was safely off the ship. But now the really difficult bit began. He had to get out of the crate without being seen, then find out exactly where he was and, hardest of all, find his father and rescue him.
Waiting until after dark would have been the safest course of action, but Max didn’t want to wait that long. He couldn’t afford to. He’d been at sea for a week. Now he was in Kamchatka, he needed to get moving as quickly as possible.
He listened for signs of activity nearby – forklift trucks moving to and fro, stevedores shouting – and when there’d been a prolonged period of silence carefully eased off the lid of his crate and slid it aside a few centimetres, creating a gap wide enough for him to see out. He was in an open-air cargo holding area at the back of the quayside, surrounded by boxes and packing crates. There was a long, aluminium-sided warehouse to his left, with an opening in the wall through which trucks were moving, transporting containers out onto the waterfront where they were loaded onto the Reunion Star. The ship brought in supplies for the Rescomin platinum mine, Max guessed, then returned to San Francisco with a cargo of the metal. But where was the mine? It certainly wasn’t here by the sea. Max could see no buildings other than the warehouse, no houses, no accommodation blocks for the workforce or any other signs of industrial activity. This was just a port facility – a place where goods were loaded and unloaded – and nothing more.
He surveyed the area. There was no one nearby, the stevedores all busy on the other side of the quay. He climbed out of his crate. He was still wearing the navy blue Rescomin fleece jacket, and was glad of it since the air was cool, a damp breeze gusting in from the ocean. He crouched down for a second, checking that he hadn’t been spotted, then crept away through the stacks of freight until he reached a chain-link fence at the back of the site. There was a road on the other side of the fence, an unmade dirt road with a rough, potholed surface. It headed inland away from the port, cutting through a dense forest of coniferous trees.
Max snipped a small hole in the fence with his nail-cutters and wriggled through it, closing the mesh up behind him to hide what he’d done. Then he ran across the road and into the forest, going just deep enough into the trees to be out of sight but still close enough to the road to use it as a guide. He took a deep breath, then stretched his limbs. It felt good to be out in the open again, to feel fresh air on his face. Staying roughly parallel to the road, he made his way through the forest. There was very little undergrowth so he was able to move quickly and easily.
He’d gone more than a mile when he heard the noise of an engine getting louder. He ducked behind a tree trunk and looked out cautiously, seeing a truck with a container on the back clattering up the road from the port, leaving a white cloud of dust in its wake. Four more trucks followed close behind.
Max gave them a couple of minutes to disappear over the horizon, then kept walking. The ground was beginning to slope uphill now, the forest clinging to a low range of coastal hills. The road doubled back on itself, twisting up the hill in a series of hairpin bends. Max decided to save time and energy by cutting across the road in a straight line instead of following the bends. The gradient was steep and by the time he reached the top of the hill he was panting for breath and so warm he had to remove his fleece jacket and tie it around his waist.
Climbing out of the forest onto a rocky ridge to spy out the land ahead, he was stunned by the scenery. It was probably the most spectacularly beautiful view he’d ever seen: the land dropped away into a broad valley in which a crystal lake nestled, its waters reflecting the pine and birch trees that framed the shore. From one end of the lake a river emerged, a wide, shallow stream that meandered across the flood plain through pools and channels, whose edges were marked by boulders and tiny crescents of shingle beach. Behind the lake, the mountains rose up in a long, jagged line, in the centre of which was a high, conical peak topped with brilliant white snow. From the summit of the cone, puffs of steam were belching, lingering for a while in the blue sky before fading away to nothing. Max realized he was not looking at a mountain, but an active volcano. He gazed at it with slight trepidation, wondering how dangerous it was.
The only thing spoiling the view was the road, which cut across the valley at the lower end, crossing the river on a man-made causeway before disappearing through a notch in the hills. But even that was just a minor blemish on the landscape, a barely noticeable imperfection in the midst of such pristine, natural beauty.
Max climbed down off the ridge, crossing another bend in the road and plunging back into the forest. Half an hour later, he stopped to get his bearings. He’d strayed away from the road, but he’d nearly reached the valley floor. The river could only be half a mile away, the lake maybe double that.
In front of him, winding away through the trees, was what looked like a well-used animal track, a distinct ribbon of worn ground that stood out from the surrounding land. Max followed it for twenty or thirty metres, then paused. He could see a clearing in the forest up ahead and lying on the track just before the clearing was a hare. The creature didn’t move as Max walked closer. It just turned its head and looked at him with big, frightened eyes. One of its hind legs was caught in a wire snare. It had struggled to free itself, but only pulled the snare tighter. The wire was cutting deep into the flesh and there was blood on the fur around the wound; it looked very painful.
Max crouched down and loosened the snare, pulling apart the wire and gently extricating the hare’s foot. The animal lay still for a moment, as if it couldn’t believe it was free, then it limped slowly away into the clearing, dragging its injured leg behind it. Max watched, wondering if he’d done the right thing. Could the hare survive in the wild in that condition?
He was so absorbed with the creature that he didn’t hear the faint sound of feet behind him, didn’t sense there was anyone there until he felt a heavy blow on his back that sent him sprawling forward on to the ground. An angry male voice yelled at him in a language he didn’t understand – Russian, he thought – and a foot slammed into his ribs. Max grunted and rolled sideways out of the way. Looking up, he saw a tall, thin man stride over to the injured hare, which had only managed to shuffle a few metres away across the clearing, pick it up and, with one violent twist, snap its neck.
The man came back to Max, the dead hare dangling from his hand. He was wearing boots, faded jeans and a jacket made out of animal skins. His cap was fur, with flaps to protect his ears from the cold. Slung across his back was a hunting rifle and a leather knapsack. He bawled something else in Russian and took another swing at Max with his foot, obviously still furious with him. Max avoided the blow and scrambled to his feet, his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Was this one of Julius Clark’s men?
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he shouted. ‘Why are you attacking me?’
The man stepped back in surprise. He stared at Max. ‘You speak English?’ he said, a strong Russian flavour to his accent.
‘I am English,’ Max replied. ‘What’re you doing? I mean you no harm.’
‘What are you doing?’ the man fired back. ‘Messing with my snares. Letting my catch go.’
‘It was hurt,’ Max said. ‘It was in pain.’
‘This is my food,’ the man snapped, holding up the hare. ‘It’s what I live off. Who are you to interfere, eh? What’re you doing out here anyway, a kid like you?’
Max didn’t answer. He’d seen something move on the far side of the clearing. The man turned to follow his gaze and froze. Coming out through the trees was a huge, shaggy brown bear.
EIGHTEEN
MAX STAYED COMPLETELY still, hoping that the bear hadn’t seen them, that it would simply wander back into the forest. But it had seen them. Its head came up and it stared directly at them, its eyes cold and black and expressionless. Max shivered. His chest was tight. He was finding it difficult t
o breathe. The bear watched them intently. It looked a big, powerful creature, but Max realized that a lot of that was its dense fur coat; underneath the fur, its body was actually quite lean and underfed. Its face, too, was markedly thin. A hungry bear, Max thought. Very bad news.
‘Don’t move an inch,’ the Russian man said softly. ‘Just stay calm.’
Max did as he was told, trying to remember what he’d read in books or seen on the television about dealing with wild bears. Never try to run away from one, they said. A bear could easily outrun a human. Never climb a tree either. Bears were equally good at climbing trees. Lying down and pretending to be dead was sometimes advised. The bear might leave you alone then. But Max didn’t fancy that option. Lying down, it seemed to him, would just be an invitation to the creature to come and eat his fill.
Maybe if they did nothing, the animal would go away. But it wasn’t going away. It took a couple of tentative steps towards them, a trickle of saliva glistening at the corner of its mouth. Max could see it was preparing to strike. The Russian must have realized that too for he suddenly stepped forward, throwing up his arms and puffing out his chest to make himself look as big and frightening as possible, and screamed loudly at the animal.
‘YAAAAH! YAAAAH!’
The bear hesitated. The Russian yelled at it some more, taking another step forward.
‘YAAAAH!’
The bear backed away a little, then stopped. Its eyes were still fixed on them. There was no fear in them, just wariness. The Russian took another pace forward, waving his arms and shouting. The bear stayed where it was. Its head dipped down, its shoulders came forward. Max realized it was about to attack. There was nothing they could do. There was nowhere to run. This was it.
The Russian said something terse in his own language that sounded to Max like a swear word, then swung back his arm and threw the dead hare across the clearing. It landed on the ground with a thud right in front of the bear, which fell on the carcases greedily, tearing it apart with its huge, yellowish teeth.
‘Back away slowly,’ the Russian said.
Max shuffled backwards, still watching the bear. It was gorging itself on the hare as though it hadn’t eaten in a long time. He felt a tree trunk behind him and stepped round it into the fringes of the forest. The Russian was already heading off along the path. Max followed him. The man moved fast, but silently, his feet making almost no sound on the ground. He seemed to belong in the forest, seemed in some way to be part of it. They went across the slope of the hill for a quarter of a mile, then the man stopped in another clearing and turned to look at Max. The sunlight was full on his face now and Max was stunned to see that he wasn’t a man at all, but a boy. A boy not much older than him. He had long, unkempt black hair, watchful brown eyes and a tanned, weather-beaten face ingrained with dirt. Above his lip and along his jaw were smears of dark, teenage stubble.
‘You’d better get back to Zaliv Myertvetsa,’ he said curtly. ‘You shouldn’t be out here, you don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘Zaliv Myertvetsa?’ Max said.
‘The platinum mine. That’s its Russian name. Didn’t you know? Dead Man’s Bay, it means in English.’
‘You think I’ve come from the mine?’
‘Where else could you have come from? There are quite a few foreigners there – English, Americans, Germans.’ He pointed at Max’s fleece jacket, the company logo clearly visible. ‘Your parents work for Rescomin?’
‘I haven’t come from the mine,’ Max said. ‘I was on the ship, the Reunion Star.’
‘The ship?’ The boy eyed him narrowly. He seemed perplexed. ‘You’re too young to be crew, so is your dad the captain or something? Did he bring you along for the trip?’
‘I stowed away.’
The boy stared at him. ‘You stowed away? To come to Kamchatka? Are you crazy? Why?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Max said. He wasn’t sure about this Russian boy – he could still feel the ache in his ribs where he’d been kicked – but he was beginning to realize that he might need some help in this strange, hostile country, so he tried to be friendly. ‘Look, I’m sorry about what happened just now,’ he said. ‘The snare. I didn’t think about what I was doing. I come from a city, so I’m not used to seeing animals caught for food. And thanks for dealing with the bear. You saved my life.’
The boy shrugged, not interested in thanks.
‘I’m sorry you had to give him the hare,’ Max went on. ‘Are you going to go hungry now?’
‘I’ve another hare in my bag,’ the boy said. ‘I have snares all over the forest.’
Max held out his hand. ‘I’m Max.’
The boy hesitated, then took the hand. ‘Dmitri.’
They shook. Dmitri’s hands were rough and calloused, covered in muck and a reddish stain that Max suspected was blood from the hares. This is really weird, he thought. I’m in the middle of a Kamchatka forest, shaking hands with some wild Russian boy who speaks fluent English. What on earth is going on here?
Dmitri’s expression softened. He looked guilty for a second. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. ‘For hitting you.’ He paused. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘A bit,’ Max admitted.
‘Come with me.’
Dmitri headed off through the forest. Max went after him, struggling to keep up. The Russian boy seemed to know every inch of the terrain: the paths, the fallen logs, the gullies that dissected the area. They crossed a stretch of scree below a sheer rock escarpment, then forded a stream and climbed a tree-covered bluff to a clearing in front of a cave. On the ground just outside the cave a wood fire smouldered, the smoke trickling lazily up into the air. Dmitri unslung his rifle and took the other dead hare out of his knapsack. He picked up a blackened cooking pot and gave it to Max.
‘You get the water.’
Max went down the hill to the stream and filled the pot. He bathed his face and drank some of the water. It was cool and refreshing. When he got back to the cave, Dmitri was skinning and gutting the hare, using a flat stone as a butcher’s block. He chopped the carcass into pieces and tossed them into the cooking pot. Then he knelt down by the fire and nursed it back to life, stoking it with logs until it was burning fiercely. He disappeared briefly into the cave and returned with a couple of onions, a tin of tomatoes and a can opener. He threw the tin opener to Max, then peeled the onions, cut them in half and added them to the cooking pot. Max opened the tin and Dmitri poured the tomatoes in on top of the hare and onions. Then he put the lid on the pot and placed it on the fire.
‘A couple of hours, it should be ready,’ he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.
Max was in a dilemma. He didn’t want to hang around for two hours. He wanted to get on and find the platinum mine. But he was tempted by the prospect of his first decent meal in a week, and also aware that he was out of his depth here. He didn’t want to blunder over to the mine and get caught by Clark’s men. Maybe talking to Dmitri, getting some local knowledge from him, would be a sensible idea.
He glanced around the clearing. ‘You live here? In this cave?’
‘Yes.’
‘Alone?’
Dmitri nodded. ‘That’s a long story too.’
‘Where did you learn such good English?’
‘Geneva.’
Max was momentarily taken aback. It wasn’t the kind of answer he’d expected. What did that mean? Geneva was in Switzerland, thousands of miles away from Kamchatka.
‘Geneva?’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’
But Dmitri was going into the cave again. He reappeared with a bottle in his hand, picked up his rifle and moved off towards the trees. ‘Come on,’ he called. ‘There’s somewhere better we can talk.’
They went down the slope through the forest and walked for about fifteen minutes until they came to a hollow in the hillside that was filled with water. Max could see steam rising off the surface of the pool, smell the faint odour of sulphur.
‘Hot springs,’ Dmitri explai
ned. ‘You ever been in one?’
‘No,’ Max replied. He looked uncertainly at the pool. It was a couple of metres deep, with rocky sides and a fissure at the bottom through which the water was bubbling up from underground. ‘How hot is it?’
‘Just nice. You’ll see.’
Dmitri put down his rifle and the bottle on a rock at the edge of the pool, stripped off his clothes and jumped in. Max waited a few seconds, then did the same. The water was warm and soothing, about the temperature of a hot bath back home in London. London? Max thought. That was about as far away from here as it was possible to imagine. Far away in a geographical sense, but also far away in every other sense. How much bigger a contrast could you get? he wondered. The cramped, dirty, urban streets of London and this untouched wilderness of lakes and forests and hot springs.
‘Good, eh?’ Dmitri said.
‘Very good.’
‘I come here all the time. It’s particularly nice in winter. Snow all around, temperatures below freezing, but this pool is always hot.’
‘The mountain at the top of the valley,’ Max said. ‘Is that a volcano?’
‘Yes.’
‘Active?’
‘Did you see the steam coming out of it? Sometimes it rumbles, throws red-hot cinders up into the sky. It’s really spectacular at night.’
‘Is it in danger of erupting?’
‘I hope not,’ Dmitri said, and laughed. It made him look younger, more boyish.
‘But you don’t know?’
‘This area is full of active volcanoes and hot springs and geysers. I wouldn’t worry about them. Just enjoy them.’
Max rubbed his arms and legs under the water, washing off the grime and sweat that had built up during his six days on the Reunion Star. It felt wonderfully relaxing, floating around in this hot pool, the clear sky up above, the air fresh and clean, the snow-capped volcano visible on the horizon above the birch and pine trees. Dmitri seemed more at ease too, as if he were enjoying having company.