Chapter 6: Drift Fishes
The nuts and bolts of exactly how the pair would prove Drift’s innocence were not easy to fit into place.
“We have to find clues,” Fish told the snowman. “Like footprints.”
Drift looked around and saw lots of footprints, all suspiciously leading in one direction. “We’re on the trail,” he shouted, lifting Fish onto his shoulder and running for a whole mile before the footprints finally came to an end.
Fish had kicked and struggled the whole time. “They’re YOUR footprints,” she fumed once she was on the ground again. “It’s no use following your own footprints. You have to think. My dad would have worked out a plan for us.” She thought about this for a moment. “Well, my mum would have.”
Drift sat down with a crash. “Well,” he said. “There are no other footprints to follow, so my plan is… RUN.“ A huge smile spread across his face. “Running has worked well for me so far.”
“That won’t get us anywhere,” Fish said. “We need to go back to where it all happened.”
“But you said we were lost.”
“We are lost. You didn’t pay attention to where we were going. But if my mum could find me after you… after whoever killed my dad then I’m sure we can find a way out too.”
Drift scratched his head. “Hang on,” he said. “If we don’t know where we are then how can we know where we’re going?”
“We–“ Fish couldn’t think of an answer to this and looked around. The land was flat and featureless here, except for the two spiky-looking hills. To the west, the sun was beginning to set on the short day. “We look for landmarks,” she said. “And we head east. I remember two hills, like those.” Fish pointed to the large hills which seemed just as close now as they’d been before Drift had run off chasing his own footprints. “Only the hills I remember were near a mountain. There. That’s a plan,” she finished, clapping her hands together.
“You’re right. There was a mountain,” Drift said, remembering that day. “And there was…” he thought hard. “Oh it’s no good. All this business about clearing my name seems sort of…” He rummaged in the fridge of his brain for just the right word. “Difficult,” he said at last.
“Nonsense,” Fish said. “Dad said you just have to work at things. Especially things you want.”
“I have a better plan,” Drift added. He leaned down and poked a hole in the ground. “Imagine we are here,” he said.
“It’s probably too late to set out today,” Fish continued, ignoring the snowman. “We should eat.”
Drift poked another hole a short way away from the first one and traced a line between the two. “I believe if we keep moving then we will no longer be here and eventually get to be here. They’ll never find us. Especially if we don’t know where we are.”
“Oh, my bag,” Fish said. “I must have dropped it somewhere.” She began searching her blankets for a strip of dried meat.
“I accept that I may have made things worse,” Drift said. “What with kidnapping you in front of your mum but…”
“Of course, Dad would have taken me fishing by now. We would have food and we’d be warm and then he’d know exactly what to do next.”
“…the beauty of my plan is – we can run in the dark. Then we definitely won’t know where we’re going.” Drift looked pleased with his thinking and started to get ready for another run.
“So that’s settled, then,” he said. “Let’s g– Whoah! What? Where? Why? What?”
Drift took a step back. Fish was brandishing a long, sharp knife. “Easy now,” he said. “We can talk about your plan too, if you’d like.”
“We’re going to fish,” Fish said.
“Fish?” Drift said. “I thought you wanted to head to the mountain.”
“I do,” Fish said. “BUT WE WON’T GET VERY FAR IF I STARVE TO DEATH.” She began to walk to where the snow took on more of a blue tinge. Lifting her blanket up out of the way, she squatted and thrust the knife into the ground and began to saw away at the ice. Fish cut and cut until she had managed to make a small round hole. A clear dark eye of water stared up at her.
“I don’t have my line,” she said, looking up at the snowman who was watching her with interest. “It was in my bag.” She fixed him with a glare. “So you’ll have to help. Make your arms grow longer.” Drift stretched and waved in the air. “Very good. Do you think you can grab a fish when we see one?”
“When we see the gold?” Drift asked, remembering.
Fish smiled at the memory of her dad. “That’s right.”
“I’ll try. But I’m not good with water.”
They sat on the ice, watching the water lap against the hole.
Drift was first to break the silence. “So what’s the deal with that man Viktor and your mum?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Are they, y’know…” Drift wrapped his arms around himself and puckered up his lips. “In love.”
Fish leapt to her feet and stamped, sending a thin crack all the way to the edge of the hole in the ice. “No!” she said. “No! He’s just been helpful to us, that’s all. Tracking the killer… I mean, you. Mum says he’s been helpful. He’s even offered to buy our land to give us a new start in a proper town.”
Drift was surprised. “What land?” he said. “I thought you moved about.”
“We do. But we do it on our land. It’s just snow but it’s been in the family for hundreds of years. We let people like Viktor use it to hunt and fish on.”
Her tummy roared at the mention of the word ‘fish’ and she sat back down. “He means well,” she said. “I think.”
“FISH!” Drift shouted. The darkening sky took his shout and echoed it across the empty tundra. He plunged his hands into the water, reaching for the fish. But as he reached into the water, they began to dissolve. He sent more of his body into his arms, making them reform. “My arms. My arms,” he wailed. The water rushed up into Drift, breaking him apart faster than he could fix himself. “I’m melting.”
He panicked, reeling backwards and stamping on the ice. “Leave it,” said Fish, tugging at the disappearing snowman. “Let it go.”
But Drift wouldn’t let it go. More and more of him plunged into the water until he was half the size he had been. “Leave it, Dad, leave it.” Fish pushed and pulled at Drift trying to save him.
In one last attempt before he finally pulled away from the water, Drift scooped three blue-scaled fish onto the ice.
Tears poured down Fish’s face. “Oh Drift,” she said, trying to scoop snow over his withered arms. “Are you alright?”
Drift flopped on the ice, mending his arms and hands as he lay there. “I will be,” he said. “I just need to rest. Eat up, little fish.” He closed his eyes and let out a puff of snow.
“Yes,” Fish said. “It’s time we both rested. Everything will be better in the morning.” She picked up one of the fish and began to clean it with her knife.
A noise rang out. “What was that?” she asked, looking all around. She stared in horror as a series of lines began to jigsaw the ice around her, thickening as she watched.
Crack after crack the sound of breaking ice split the quiet evening.
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Illustration © Carl Pugh