‘That was it before, went straight through it,’ Erin called. Damn. The snowbank must have been the bump that sent me tumbling. Some saviour.

I reset my mental geography. If we’d already gone past the road, that meant the slope was about to get a lot steeper very quickly.

‘Ern.’ A new voice, Sofia, arrived. It was hard to see with the slim aspect of light and the acceleration of the truck, but an approximation of her head bobbed into view. ‘What’s happening? You’ve got about thirty seconds before this gets away from us. Get out already!’

‘I’m hurt. I can’t move.’

‘Wait. Is that a coff—?’

‘Help me get in there,’ Erin interrupted.

‘Is it safe?’

‘Of course it’s not. Give me a boost.’

Everything was starting to get blurry. The adrenaline must have been fading because the pain was starting to creep into my wrist and radiate up my arm, which was making the edge of my vision fuzzy and unfocused. I tried my best to zone in on Erin and Sofia. They were in the light. They were solid objects. They seemed an infinite distance away. Then a third shadow arrived.

‘No luck.’ A male voice now, Crawford. ‘I broke the window but it’s too high. There’s not enough time before . . . Hang on . . .’ His next words were muffled, but I caught enough of them. ‘Did you not get him out?’

‘He’s stuck,’ said Sofia.

‘Stuck?’

‘He’s hurt.’

‘How bad?’

‘Not sure.’

‘Bad enough to not be out here with us,’ Erin snapped.

‘Ow. Watch my toes,’ Crawford said, as Erin stepped on him. Together the three of them must have heaved the shutter up a bit further, because light flooded in. Crawford spoke again: ‘Oh my God. Is that a . . .?’

That was when everything suddenly changed from mild alarm to outright panic. All three were actually running now: we must have hit the steeper slope. I figured the extra light had also revealed more of my injury, adding to the chaos. Erin had started yelling at Crawford to help boost her in. I heard Crawford rebuffing her: it was too dangerous; too risky. Things that would have inflamed her ears, sexism rearing its head under the pretence of heroism.

I waited for Crawford’s boots to clang into the truck instead. A strap hit me in the face. I grabbed it with my free hand and yanked with all my strength. Whoever had hung it from the wall hadn’t tied it very well, as it came free, the buckle attached to it clattered to the ground. It was like a giant seatbelt. I reeled it in, fumbling it one-handed around my waist into a simple knot. The loop was loose but maybe good enough.