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Back Iron Winter Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. Title page
  2. Contents
  3. Map
  4. ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. THREE
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. 68
  75. 69
  76. FOUR
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. Afterword
  88. By Stephen Baxter
  89. Copyright

But she did feel that the caravan was rattling along too fast – too fast! After all the trouble the crew had had, all the stops, the times they had to stop to knock ice off the snowblade or to dig out drifts, you would think they would have had more sense than to go plummeting into the dark now. But then, she supposed, the crew themselves were exhausted. They too must be longing to get this nightmare journey over with.

The caravan leaned sideways, to her right, as if taking a bend in the track. For a horrible moment it hovered, as if it might tip over. Then the cabin settled back on its rail with a jolt.

She breathed again. The caravan rattled on.

But the cabin tipped again, once more to the right. This time it was a sickening lean that went on and on, with a squeal of metal on metal. Still holding the candle she hung on to her seat, or she would have fallen against the wall. This is it . . . this is it. The cabin was tipping over the seaward face of the Wall. She wondered what would kill her first – the crash itself, the fall into the water, or the ocean’s chill? And what had the final accident been – a frozen point, a rail bent from contracting in the cold? She supposed she would never know—

A fresh jolt knocked her out of her seat, spilling her to the tilted floor. She lost her candle at last, which flickered out. The ride became much rougher, the squeal of metal deafening. Had the cabin jumped the track?

She had to get out.

She scrambled up the sloping roof to the door, and grabbed for its handle. The door, damaged by the officer, fell inwards easily, and the bits of clothing she’d used to stop the gaps fell around her. She grabbed the door frame. One big effort, Alxa. One heave. Don’t think about it . . .

She pulled her head and upper body out into the lashing snow. The night was wild, the wind blasting, the noise of the caravan on the track insanely loud. By the few working carriage lights she could see the caravan ahead, scraping along the track with a spark of metal on metal. And the cabins were peeling off the track, one by one, falling into the ocean almost gracefully. Soon it would be her cabin’s turn.

Don’t think about it.

She jumped into the dark.

Fell through the air.

Landed in snow, a deep, soft drift, powdery and uncompacted, but still she hit hard, and the cold stuff filled her mouth and eyes and ears with a rush.

But she was not yet dead.

18

The storm blew itself out overnight.