“Nearly two. We need to decide if we’re going or staying.”

“Going, I hope,” I say. “I don’t want to spend another night in this place.”

“But your knee. I was thinking me and Brent should ride down and get them to turn the lift on for the rest of you. But now . . .” He glances at Brent. “Maybe me and Dale.”

Shit. I don’t trust Dale and I can tell Curtis doesn’t either. Come to think of it, where is Dale? I check either way down the corridor.

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here,” Curtis says. “But what choice do we have?”

Right now, I’m not sure which of them I’m more scared of. I don’t trust any of them.

Heather stands to one side looking tense. “I don’t think we’re here alone. I saw someone in the corridor,” she says to Curtis. “While all of you were on the glacier.”

“I think I saw someone as well. Just for a second, turning a corner.” I squirm as I say it aloud. “And it . . . I’m sorry, Curtis, but it looked like your sister. I swear I saw long blond hair.” After what Curtis told me in the bathroom, I’m not sure if it was her or her ghost. Or just my overactive imagination.

Curtis closes his eyes. “Shit.”

“Whoever it was, they locked me in that bathroom,” Heather says.

I remember how the door acted up on me as well. Maybe there’s something wrong with it.

“God, my head hurts,” Brent says.

“How much did you have to drink?” Curtis says.

“Hardly anything. It’s not that. Just let me splash some water on my face.”

There are toilets on the left. Curtis helps Brent along to them.

Heather wanders down the corridor. “Dale?” she calls. “Where are you? Dale!”

“Have you seen him since you came in?” I say.

“No.” She reaches the corner and stands there, apparently reluctant to let me out of her sight.

Curtis and Brent come out of the toilets.

“The water’s off,” Curtis says.

“What?” I say.

“Let’s try the kitchen,” he suggests.

I brace for a painful walk, but he slings an arm around my back with a look that dares me to protest. I can’t help flinching. I feel weird about his touching me now.

The kitchen tap is a trickle that soon dries up. Curtis tries the hot tap and nothing at all comes out.

“Pipes must have frozen,” I say. That would explain the miserly dribble of water in the bathroom earlier.

“How cold do you reckon it is out there?” Curtis asks.

“Minus ten, maybe?”

Curtis nods. “Cold, but not that cold.”