And then I hear it, the engine of another boat. . . . No, not a boat—the pounding, enormous engine of a ship.

I turn around. Where is it coming from? Just the same gray wall on all sides.

The ship draws closer, the sound growing louder—but where is it coming from? I turn my engine off, stand rigidly, the material of my jacket squeaking when I move. The ship still doesn’t exist except as a pounding, heavy rumble, gradually, inexorably increasing in volume.

I listen, the sound is coming from the starboard side, I turn my head, no, it’s coming from the port side. My damn hearing, the right ear weaker than the left. I stood too close to a megaphone once, or maybe it was the angle grinder in Alta. Alta, yet another loss; they spent a day removing the chains. We thought we were going to win and in just one day they cut all the chains. But now I don’t need my hearing any longer, because now I can see the ship. It’s emerging, a huge, gray shadow, like a mountain, right in front of me.

Heading straight for me, to my port side.

My foghorn screeches, one long, two short, again and again, but it is smothered by the sound of the big ship’s engine. They haven’t seen me, just keep going. I shift the helm forcibly aport, set the engine at full operating speed, and . . .

There are just a few meters between me and the ship. I can glimpse the patches of rust on the side of the vessel, the weld seams in the steel construction.

He has presumably not seen me, the skipper up there on the bridge. He doesn’t know, will never know, that on this day he almost ran down a sixty-seven-year-old lone sailor from Norway.

But then he disappears again, then the ship disappears behind me, and I think I can see it growing lighter, or perhaps it’s just white spots floating before my eyes, because now I finally remember to breathe again.

And I laugh, a loud laugh of relief.

The laughter actually carries, even through the fog, it carries and lingers.

I’m unstoppable, I think. I am and have always been, quite unstoppable.

Unstoppable.

Especially in the fight for Eidesdalen, infected with anger and with the child growing inside me. I remember how the anger grew along with it, how it burned and warmed me, became stronger with every passing day.