So much for that. Ben let the tarp flop back down, and turned away. He was shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering, and his mind was suddenly on relighting that propane heater, wherever it was. He needed to find warmth and get the circulation going in his numb fingers and toes. He started exploring the rest of the hut. The light was fading quickly as the blizzard outside intensified even more. Up on one of the shelving units was another rechargeable lantern. He reached out to grab it.

And that was when a figure rushed up from behind and attacked him.

Chapter 55

Ben’s attacker wasn’t a big or heavy man, but he was hard and wiry. He launched into Ben with ferocious violence, knocking him off balance. In the next instant an arm wrapped itself like a steel band around Ben’s throat, threatening to crush the air out of him. Ben tried to wrench free of the stranglehold and throw the man off him, but he was clinging on tighter than a mongoose with a death grip on a cobra. Ben was fighting to breathe, and losing fast. In seconds he’d start to black out.

He wheeled around and backed up hard into one of the metal shelving units, bringing down an avalanche of hardware and tool equipment. The impact drew a grunt of pain from Ben’s attacker and loosened his hold around Ben’s throat just enough for Ben to be able to get his fingers around the strangling arm and relieve the pressure so that he could snatch a gasp of air.

The guy was unbelievably strong and tenacious. But now Ben had a solid purchase on his arm, and used it to throw his attacker over his shoulder and send him slamming to the floor. The man hit the boards with a crash that shook the hut and would have knocked most opponents half unconscious, but he was instantly starting to writhe back upright as Ben stormed in to launch a stamping kick to the guy’s face.

If the kick had landed, it would have smashed his jawbone, rammed his teeth down his throat and been a definitive, spectacular fight-finisher. But just as Ben was gathering his strength and momentum for the killer blow, he hesitated. Stopped. Froze.

The hard, wiry figure of the attacker clambered quickly to his feet. The very familiar hard, wiry figure, whose silhouette was dimly backlit against the hut’s snowy windowpane. Ben stared at him. The figure stood still and stared back. Neither spoke. The only sound was the moan of the wind outside and the patter of snow against the hut roof.

Ben broke the silence. Said, ‘Boonzie?’

And the man who just a moment earlier had been viciously trying to kill him replied, ‘Ben? Holy shite. Is that you?’