Killer

Ross hurled himself forward at the cry, not looking round. The sound of the whale coming up after him deafened him. Something crashed into his back and hurled him forward. He slithered up the slope which suddenly appeared as the whale put its weight on the smaller section of the floe. Ross found the edge of the net under his hand and pulled himself up. The whale was three-quarters out of the water, raised on spread flippers, its gaping mouth just over a yard from Ross’s legs. He saw that great black and white face, scarred on nose and cheek, its chin spotted and swollen, as he twisted his right hand over his head, thrust the club of his left arm under the fire tray, steadied it with his right, and hurled it with all his might. It struck the whale’s scarred nose and exploded in sparks all over its face. The whale screamed and jerked back. The ice slopped down in the water, but the few pegs around the edges of the net held and the halves of the floe remained bound together.

“Jesus H. Christ!” said Ross, slumping back, gasping for breath.

“Colin! Are you all right?” Kate came on to her knees beside him.

“Yes. I’m fine. It was close though. That canny bastard almost had me!” His eyes were blazing, his face white and drawn with hate under the heavy black bristles of his thickening beard. He rolled over and climbed to his feet only to find himself face to face with an equally enraged Simon.

“You fucking idiot,” screamed the little man. “You threw the fire at it. We’ll all freeze.”

“Man, dear! Unless we get that beast up here and kill it now we won’t get a chance to freeze! Anyway, with the tent, the sleeping bags and blankets, we’ll be able to keep warm even if we can’t think of a way to light another fire.”

Quick calmed a little. “So, all right,” he said. “Let’s hear your plan.”

“OK,” said Ross seriously. “Look. All we’ve got are the harpoons and the axe. What we have to do is get the killer somewhere where we can hold it still for long enough to give us a chance to use them.”

“Great idea!” sneered Quick. “How do you suggest we do that?”

“We use the net.”

“How?” Kate.

“You remember when Simon and I had that fight in the tent?” He gestured towards the hole in the ice where the whale had come through. “The killer zeroed in on the noise, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we do the same thing here. If we have a mock fight, make lots of noise and yelling right by the crack, we might be able to lure it up into the net. Then, while it’s trying to get free, we’ll hack it to pieces.”

“Oh, great!” said Quick. “And what do we do when it wrecks the floe?”

“If we’re quick it won’t get the chance! Don’t you see? I’ve loosened all the pegs but two. It should just tear the net away from the ice and tangle it round itself. If we’re quick we can kill it before it does any damage.” He turned away to pick up the axe again, but he had only taken two steps before something hit him solidly in the back.

“What?” He turned, going down on one knee. Quick was dancing up and down on the net beside the crack. “Simon, for Christ’s sake, what . . . ?”

“I thought you wanted to fight!”

“Simon!”

“Well, don’t just kneel there! Come here and fight!”

“My God,” said Ross in disgust and got up. He turned his back on Quick again and began wearily to walk towards the axe. He had made three steps before Simon’s shoulder smashed into his back again and he went sprawling. It was then, with the stupid pointlessness of it welling bitterly in his throat, that he lost his temper. He came up off the ice hair wild, face bone white, eyes blazing with the cold light that animated the floes. “All right, you stupid bastard,” he breathed, and he began to walk across the ice. Quick danced away, still jeering, arms hanging loosely at his sides, mittens bulky like boxing gloves.

Away to the south the black thorn of the killer’s fin split the water silently and began to circle the floe.

Kate turned, mouth open, a harpoon in each hand as the two men closed and stared at each other for a moment over the restless crack.

“Look,” said Quick, stepping forward, hand held out, “I’ll tell you what . . .” His smile spread, boyish, rueful. His hand had almost touched Ross’s shoulder. He came up on his toes ready to kick his lifelong enemy in the crotch.

Ross’s right foot lashed out, the boot crashing into Simon’s leg a quarter of an inch below the kneecap. Simon screamed. Ross’s leg bent, following the blow up the thigh to bring his knee into Simon’s groin. The younger man came forward, his face falling hard on to Ross’s fist. The nose bruised, nearly shattered. Simon fell down the left side of Ross’s body, convulsed into a ball.

Kate dropped the harpoons.