Killer

Still, they couldn’t just stand around till they froze to death, could they? It was obvious that if they were to save anything from the destroyed storage tent, they should start work at once. Of the tent itself there was no sign, but the pieces of the boat, disassembled and stored in case it got blown away during the storm, lay around seemingly undamaged. The box of dynamite stood on its end on the badly cracked and uneasily shifting pieces of ice at the edge of the hole. Broken crates and burst tins, chunks of orange ice and broken glass littered the immediate area.

“God, what a mess.”

His tired voice was surprisingly loud over the quiet champing and lapping sounds coming from the two holes. He brought up his right hand to scratch the itchy stubble of his chin, only to find it caked with blood on the palm, down to the end of the heavy mitten. He turned it over with a grimace of disgust and rubbed his face with the back of his hand. He looked down at himself. Not too bad – blood on his anorak and overtrousers, but not much. He walked over to Job. The Eskimo was lying flat on his back and so still that for a moment of panic Simon thought he was dead. His hood was up, protecting his head from the cold, and his legs and boots were badly covered with the walrus’s blood. Simon went down on one knee and shook him.

Job stirred and snored, turned a little and settled back to sleep. Simon felt relief sweep over him, and with it an insane desire to laugh.

“Job! Job, wake up you lazy bastard! This is no time for forty winks.” He thumped the Eskimo’s shoulder, and was rewarded by a grunt.

“Ye Gods!” He leaned forward and shook him with all his might. Job’s head rolled from side to side. His eyes opened, dark and distant, and closed once more. Simon began to get worried again. He dragged Job’s inert body out from under the walrus’s head, and half propped him against the tent-side. Job’s eyes opened again, this time with some sign of returning intelligence. Simon left him as he began to stir and went over to Ross and Kate.

“Fire,” he said.

“What?”

“We must build up a fire. Quickly. There’s dry wood in the tent.”

“Yes. Of course!” Colin felt a stab of impatience with Simon, then he realised the little man was thinking more clearly than he. Job would be all right when he warmed up a bit. He turned to Kate. “Make some coffee,” he said.

“We’ll have trouble getting water.” She gestured at the blood-dabbled ice.

“Sod it. Blood’ll probably do us good.”

“If you say so.” She began to dig.

Colin got up and went over to the latrine tent which was now doubling as a store. He got out two half-pound tins of ham, several cans of beans, and dried egg powder and went back to the fire with a big pot. Warm drink, some food, medicine – he shifted, feeling the sticking of his shirt warning of bleeding on his ribs – and sleep. That was what they all needed.

Before they started the cooking, they put Job inside the tent, took off his anorak, boots and overtrousers, and wrapped him in blankets and sleeping bags. Then they went outside again. Kate began to make the coffee, Colin dumped his big pot on the flames. They heated the ham in two solid chunks, poured on the beans, waited until they began to bubble, then added the egg. In all it took perhaps half an hour, and during this time they all chatted amiably, their differences for once forgotten.

They ate. Fortunately the plates were among the things they had moved to safety, for the set which they had kept by the fire tray had been destroyed during the attack by the walruses. Conversation over the meal was sporadic.

Then Kate got up and went into the tent. The Eskimo had been allowed to sleep long enough. “Job? Food’s ready.”

He stirred. “My God,” he said, mildly surprised, “we’re still alive.”

“That’s right,” she said.

“I really didn’t think we’d make it.”

“But we did.”

He nodded. It felt very good. Simply being alive felt very good indeed. He smiled.

“How long has it been now?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Five days. Maybe more.”

“Five days. It feels longer.”

“Maybe.”

She heard the roar of the fire outside and the quiet tones of the conversation between Colin and Simon. It seemed so normal. So matter of fact and natural. They might have been here for ever. They might be here for ever. The prospect, nebulous, improb­able, didn’t frighten Kate at all. Strangely, she felt deeply content. It was as though something had promised her that she would come through all right, unscathed.

“Job?”

“Yes?”

“Is that why you stay with him, because he reminds you of this one-armed god?”

Job gave a half-laugh. “Partly. I suppose you could say so.”

“Only partly?” She did not mean to be rude, or to be patronising towards Job’s beliefs, but she wanted to know. She was deeply interested.