gns.throwback-第47部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　sobs。　One　of　them　pointed　to　the　nearest　dwelling…place。　Go　in　there；　woman；　out　of　the　cold。
　　
　　She　walked　shakily　towards　it；　paused　in　the　entrance。　The　interior　was　dark；　had　a　sharp　unpleasant　odour　about　it。　She　waited　for　her　vision　to　adjust　to　the　gloom；　saw　through　a　liquid　misty　flood；　distorted　shapes；　somebody　lay　on　a　bed　in　the　corner；　not　moving。　A　woman　was　stretched　out　on　some　hides　by　the　wall；　and　it　was　quite　obvious　that　she　was　dead。　A　fit　of　uncontrollable　coughing　attracted　her　attention　and　she　turned　her　head　and　made　out　a　boy　of　perhaps　ten　years　of　age　squatting　beyond　the　dying　embers　of　the　fire。　Tiny　rivulets　of　blood　trickled　down　his　chin。　He　saw　her　but　his　expression　did　not　register　surprise；　just　acceptance。
　　
　　'You're　all　ill。'　She　spoke　aloud。　'You　need　help；　a　doctor。'　Now　that　was　a　silly　thing　to　say　because　there　weren't　any　doctors　left。　They　were　all　out　there；　any　one　of　these　menfolk　might　have　been　a　doctor　once。　Before　all　this。　What　was　a　doctor？　She　could　not　really　remember；　somebody　who　helped　you；　perhaps。
　　
　　She　stood　just　inside　the　open　doorway；　looked　back　outside。　Several　more　people　were　emerging　from　the　other　huts　bearing　litters　on　which　lay　prone　bodies　wrapped　in　animal　hides；　scarcely　seeming　able　to　lift　the　weight　of　them。　A　conference。　They　were　pointing；　arguing。　Sylvia　did　not　need　an　interpreter　to　understand　what　they　were　saying。
　　
　　We　must　go　even　though　we　are　ill　and　dying。　The　snow　is　here；　winter　is　upon　us。　If　we　stay　here　we　shall　starve。　Go　now　whilst　there　is　still　a　little　time　left。
　　
　　A　woman　appeared　from　somewhere；　came　into　the　hut　and　with　some　difficulty　lifted　up　the　sick　boy。　He　began　to　cry；　coughed　some　more　blood。　Sylvia　made　as　if　to　help　but　some　inhibition　checked　her。　She　was　a　stranger　here；　an　intruder　in…a　different　way　of　life；　they　might　resent　her　interference。　She　felt　self…conscious。
　　
　　The　child　was　taken　out；　room　made　for　him　on　one　of　the　stretchers　alongside　the　still　form　of　a　red…headed　man　who　might　already　have　been　dead。　They　were　hurrying　now；　seeming　to　have　to　force　their　limbs　into　jerky　movements。　Sylvia　was　ignored；　perhaps　they　had　forgotten　her。　Very　soon　they　would　all　be　gone　and　she　would　be　left　here　in　this　deserted　place　of　death。
　　
　　Panic；　almost　running　out　to　them；　the　snow　ing　faster　now。　For　God's　sake　don't　go　without　me；　don't　leave　me　here。　Please！　I'm　one　of　you　now…look　at　me！　
　　
　　The　litter　on　to　which　they　had　just　placed　the　boy　was　lowered　back　on　to　the　ground；　two　of　them　were　straining　to　lift　the　man　off。　He　was　dead；　there　was　no　point　in　taking　him　with　them。　They　dragged　him　free；　laid　him　down　in　the　snow。　You　did　not　bury　your　dead；　you　left　them　for　the　wild　dogs　and　foxes。
　　
　　'I　want　to　go　with　you；'　Sylvia　cried；　clutched　at　one　of　them。　Til　walk；　I　promise　I　won't　be　a　nuisance；　but　don't　leave　me　behind！'　A　flash　of　lucid　speech　and　then　it　was　gone　again　and　words　were　meaningless　to　her。
　　
　　They　looked　at　one　another；　grunted。　Arguing　again。　They　had　no　room　for　passengers；　anybody　who　went　on　the　trek　had　a　part　to　play。　You　must　help　to　carry　the　sick；　woman。　And　if　you　fail　then　you　will　be　abandoned。　Nobody　will　help　you。
　　
　　Sylvia　took　the　handles　of　the　stretcher；　the　boy's　mother　going　in　front。　Between　them　they　could　manage　now　that　the　weight　of　the　adult　corpse　had　been　removed。　A　slow　procession；　the　men　in　front；　the　women　bringing　up　the　rear。
　　
　　The　snow　eased　off　a　little　and　away　to　her　right　Sylvia　saw　and　recognised　the　outline　of　the　Quinn　smallholding；　like　a　miniature　toy　farm　set　out　on　an　uneven　white　sheet。　One　brief　wave　of　nostalgia　but　she　pushed　it　forcibly　away。　Jon　was　nothing　to　her；　never　had　been；　only　somebody　to　fill　a　gap　while　Eric　was　away。　A　lump　caught　in　her　throat。　Poor　Eric；　this　didn't　have　to　happen　to　him。　But　it　had。　If　only　she　hadn't　been　one　of　the　unlucky　survivors。　But　she　would　not　survive　long　now；　none　of　them　would。　Eric？　Who　was　Eric？　Her　mind　slipped　again；　became　a　vacuum。
　　
　　The　descent　was　steep　and　slippery。　Once　the　woman　in　front　lost　her　footing　and　somehow　Sylvia　managed　to　prevent　the　stretcher　from　tipping　over；　steadied　it　down　on　to　the　snow。　The　hide　blankets　slid　to　one　side　and　she　saw　the　boy。　Oh　God；　his　body　shook　with　the　fever；　he　was　delirious；　mouthing　meaningless　animal　noises。　His　bright　eyes　saw　her；　weak　arms　tried　to　reach　out　for　her　but　they　had　not　the　strength；　he　thought　she　was　his　mother。
　　
　　Sylvia　helped　the　distraught　woman　wrap　him　up　again　and　then　they　had　to　hurry　to　catch　up　with　the　others。　Once　they　reached　the　floor　of　the　narrow　valley　their　pace　was　slowed；　the　snow　much　deeper　here；　wading　up　to　their　thighs。
　　
　　Sylvia　wished　she　could　ask　them　where　they　were　going。　There　was　a　definite　purposefulness　about　their　route；　an　urgency　driving　them　on；　keeping　them　going　when　their　physical　strength　was　failing。　She　glanced　up　at　the　sky；　judged　that　it　was　well　into　the　afternoon；　the　sun　a　fiery　red　ball　now　that　the　clouds　had　dispersed。　Tonight　there　would　be　a　hard　frost。

　　
　　They　paused　for　a　spell　and　she　was　handed　some　strips　of　dried　meat；　bit　on　it　hungrily　but　had　difficulty　in　chewing　it。　It　had　a　smoky　flavour　where　it　had　been　dried　over　a　smouldering　fire。　Revolting；　but　she　knew　she　had　to　eat　it。　Then；　wearily；　they　set　off　again。
　　
　　She　heard　the　approaching　helicopter　long　before　it　came　into　sight　over　a　strip　of　woodland　in　front。　The　whining；　chainsaw…like　noise　getting　louder　and　louder；　her　panions　looking　at　one　another　in　alarm；　setting　down　their　loads。　Frightened；　wanting　to　run　but　not　knowing　in　which　direction　to　flee。　It　seemed　to　kick…start　her　memory；　jerked　her　back　to　civilised　thinking。
　　
　　'It's　all　right；　it's　a　helicopter；'　she　shouted。　They　would　not　have　understood　even　if　they　had　been　able　to　hear　her　above　the　din。
　　
　　A　helicopter！　Her　brain　reeled；　a　shipwrecked　mariner　suddenly　seeing　the　smoke　from　an　approaching　steamer　on　the　skyline　after　months　of　waiting　in　vain。　Numbed；　fumbling　for　some　garment　to　wave　madly；　reflexes　stalling。　It　might　go　away；　it　might　not　see　you。　Hurry！
　　
　　And　just　as　the　whirling　blades　came　into　sight　Sylvia　flung　herself　headlong　into　the　snow；　pressed　herself　flat。　Please　God　it　doesn't　see　me。　I　don't　want　to　be　picked　up；　I　don't　want　to　be　rescued！　Crazy；　she　knew　it　was；　but　all　the　same　she　buried　her　face　in　the　snow；　clasped　her　hands　over　her　eyes。　Don't　stop；　please　don't　stop！
　　
　　Deafening；　directly　overhead；　seeming　to　hover。　If　they　land　then　I'll　refuse　to　go　with　them；　they　can't　make　me。

　　
　　I　don't　want　to　go　back。　I　want　to　be　out　here　with　Eric。　He's　dead；　I　know　it；　but　I　still　want　to　be　with　him。
　　
　　Realisation　that　the　noise　was　receding。　Sylvia　turned　her　head；　glanced　upwards。　A　huge　unwieldy　mechanical　bird　droning　on　up　the　valley；　its　dark　blue　paintwork　in　stark　contrast　to　the　dazzling　whiteness　of　the　hills　and　fields。　Going　away。　If　it　had　seen　her　then　it　wasn't　stopping。　She　felt　slightly　dizzy；　afraid。
　　
　　The　other　woman　was　screaming　hysterically；　the　limp　form　of　her　son　clutched　to　her；　his　arms　and　legs　dangling　limply。　Shaking　him；　slapping　him；　but　his　head　lolled　to　one　side。
　　
　　Two　of　the　men　had　e　across　to　her；　were　grunting　and　gesticulating　angrily。　The　boy　is　dead；　we　cannot　take　him　with　us。　We　cannot　delay。　The　woman　shouted　back　at　them；　stepped　away；　spat　when　one　of　them　reached　out　an　arm。　She　was　not　giving　him　up；　refused　to　cast　his　body　to　one　side　for　the　creatures　of　the　night　hours　to　feed　on。
　　
　　The　procession　was　moving　on　again。　Sylvia　glanced　down　at　the　stretcher；　it　would　not　be　needed　any　longer。　The　woman　was　standing　back　waiting。　Either　she　was　going　to　stay　behind　or　else　follow　at　a　discreet　distance。　Sylvia　didn't　know　which；　only　that　the　other　spurned　pany。
　　
　　Sylvia　followed　the　others；　did　not　attempt　to　catch　up　with　them。　They　were　on　a　road　of　some　kind　now；　the　going　much　easier。　Houses；　scattered　farms　and　cottages；　she　saw　a　sign　but　the　letters　had　been　blotted　out　by　drifted　snow。　It　didn't　matter；　names　had　ceased　to　mean　anything；　one　place　was　much　the　same　as　another。
　　
　　Another　hour　and　it　would　be　dark。　Sylvia　wondered　where　they　were　going　to　spend　the　night。　There　were　always　deserted　houses　to　be　used　but　she　guessed　that　her　panions　would　spurn　habitation　beyond　the　status　of　crude　stone　dwellings；　suspecting　a　trap；　claustrophobic　because　the　chill　night　air　was　shut　out。　She　had　lived　in　one　once；　she　half…remembered　it。
　　
　　The　woman　carrying　her　dead　child　was　stilt　following；　a　hundred　yards　or　so　behind　them；　wailing　her　grief；　staggering　under　the　weight　of　her　burden。　She　would　not　be　able　to　keep　up　much　longer。　Once　she　stopped　she　would　die　because　she　did　not　have　the　will　to　live。　In　all　probability　she　would　not　survive　the　ing　night。
　　
　　Dusk；　a　saffron　sky　streaked　with　the　last　reflections　from　the　sun　which　had　dipped　behind　the　distant　jagged　mountai