Sole Survivor. Derek Hansen

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СКАЧАТЬ be, knowing he’d have to beat the sun up in the morning and get back to his boat or it would stink to high heaven. He tied off the mooring rope, jumped over the side and swam ashore. When he reached the shallows he stood and waded the rest of the way. A torch beam caught his crotch and held it unwavering.

      “Nice penis,” said the voice behind it.

      “If you want me to help carry your things up the hill, would you mind not shining your torch in my eyes.”

      “Strange place to have eyes.” Rosie turned the torch away so that it shone on her bags. She picked up Red’s trousers and held them out to him. “Your eye shades.”

      “I’ll put them on when I’m dry. Leave the jerry can here and pick it up in the morning. There’s diesel up there. In the end, Bernie couldn’t be bothered running the generator. You carry the bags and I’ll carry the box of supplies.”

      “Then lead on. Do you need my torch?”

      “No. I know the way. C’mon Archie.” He set off up the track at his normal brisk pace.

      Rosie followed, trying hard to keep up with the shape in front of her, the smaller of the bags and torch in one hand, the larger bag in the other. The track shone smooth and white in the torch’s beam, well worn and friendly. Then it began to steepen and crisscross with roots. She couldn’t keep up no matter how hard she pushed herself and fell farther and farther behind. She tried to picture the beach and her bach as she’d seen them from the amphibian. She gasped as her legs gave way and she stumbled. “Bastard!” she muttered. But curses didn’t make her stronger or the track less steep. She vomited, then lay down on the track unable to continue. She’d vomited up every last ounce of energy as well.

      “Red! Wait!” she called weakly.

      Red put down the box of supplies and turned back. “Stay, Archie.” At last she’d cracked. Now he could afford to show some kindness. Not too much, but enough to make him feel better about what he’d done. He found her sitting on the track with her back to him. Her shoulders slumped, her head in her hands. He thought she was weeping and was stricken with guilt. He’d seen men slumped that way before, their spirit broken and no longer able to drive their weary, wasted bodies. He’d been the same way himself.

      “I’ll take your bags.”

      “Thanks, Red. How much farther?”

      She sounded tired, but her voice didn’t waver as it would have if she’d been crying.

      “About halfway.”

      Rosie closed her eyes. How would she possibly manage when she could hardly take another step?

      “Need a hand up?”

      “Mister, I need a crane, closely followed by a taxi. But no, I’ll manage.” She dragged herself to her feet. “How about slowing down a bit?”

      Red grunted noncommittally. He slipped his arms through the handles of both bags, flipped them over his shoulders and set off back up the track, moving noticeably slower than before. He paused briefly to pick up the box of supplies and kept walking. He could hear her plodding along slowly behind him, stopped and waited for her. “This is where your track branches off. Not far to go now.” He listened for a reply, but Rosie was too weary to give one.

      As they neared Bernie’s bach, Archie ran ahead to see if he could surprise a careless bush rat. Red heard him suddenly crash into the undergrowth, so at least he was on the trail of one. “Here we are.”

      Rosie looked up wearily and saw the dark, looming shape of the bach and the welcoming glow of a lamp within.

      “Didn’t think you’d want to arrive to a dark house.”

      “Red, you surprise me. You really do.” Without thinking she reached forward and briefly put her hand on his arm to acknowledge his kindness. It was a nothing gesture, but it totally unnerved Red. That was something Yvonne used to do. It aroused memories he kept hidden in the dark, buried parts of his mind. The nights when the touch of her hand and the comfort of her nearness were his only medication. He remembered his gratitude and the love that grew from it. All gone. Wasted. Destroyed by the Japanese. Then the pain came and he felt himself hurtling headlong into a flashback. He jerked forward as if reacting to the starter’s gun. Work could drive her from his mind. Work could give him back his control. He took the veranda steps two at a time and pushed the door open, threw the box down on the table and the bags alongside it, then raced back out the door. Don’t think! Don’t think! Don’t think!

      “I’ll start the generator.” Not a statement, nor a shout. More a plea.

      Rosie didn’t move. Her mouth hung open in surprise. Her hand still reached out in front of her. She wondered what had suddenly got into the man. Perhaps she’d just hit him with a massive dose of static electricity. Maybe it was her vomit breath. Or maybe—just maybe—she was the first woman who’d ever touched him. Christ, don’t tell me, she thought. All this way and the bastard turns out to be queer. But weariness overcame speculation, and she dragged herself up the steps and into her new home. She slumped wearily into a chair and looked around her. It didn’t occur to her to turn up the brightness of the propane lamp. The place looked clean, though, which surprised her. Dying old men weren’t noted for their housekeeping. A generator coughed, and the bare bulb above her head flickered into life. She was wrong. The place wasn’t clean, it was spotless. Scrubbed to within an inch of its life. Even the gold and silver flecks in the tacky Formica countertops shone. Fresh flypapers hung from the ceiling. The screen door creaked open as Red returned.

      “Looks like you’ve been busy.”

      Whatever devils had got into Red had gone back into hiding. He looked away, embarrassed.

      “The flowers are a nice touch.”

      “Thought I’d better check the place out before you arrived. Make sure the water was all right and the generator worked.” Red felt guilty about the work he’d done around the house and was beginning to regret the fact that he’d done it. Angus would never have agreed to it and would be furious if he ever found out. But Archie would’ve approved. Whenever they heard more prisoners were moving up to the camp, they always did their best to prepare huts for them, dug latrines and organized whatever food they could. Invariably, the new troops arrived hungry, exhausted and in no shape for work. It wouldn’t have been right to leave them to fend for themselves. Survival depended on helping each other.

      “I appreciate what you’ve done, Red.” Rosie looked down at the tabletop, weighing up what next to say. The contradictions in the man staggered her. He’d made it clear she wasn’t welcome, then laid out the welcome mat, having vacuumed and fluffed it up first. The absurdity of sitting there having a normal conversation with a stark bollocky, naked man who was a virtual stranger added to her confusion. Nothing made sense. “I think if I’d walked into a mess here tonight I wouldn’t have bothered to unpack my bags.” She looked up quickly to catch Red’s reaction, but he’d already turned away from her.

      “Kettle’s on,” he said, and began to put on his clothes.

      Rosie took a good look at Red while they drank their tea. Fred Ladd had been right on a number of scores. He was certainly wiry, pleasant to look at and totally devoid of small talk. But there was no sign of the thousand-yard stare or anything that would make her want to drop her knickers. Even in the dull light she could see his eyes had a brightness, but they were as lifeless as a dead fish’s. He stared silently into his tea like a fortune-teller СКАЧАТЬ