No reply. Nothing but static. Trapped as I was, I dared not try again.
I decided to go at this slowly. I was lying more or less the right way up and on my back, so I gently wriggled my left foot. It came free. Good start. My other leg was wedged under the tree so I left it for a while and tried my left arm. Inch by painful inch, I got that free. But as soon as I tried my right arm, the shale started moving again. I rolled over onto my side as best I could and gently began to ease my arm free. The problem was my leg. I couldn’t afford to dislodge the tree trunk which was the only thing preventing me from tumbling down the lower skirts of the volcano into the dinosaur’s feeding ground below. Finally, my brain started to work and I hit on the idea of digging under my leg and easing it out that way. Many, many ruined fingernails later, I struggled free.
Free, but not safe. I can’t say how long it took me to work my way across the scree; one step across, two steps down. But once there, the actually climb up was quite easy. I took my time getting over the top, lifting a careful eye above the edge and scanning the area. I waited perhaps ten minutes until my arms started to tremble, hoisted myself over, rolled to my feet, got my bearings, and set off for Eight.
Activating my com again, I said quietly, ‘Sussman, are you there? Sussman, answer me.’
Nothing.
‘Sussman, report.’
Nothing.
Shaking like a leaf now, I inched my way cautiously along that bloody path and then I saw why he wasn’t answering. Pools of black, sticky blood lay all around. Away, off to one side, I saw a boot. His foot was still in it. Something brittle snapped inside me. I grabbed it, ran as fast as I could on trembling legs, shouted, ‘Door,’ crashed headlong into Eight, and lay gasping and shaking on the floor.
I gave myself twenty minutes. No more, otherwise I’d never get up. I double bagged the foot and went to put it in the chiller. I saw a bottle in there and was sorely tempted. I made tea instead and moving like a robot, showered carefully, cleaned my wounds, plaited my hair, and exhausted, pulled out my sleeping module and closed my eyes.
And climbed back out again and found my photo. Getting back into bed I hugged it tightly and curled myself around it. I missed him. I could go back, feel the comfort of his arms around me. No one would blame me.
I would blame me.
After another minute, I gave up the idea of sleep completely and let my mind do what it wanted, which was to think of Sussman being Sussman; alternately loved and loathed. I remembered his kindnesses, especially to me. I found it so hard to believe that this time yesterday he’d been snoring away beside me. And now he was dead. I wished to God I could have this day again and do things differently. Do them better. Suppose he’d tried to get back to my pod. I’d put a lock on it. He wouldn’t have been able to get back in. Common sense told me that was rubbish. Once the raptors closed in he wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere.
We’d been together for four years, bickering, laughing, competing, always trying to get the edge, but not any more. Never again. This was my mission. How could I have let this happen? I couldn’t believe I’d never see him again. And so on and so on, all that long night, recrimination, grief, and regret surging around inside until, finally, I fell into an exhausted sleep just before dawn.
The next day I dressed stiffly, stuffed some food in another backpack, took what I needed, hefted my blaster, and stood by the door. I took two or three deep breaths. I’d checked all the proximity alerts. Nothing lurked nearby. Get back on the horse, Maxwell.
I opened the door. I don’t know why I was surprised to see everything exactly as it had been. I set off, but not for the northern end of the valley. That was too far on my own, but I could do useful work further along towards the lake, on the eastern side.
I found a crack in the cliff face where I could safely wedge myself and started work. I filmed, measured, and noted the vegetation. Conifers on the high slopes – pinus and metasequoia and broad-leaved trees lower down. All trees were here, from oaks to palms.
Around mid-afternoon, I trudged back; keeping a careful watch, weapon ready, but all was quiet. I’d worried the raptors might return, looking for more of the unusually flavoured mammals, but I guess they’d moved on. I checked all our equipment, collected the used disks, and replaced them with new ones. I’d left it all out overnight and none of it seemed to have suffered at all, so I decided to leave it in situ. It was heavy and I didn’t want to break anything by trying to lug it around by myself.