The Killing Hour

‘Two minutes,’ she says. ‘We spend two minutes warming up and then we leave.’


She moves over to one of the lanterns. Of the three that were lit two are still going. She picks it up and I pick up the second one, hooking it over my hand as though I have a claw. Plenty of dry kindling has been set in lots of old newspaper. Jo tries removing the glass top of the lantern but her hands are too cold. I have a more practical way. I throw my lantern into the fireplace. The glass breaks. A flame is released. The brittle paper lights up like an inferno.

We lower ourselves to the fire. The wood crackles but gives off little warmth. It doesn’t take long for smoke to start flooding back into the cabin. The chimney must be partially blocked by a bird’s nest or leaves. My lungs are too full of water to make room for the smoke. Jo strips down. I can hardly move but I manage to kick my shoes off. Nothing else.

Jo takes my shirt and helps me with my jeans. I look down at my body. It’s grey and covered in bruises and lumps and scrapes.

Side by side we sit, clutching each other for warmth though we’re so cold that hugging achieves nothing. Cyris could burst in and kill us, but if we step back outside, the cold will do the same thing. Only fire can help us.

I glance at my watch. The two minutes have already passed. We’re heading up to three.

I nod towards the bag in the centre of the room. ‘There are clothes in there.’

Jo stands and grabs it. It’s difficult opening the bag but we rescue the clothes Landry had been wearing. On top of them is a towel. He came prepared to get bloody. Or wet. Either way he was right. My bloody shorts in the plastic evidence bag are in there too.

Jo towels herself down, then I follow suit. I’m still freezing and my body hasn’t given up shaking. I can feel the heat from the fire but it is only warming up my skin. It’s my core that’s chilled. We reach five minutes. I change into Landry’s clothes. They’re a bit big but they’re dry. Jo adds a couple of logs as more smoke spills into the cabin. It looks like we’re sitting in the smoking section of a cramped restaurant. I grab the oval rug, clutching it in fingers that are starting to ache as feeling returns. I wrap the rug around us and we sit there staring into the flames. Six minutes now. Rags of smoke are hanging lower in the air.

‘We have to go,’ I say, happy I can now feel the words coming from my mouth. She nods. The smoke sits thickly in the damp air. I could reach up and my hand would disappear into it.

‘I know.’

Jo hooks out the two logs she just put into the fire and puts them into the duffel bag, which smothers the flames. She pushes the bag into my chest.

‘Hug this,’ she says. ‘It isn’t much, but it’s something.’

The bag feels like a lumpy hot water bottle.

‘We’ve got clothes in the boot of my car,’ she says, picking up her pants and hunting through them for the keys.

I hand her the duffel bag, then pull on Landry’s shoes. They’re too big but they do the job. I haul the rug over me, open the door and run outside. The ground plucks at my shoes and tries to steal them with sucking sounds but Cyris doesn’t jump out from the trees and shoot me so maybe things are picking up. The rain hasn’t eased off and perhaps it never will. My arms and legs feel warm but my stomach and chest are cold.

Jo’s car is twenty metres from the cabin, out of sight from the front. It’s unlocked. I grab the suitcases and quickly make my way back. I have to leave the door open so the smoke can escape as she dresses herself. I change out of Landry’s clothes into dry ones of my own. I throw Landry’s into the fire. We leave the fire and lanterns burning and, unarmed, head back outside. I keep hugging the duffel bag even though it has cooled somewhat. Nine minutes have passed. We use the rug to protect us from the rain. We dump the bags into the trunk. There are still two stakes in there. I take one out for protection. I leave the tyre iron in the boot.

We climb into the car right on the ten-minute mark. I turn the key and the motor kicks into life. So does the heater. I turn it to full and it blasts cold air at us that is warmer than we are. It starts to warm up. So do we. Ahead of us is Landry’s car.

‘Cyris followed you, right?’

‘Must have,’ Jo replies.

‘Where’s his car?’

‘Maybe he parked further away so he could sneak up.’

Makes perfect sense. A guy like Cyris isn’t going to drive right up to the cabin.

‘Just like you did,’ I say.