‘Could we . . . have a little less emphasis on the sabretooths, please?’
‘I think you mean sabreteeth. Here.’ She pulled his hood even closer around his face. ‘There, that’s better.’
It would have been if he hadn’t been cold and wet to begin with. He could feel his wet clothing cold against his skin, lowering his core temperature. The moment he stopped moving it would freeze. He would be encased in a sheath of ice. As would Jane. They had to keep moving.
He had no thought they would be rescued. No one at TPHQ knew they were here. They had no back-up. No support. No hope.
But – that was what Team 236 had agreed to. Hay had laid it on the line. She hadn’t held back. They would be completely alone. Nuñez and Klein had died – possibly because they’d maintained a link with the Time Police which had been discovered. Total immersion in their roles had been the best way to go, he was convinced of it. And it would have worked. No one could have foreseen that Imogen Farnborough would have chosen that particular moment to walk through that particular door. So fire-trucking frustrating. They’d so very nearly had it all. They could have returned to London, gone straight to TPHQ with what they’d discovered – names and locations – and then sat back with a well-deserved drink and let everyone else do the hard work. There would have been congratulations. A possible commendation even – and wouldn’t that have stuck in the throats of those who thought they were so useless? They would have completed their training. They would have had a future. They would have had a life. Instead of which . . .
The weather was getting worse. Snow swirled around them. The wind cut like a knife. Luke hurt all over. Anything more than shallow breathing was too painful even to think about. And the almost incessant coughing wasn’t helping.
Beside him, Jane plodded on, taking as much of his weight as she could. They were nearly at the trees. There would be shelter from the weather although not the cold. Deep snow was unbelievably tiring to walk through. Luke was aware he was being more of a burden than a benefit.
No change there, he thought. We’re not going to make it. We’ll never get out of this. Even if we’re sheltered, how long before we fall asleep? And never wake up.
He allowed himself the luxury of a few unkind thoughts about Imogen Farnborough and then turned his attention back to their current predicament. A good word, predicament, he decided, and one that in no way conveyed the catastrophe this assignment had turned into. One moment they’d had everything they needed – and more – and the next moment they were dying slowly in the snow. He’d laugh but he needed all his breath to keep going. If he fell, then Jane would as well and neither of them might ever get up again.
The ground sloped slightly downhill. A hollow, perhaps, protected from the snow, which was much shallower here.
Something moved beneath his feet. At the same time, Jane stumbled. ‘Oh my God, what have I just trodden on?’
Something long and white protruded from the snow. A stick? Jane stirred it with her foot. It was a long bone.
‘An animal,’ said Luke. ‘Something died here.’
‘And there,’ said Jane. ‘And there. And over there. Luke, they’re . . . they’re everywhere.’
Luke’s frozen brain struggled. Dirty bones lay all around them, half in and half out of the snow. And then something rolled under his foot and he nearly fell again.
‘Oh my God,’ said Jane. ‘That’s a skull. A human skull.’
They were standing in a bone pit. Barely more than a few inches of snow covered the iron-hard ground. All the better to see who they were standing on. Long bones, short bones, ribs, pelvises, eyeless skulls. Bones everywhere. Some of the bones hadn’t been picked quite clean but they all had a scattered, higgledy-piggledy look about them. Giant paw prints tracked everywhere. Frozen rusty-red patches in the snow provided an unwelcome clue. This must be where Site X dumped its waste.
‘Predators,’ said Luke. ‘They’ve dragged the bones about as they fed.’
He struggled in his mind for the word. The thoughts wouldn’t come. Depredation? He cudgelled his frozen brain. No – predation. That was it.
He was too cold to feel the slow burn of fury. Too tired. ‘I imagine,’ he said, trying not to cough, ‘that this is where they dump the Neanders. When they’ve finished with them. They can’t bury them because the ground’s too hard so they bring them out here. To be covered by the snow.’
‘You mean after they’re dead, they drag the bodies out here and just leave them?’
‘Yes,’ he said, just a little too quickly. ‘After they’re dead.’
‘And then the animals . . . feed off them?’
‘Yes, and we shouldn’t hang around here.’ Because predators solved Site X’s problem of waste disposal. In fact, they probably hung around this area just waiting for the next meal to be served up. He and Jane should get away as soon as possible.
‘We need to . . . go,’ he said, trying to cough quietly. ‘And we shouldn’t make a lot of noise.’
‘But . . .’
‘Now, Jane.’
They struggled on, fighting their way over the frozen body parts scattered across their path. It was almost a relief to be back in the deep snow, and the trees were now only yards distant.
They were wasting their time, thought Luke. Any predator would easily be able to pick up their scent. And – and he tried not to think about this but the thought kept forcing its way into his brain – so could any Neanders still lingering in this area. Would they be out in this weather? He imagined angry eyes watching their struggle across the snow. At this very minute, he and Jane could be surrounded by those who had no cause to love his kind. Humans . . .
‘Do you think,’ said Jane, quietly, echoing his thoughts, ‘that Neanders would come here? To gather up relics of a loved one to take away for a religious ceremony? To honour the dead? After all, they were people just like us.’
Luke coughed. ‘I suspect they’re considerably better than us.’
The trees did not seem to be getting any closer.
‘Jane . . . Jane . . .’
‘What? Am I hurting you?’
‘No, I’m . . . fine. Don’t . . . worry about me.’
‘We’re nearly there, Luke. Please hold on.’
‘Good. Once we’re under the trees, things will be better.’
‘Yes,’ she panted. ‘It’ll be warmer and we’ll be out of the wind. Once we’re under the trees. We can make a nest or shelter or something and . . . think of . . . a plan.’
‘Jane, I want to tell you . . .’