There was a grim smile on Schmidts face. You wont, he said uncompromisingly. Youll have to take your chances.
Denison stared at him and then looked down at Harding who shrugged helplessly. Lets go back to the hut, he said.
Denison stared at him and then looked down at Harding who shrugged helplessly. Lets go back to the hut, he said.
Schmidt stood with his hands on his hips and kept his eyes on them all the way to the hut. The door closed behind them and he hitched his pack into a more comfortable position, spoke briefly to his companion, and set off along the edge of the marsh in the same direction from which he had come, keeping up the same stolid pace as when he had arrived.
Thirty-Five
It seemed to Denison that of all the episodes he had gone through since being flung into this hodge-podge of adventures the time he spent in the hut at Sompio was characterized by a single quality the quality of pure irritation. The five of them were pent up cribbed, cabined and confined, as Harding ironically quoted and there was nothing that any of them could do about it, especially after McCready tested the temperature of the water.
After two hours had gone by he said, I think we ought to do something about this. Ill just stick my toe in and see what its like.
Be careful, said Harding. I was wrong about Schmidt he doesnt bluff.
He cant leave his men around here for ever, said McCready. And wed look damned foolish if theres no one out there.
He opened the door and stepped outside and took one pace before a rifle cracked and a bullet knocked splinters from a log by the side of his head so that white wood showed. He came in very fast and slammed the door. Its a bit warm outside, he said.
How many do you think there are? asked Harding.
How the hell would I know? demanded McCready irritably. He put his hand to his cheek and pulled out a wood splinter, then looked at the blood on his fingertips.
I saw the man who fired, said Denison from the window. He was just down there in the reeds. He turned to McCready. I dont think he meant to kill. It was just a warning shot.
How do you make that out? McCready displayed the blood on his hand. It was close.
He has an automatic rifle, said Denison. If he wanted to kill you hed have cut you down with a burst.
McCready was on the receiving end for the first time of the hard competency which Carey had found so baffling in Denison. He nodded reluctantly. I suppose youre right.
As for how many there are, thats not easy to say, said Denison. All it needs is one at the front and one at the back, but it depends on how long Schmidt wants to keep us here. If its longer than twenty-four hours therell be more than two because theyll have to sleep.
And we cant get away under cover of darkness because there isnt any, said Harding.
So we might as well relax, said Denison with finality. He left the window and sat at the table.
Well, Im damned! said McCready. Youve got it all worked out, havent you?
Denison looked at him with a half-smile. Have you anything to add?
No, said McCready disgustedly. He went over to Diana and talked to her in a low voice.
Harding joined Denison at the table. So were stuck here.
But quite safe, said Denison mildly. As long as we dont do anything bloody foolish, such as walking through that door. He unfolded a map of the Sompio Nature Park and began to study it.
How are you feeling? asked Harding.
Fine. Denison looked up. Why?
As your personal head-shrinker I dont think youll be needing me much longer. Hows the memory?
Its coming back in bits and pieces. Sometimes I feel Im putting together a jigsaw puzzle.
Its not that I want to probe into a delicate area, said Harding. But do you remember your wife?
Beth? Denison nodded. Yes, I remember her.
Shes dead, you know, said Harding in an even uninflected voice. Do you remember much about that?
Denison pushed away the map and sighed. That bloody car crash I remember it.
And how do you feel about it?
How the hell would you expect me to feel about it? said Denison with suppressed violence. Sorrow, anger but it was over three years ago and you cant feel angry for ever. Ill always miss Beth; she was a fine woman.
Sorrow and anger, repeated Harding. Nothing wrong with that. Quite normal. He marvelled again at the mysteries of the human mind. Denison had apparently rejected his previous feelings of guilt; the irrational component of his life had vanished. Harding wondered what would happen if he wrote up Denisons experiences and presented them in a paper for the journals The Role of Multiple Psychic Trauma in the Suppression of Irrational Guilt. He doubted if it would be accepted as a serious course of treatment.
Denison said, Dont resign yet, Doctor, Id still like to retain your services.
Something else wrong?
Not with me. Im worried about Lyn. Look at her. He nodded towards Lyn who was lying on her back on a bunk, her hands clasped behind her head and staring at the ceiling. Ive hardly been able to get a word out of her. Shes avoiding me wherever I am, shes not. Its becoming conspicuous.
Harding took out a packet of cigarettes and examined the contents. I might have to ration these, he said glumly. Ive also been wondering about Lyn. She is a bit withdrawn not surprisingly, of course, because she has a problem to solve.
Oh? Whats her problem? Apart from the problems we all have here?
Harding lit a cigarette. Its personal. She talked to me about it hypothetically and in veiled terms. Shell get over it one way or another. He drummed his fingers on the table. What do you think of her?
Shes a fine person. A bit mixed up, but thats due to her upbringing. I suppose the problem has to do with her father.
In a manner of speaking, said Harding. Tell me; what was the difference in age between your wife and yourself?
Ten years, said Denison. He frowned. Why?
Nothing, said Harding lightly. Its just that it could make things a lot easier your having had a wife so much younger than yourself, I mean. You used to wear a beard, didnt you?
Yes, said Denison. What the hell are you getting at?
Id grow it again if I were you, advised Harding. The face youre wearing tends to confuse her. It might be better to hide it behind a bush.
Denisons jaw dropped. You mean... Diana said something... she cant... its imposs...
You damned fool! said Harding in a low voice. Shes fallen for Denison but the face she sees is Meyricks her fathers face. Its enough to tear any girl in half, so do something about it. He pushed back his chair and stood up. Talk to her, but go easy. He went to the other end of the room and joined McCready and Diana, leaving Denison staring at Lyn.
McCready organized watches. Not that anything is likely to happen, he said. But Id like advance notice if it does. Those not on watch can do what they like. My advice is sleep. He lay on a bunk and followed his own advice.
Harding wandered off into the storeroom and Denison resumed his study of the map of Sompio. From time to time he heard scrapings and bangings as Harding moved boxes about. Diana was on watch at a window and she and Lyn conversed in low tones.
After a couple of hours Harding came back looking rumpled and dishevelled. In his hand he carried what Denison took to be a gallon paint can. Ive found it.
Found what?
Harding put the can on the table. The powder. He prised the lid off the can. Look.
Denison inspected the grainy black powder. So what?
So we can shoot the punt gun. Ive found some shot, too.
McCreadys eyes flickered open and he sat up. What gun?
The punt gun I was telling you about. You didnt seem interested in it at the time.
That was when we had guns of our own, said McCready. What is it? A shotgun?
You could call it that, said Harding, and Denison smiled.
I think Id better look at it, said McCready, and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. Where is it?
Ill show you. Harding and McCready went out, and Denison folded the map and went to the window. He looked out at the unchanging scene and sighed.
Whats the matter? asked Diana; Bored?
I was wondering if our friends are still around.
The only way to find out is to stick your head outside.
I know, said Denison. One of us will have to do it sooner or later. I think Ill have a crack at it. Its three hours since McCready tried.
No, said Lyn. The word seemed to be torn out of her involuntarily. No, she said again. Leave that to the... the professionals.
Diana smiled. Meaning me? Im willing.
Lets not argue about it, said Denison peaceably. Were all in this together. Anyway, its a sure cure for boredom. Keep your eye on those reeds, Diana.
All right, she said as he walked to the door. Lyn looked at him dumbly.
He swung open the door slowly and waited a full minute before going outside, and when he did so his hands were above his head. He waited, immobile, for another minute and, when nothing happened, he took another step forward. Diana shouted and simultaneously he saw a movement in the reeds on the edge of the marsh. The flat report of the rifle shot coincided with a clatter of stones six feet in front of him and there was a shrill spaaang as the bullent ricocheted over his head.
He waved both his hands, keeping them over his head, and cautiously backed into the hut. He was closing the door when McCready came back at a dead run. What happened?
Just testing the temperature. said Denison. Somebody has to do it.
Dont do it when Im not here. McCready went to the window. So theyre still there.
Denison smiled at Lyn. Nothing to worry about, he assured her. Theyre just keeping us in a pen. She turned away and said nothing. Denison looked at McCready. What do you think of Hardings gun?
He doesnt think much of it, said Harding.
For Gods sake! said McCready. Its not a shotgun its a light artillery piece. Even if you could lift it which you cant you couldnt shoot it. The recoil would break your shoulder. Its bloody useless.
Its not meant for waving about, said Harding. Its designed for use on the punt, like a 16-inch gun on a battleship. You dont find many of those on land because of the difficulty of absorbing the recoil but you can put half a dozen on a ship because the recoil is absorbed by the water.