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sobs。 One of them pointed to the nearest dwelling…place。 Go in there； woman； out of the cold。
She walked shakily towards it； paused in the entrance。 The interior was dark； had a sharp unpleasant odour about it。 She waited for her vision to adjust to the gloom； saw through a liquid misty flood； distorted shapes； somebody lay on a bed in the corner； not moving。 A woman was stretched out on some hides by the wall； and it was quite obvious that she was dead。 A fit of uncontrollable coughing attracted her attention and she turned her head and made out a boy of perhaps ten years of age squatting beyond the dying embers of the fire。 Tiny rivulets of blood trickled down his chin。 He saw her but his expression did not register surprise； just acceptance。
'You're all ill。' She spoke aloud。 'You need help； a doctor。' Now that was a silly thing to say because there weren't any doctors left。 They were all out there； any one of these menfolk might have been a doctor once。 Before all this。 What was a doctor？ She could not really remember； somebody who helped you； perhaps。
She stood just inside the open doorway； looked back outside。 Several more people were emerging from the other huts bearing litters on which lay prone bodies wrapped in animal hides； scarcely seeming able to lift the weight of them。 A conference。 They were pointing； arguing。 Sylvia did not need an interpreter to understand what they were saying。
We must go even though we are ill and dying。 The snow is here； winter is upon us。 If we stay here we shall starve。 Go now whilst there is still a little time left。
A woman appeared from somewhere； came into the hut and with some difficulty lifted up the sick boy。 He began to cry； coughed some more blood。 Sylvia made as if to help but some inhibition checked her。 She was a stranger here； an intruder in…a different way of life； they might resent her interference。 She felt self…conscious。
The child was taken out； room made for him on one of the stretchers alongside the still form of a red…headed man who might already have been dead。 They were hurrying now； seeming to have to force their limbs into jerky movements。 Sylvia was ignored； perhaps they had forgotten her。 Very soon they would all be gone and she would be left here in this deserted place of death。
Panic； almost running out to them； the snow ing faster now。 For God's sake don't go without me； don't leave me here。 Please！ I'm one of you now…look at me！
The litter on to which they had just placed the boy was lowered back on to the ground； two of them were straining to lift the man off。 He was dead； there was no point in taking him with them。 They dragged him free； laid him down in the snow。 You did not bury your dead； you left them for the wild dogs and foxes。
'I want to go with you；' Sylvia cried； clutched at one of them。 Til walk； I promise I won't be a nuisance； but don't leave me behind！' A flash of lucid speech and then it was gone again and words were meaningless to her。
They looked at one another； grunted。 Arguing again。 They had no room for passengers； anybody who went on the trek had a part to play。 You must help to carry the sick； woman。 And if you fail then you will be abandoned。 Nobody will help you。
Sylvia took the handles of the stretcher； the boy's mother going in front。 Between them they could manage now that the weight of the adult corpse had been removed。 A slow procession； the men in front； the women bringing up the rear。
The snow eased off a little and away to her right Sylvia saw and recognised the outline of the Quinn smallholding； like a miniature toy farm set out on an uneven white sheet。 One brief wave of nostalgia but she pushed it forcibly away。 Jon was nothing to her； never had been； only somebody to fill a gap while Eric was away。 A lump caught in her throat。 Poor Eric； this didn't have to happen to him。 But it had。 If only she hadn't been one of the unlucky survivors。 But she would not survive long now； none of them would。 Eric？ Who was Eric？ Her mind slipped again； became a vacuum。
The descent was steep and slippery。 Once the woman in front lost her footing and somehow Sylvia managed to prevent the stretcher from tipping over； steadied it down on to the snow。 The hide blankets slid to one side and she saw the boy。 Oh God； his body shook with the fever； he was delirious； mouthing meaningless animal noises。 His bright eyes saw her； weak arms tried to reach out for her but they had not the strength； he thought she was his mother。
Sylvia helped the distraught woman wrap him up again and then they had to hurry to catch up with the others。 Once they reached the floor of the narrow valley their pace was slowed； the snow much deeper here； wading up to their thighs。
Sylvia wished she could ask them where they were going。 There was a definite purposefulness about their route； an urgency driving them on； keeping them going when their physical strength was failing。 She glanced up at the sky； judged that it was well into the afternoon； the sun a fiery red ball now that the clouds had dispersed。 Tonight there would be a hard frost。
They paused for a spell and she was handed some strips of dried meat； bit on it hungrily but had difficulty in chewing it。 It had a smoky flavour where it had been dried over a smouldering fire。 Revolting； but she knew she had to eat it。 Then； wearily； they set off again。
She heard the approaching helicopter long before it came into sight over a strip of woodland in front。 The whining； chainsaw…like noise getting louder and louder； her panions looking at one another in alarm； setting down their loads。 Frightened； wanting to run but not knowing in which direction to flee。 It seemed to kick…start her memory； jerked her back to civilised thinking。
'It's all right； it's a helicopter；' she shouted。 They would not have understood even if they had been able to hear her above the din。
A helicopter！ Her brain reeled； a shipwrecked mariner suddenly seeing the smoke from an approaching steamer on the skyline after months of waiting in vain。 Numbed； fumbling for some garment to wave madly； reflexes stalling。 It might go away； it might not see you。 Hurry！
And just as the whirling blades came into sight Sylvia flung herself headlong into the snow； pressed herself flat。 Please God it doesn't see me。 I don't want to be picked up； I don't want to be rescued！ Crazy； she knew it was； but all the same she buried her face in the snow； clasped her hands over her eyes。 Don't stop； please don't stop！
Deafening； directly overhead； seeming to hover。 If they land then I'll refuse to go with them； they can't make me。
I don't want to go back。 I want to be out here with Eric。 He's dead； I know it； but I still want to be with him。
Realisation that the noise was receding。 Sylvia turned her head； glanced upwards。 A huge unwieldy mechanical bird droning on up the valley； its dark blue paintwork in stark contrast to the dazzling whiteness of the hills and fields。 Going away。 If it had seen her then it wasn't stopping。 She felt slightly dizzy； afraid。
The other woman was screaming hysterically； the limp form of her son clutched to her； his arms and legs dangling limply。 Shaking him； slapping him； but his head lolled to one side。
Two of the men had e across to her； were grunting and gesticulating angrily。 The boy is dead； we cannot take him with us。 We cannot delay。 The woman shouted back at them； stepped away； spat when one of them reached out an arm。 She was not giving him up； refused to cast his body to one side for the creatures of the night hours to feed on。
The procession was moving on again。 Sylvia glanced down at the stretcher； it would not be needed any longer。 The woman was standing back waiting。 Either she was going to stay behind or else follow at a discreet distance。 Sylvia didn't know which； only that the other spurned pany。
Sylvia followed the others； did not attempt to catch up with them。 They were on a road of some kind now； the going much easier。 Houses； scattered farms and cottages； she saw a sign but the letters had been blotted out by drifted snow。 It didn't matter； names had ceased to mean anything； one place was much the same as another。
Another hour and it would be dark。 Sylvia wondered where they were going to spend the night。 There were always deserted houses to be used but she guessed that her panions would spurn habitation beyond the status of crude stone dwellings； suspecting a trap； claustrophobic because the chill night air was shut out。 She had lived in one once； she half…remembered it。
The woman carrying her dead child was stilt following； a hundred yards or so behind them； wailing her grief； staggering under the weight of her burden。 She would not be able to keep up much longer。 Once she stopped she would die because she did not have the will to live。 In all probability she would not survive the ing night。
Dusk； a saffron sky streaked with the last reflections from the sun which had dipped behind the distant jagged mountai