Patrick Woodhead - The Cloud Maker (2010)

Bill didn’t answer, but as Luca stared down at the ground, past Bill’s climbing boots, he noticed a small cloud of black fanning out slowly into the snow. For a moment he stared at it, confused as to what it was.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he shouted finally. ‘Jesus Christ!’

Forcing him into a sitting position, he grabbed the back of Bill’s thighs, running his hands down each leg. They felt warm, and the palm of his hand was sticky with blood. The back of Bill’s Gore-Tex trousers had been shredded by a raking claw marks and there was a long strip of flesh hanging loose from the main stem of one leg.

Bill’s breathing slowed as the adrenaline ebbed from his body. He stared at Luca.

‘How bad is it?’

‘We need to stop the bleeding.’

Looking up through the rushing snow, he caught sight of a dim silhouette coming towards them, battling the wind and snow. A moment later Shara stood over them, her arms wrapped across her body for warmth. She had her canvas bag over one shoulder and Bill’s half-filled rucksack over the other. She stared down at them, the fierce wind tugging at her hair.

‘Bill’s bleeding. Can you help?’ Luca shouted up at her. Shara immediately bent down, pushing the rucksacks to one side and feeling Bill’s legs for damage. After a moment, she looked directly into his eyes.

‘You’re going to be OK,’ she said, battling to be heard above the storm. ‘You just have to try and relax while I bandage this.’

She turned to Luca.

‘Have you still got that torch?’

Luca stared at her blankly. He had left his rucksack back in the cave. Then, his hand shot to the breast pocket of his Gore-Tex jacket – his head torch and lighter were still inside. Fumbling with the zip, he pulled out the torch and flicked the switch with his thumb, before handing it across to Shara.

Then he sat down on the snow behind Bill, shielding him from the worst of the wind.

Shara took a small folding knife from her jacket. Opening the two sides of her heavy sheepskin, she started cutting strips from the bottom of her jumper and tying them around Bill’s legs. Luca had his arms around Bill’s back, hugging him tight and rubbing his shoulders to generate heat. Wind and snow swept round them, covering their outstretched legs. Every few seconds, Shara would stop working and clamp her hands under her armpits to stave off the biting cold.

‘You’re going to be all right, mate,’ Luca whispered into Bill’s ear. His jaw was clenched, his bare hands curled into fists against the pain and the cold.

Now that the adrenaline had passed, the cold seemed to have a terrifying new strength. It was obvious that none of them would last much longer. Neither Bill nor Luca had managed to find their fleece hats or insulated gloves in the cave. Shara was the only one who was fully dressed.

‘We’ve got to go, Shara,’ Luca shouted across the noise of the wind. ‘Otherwise we’re going to freeze to death out here.’

She had finished tying the last of the makeshift bandages. The bleeding had slowed and she leaned over towards Luca, her expression set.

‘The cuts aren’t too deep, the problem is the skin around them. It’s already starting to swell from infection. If that was a bear, the infection is likely to come on fast.’

‘We’ve got to reach the rocks on the other side of the glacier. Get out of this wind,’ he said. ‘We’ll worry about the infection later.’

Shara looked down at Bill’s swelling leg.

‘No. We need to sterilise the wound now, then give him antibiotics.’

Luca shook his head. ‘For Christ’s sake, Shara. We’re in a blizzard in the middle of the Himalayas! And you know we don’t have any antibiotics left.’

She closed her eyes, her expression agonised.

‘Come on, we’re going,’ shouted Luca. He started dragging Bill to his feet. ‘Those rocks are our only hope.’

Shara didn’t answer but stared into the wind, her hair billowing out behind her.

‘Get moving!’ Luca shouted. ‘We’ve got to reach the rocks.’

She shook her head. ‘There’s another place.’

‘What? Up here? What do you mean?’

Shara didn’t answer, but instead began muttering something to herself, shaking her head slowly. As Luca stared at her, waiting for an answer, Bill rocked forward, trying to get to his feet. He grabbed on to Luca’s arm and Luca turned, hoisting him vertical.

‘Can you walk?’

Bill hobbled forward a few paces in the streaming wind and nodded hesitantly. ‘Yeah. I can make it. Shara, what place are you taking about?’

‘For God’s sake, Bill. There is no place,’ Luca shouted, his voice raised in desperation.

Ignoring him, Bill moved closer towards her. ‘You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Shara?’

She nodded. ‘Please, there’s no time to explain. Just follow me.’

Reaching down and opening her bag, she pulled out the object wrapped in cloth that Luca had seen the old monk hand to her. Holding it in one hand, she swung her canvas bag back over her shoulder again and handed Bill’s rucksack to Luca. A moment later she was marching forward, disappearing into the white of the storm.

For a second, Luca and Bill looked at each other. Then Bill grabbed Luca’s arm and began limping in the direction she had gone, his face set with determination.

Chapter 30

Zhu was waiting, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, when the soldiers bundled René back in.

Two of them then moved to either side of the door, guarding it, while the third bolted it shut from the outside. René was left standing by the wall, his large frame slumped as if the strings of a marionette had been cut. His jaw was already beginning to ache and he could feel his lip had split at one corner. There was the taste of blood in his mouth and a bruised imprint on his neck where the soldier’s hand had been.

‘Please, Mr Falkus, take a seat,’ Zhu said slowly, gesticulating to the other side of the cell where the chair remained on its side.

René hesitated. Taking a couple of paces forward, he righted it and gingerly lowered himself down.

‘She’s just a kid . . .’ he began in a hoarse whisper.

Zhu didn’t answer, but instead glanced at the two soldiers by the door and nodded for them to leave. When it had shut behind them, he smiled at René.

‘The gentlemen you’ve just met,’ he began, ‘are from a special division of the army that I have commandeered. For all that, I’m afraid they’re not exactly what we might call “refined”. I myself once had the privilege of being interrogated by them.’

Still smiling, he took his right arm from where it normally remained behind his back and started rolling up the long shirtsleeve.

‘Nothing more than country boys, bored and frustrated,’ he continued. ‘Having said that, they do perform their tasks with a certain . . . creativity.’

René stared at the hand Zhu was now resting on the table. It seemed completely normal, slender and pale like his other one, except for one difference. Where the nails on his left hand were neatly manicured into little white moons, the fingers on this one looked longer and somehow inhuman. René blinked, his mouth going dry. Each nail has been pulled out, one by one.

The fingers had obviously long since healed but the nails had never grown back, leaving stretched skin rounding the end of each finger. The skin was redder in colour and perfectly smooth, as if his hand were facing palm upward. Zhu began slowly drumming them on the table while René’s eyes darted from one finger to the next.

‘I believe Anu’s interrogation has only just begun,’ he continued. ‘So I suggest you start talking. It’s your choice, of course, but if you’re quick, I might even be able to intervene and put an end to the whole thing. Otherwise, who knows how long it will last or what else they will think of to do with her once they have had their fun?’