Carnaby awoke, lay in darkness listening to the wheezing of Terry Sickle's breath. The boy didn't sound good. Carnaby sat up, suppressing a grunt at the stiffness of his limbs. The icy air seemed stale. He moved to the entry, lifted the polyon flap. A cascade of powdery snow poured in. Beyond the opening a faint glow filtered down through banked snow.
He turned back to Terry as the latter coughed deeply, again and again.
"Looks like the snow's quit," Carnaby said. "It's drifted pretty bad, but there's no wind now. How are you feeling, Terry?"
"Not so good, Lieutenant," Sickle said weakly. He breathed heavily, in and out. "I don't know what's got into me. Feel hot and cold at the same time."
Carnaby stripped off his glove, put his hand on Sickle's forehead. It was scalding hot.
"You just rest easy here for a while, Terry. There's a couple more cans of stew, and plenty of water. I'll make it up to the top as quickly as I can. Soon as I get back, we'll go down together. With luck, I'll have you to Doc Link's house by dark."
"I guess . . . I guess I should have done like Doc said," Terry's voice was a thin whisper.
"What do you mean?"
"I been taking these hyposprays. Two a day. He said I better not miss one, but heck, I been feeling real good lately—"
"What kind of shots, Terry?" Carnaby's voice was tight.
"I don't know. Heck, Lieutenant, I'm no invalid! Or . . ." his voice trailed off.
"You should have told me, Terry."
"Gosh, Lieutenant—don't worry about me! I didn't mean nothing! Hell, I feel . . ." he broke off to cough deeply, rackingly.
"I'll get you back, Terry—but I've got to go up first," Carnaby said. "You understand that, don't you?"
Terry nodded. "A man's got to do his job, Lieutenant. I'll be waiting . . . for you . . . when you get back."
"Listen to me carefully, Terry." Carnaby's voice was low. "If I'm not back by this time tomorrow, you'll have to make it back down by yourself. You understand? Don't wait for me."
"Sure, Lieutenant, I'll just rest awhile. Then I'll be OK."
"Sooner I get started the sooner I'll be back." Carnaby took a can from the pack, opened it, handed it to Terry. The boy shook his head.
"You eat it, Lieutenant. You need your strength. I don't feel like I . . . could eat anything anyway."
"Terry, I don't want to have to pry your mouth open and pour it in."
"All right . . . but open one for yourself too . . ."
"All right, Terry."
Sickle's hand trembled as he spooned the stew to his mouth. He ate half of the contents of the can, then leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes. "That's all . . . I want . . ."
"All right, Terry. You get some rest now. I'll be back before you know it." Carnaby crawled out through the opening, pushed his way up through loosely drifted snow. The cold struck his face like a spiked club. He turned the suit control up another notch, noticing as he did that the left side seemed to be cooler than the right.
The near-vertical rise of the final crown of the peak thrust up from the drift, dazzling white in the morning sun. Carnaby examined the rockface for twenty feet on either side of the hut, picked a spot where a deep crack angled upward, started the last leg of the climb.