‘Nothing’s going to happen to me and it’ll take me half an hour at most to get there and back. We’ll freeze to death tonight without our sleeping bags, and the torch won’t last much longer. Do you want to sit here tonight shivering in the darkness?’ Garðar spoke with almost no inflection or animation, as if he were a mechanical version of himself. ‘I’m not playing the hero; this is just something that needs to be done.’
‘Why don’t you go, Líf?’ Katrín’s question was absurd, as Líf was the least likely of the three of them to go anywhere alone. ‘The sleeping bags are light, and you could carry them here just as easily as Garðar.’
The yellow light from the torch illuminated Líf’s face when she looked up from her bag in surprise. ‘You’re joking! Do you have concussion? I’m not going anywhere.’ Her bottom lip stuck out a little, making her look like a sulky child.
‘Stop this nonsense.’ Garðar had stood up. ‘I’m going and you wait here; I’ll be back before you know it.’ The torch dimmed and flickered. ‘It’s the only solution. The sooner I go, the more likely it is that the torch battery will last for the time I’m gone.’
Líf looked at Katrín, who found it difficult to tell whether her cheeks were so red from the hike or whether it was an effect of the faint light. They looked each other in the eye and Líf proposed a solution that at first sounded very much unlike her. ‘Would you be okay here alone if I go with him?’ She glanced at the dog sleeping at the foot of Katrín’s chair. ‘Putti’s here too, of course.’
Katrín opened her mouth to answer unhesitatingly in the affirmative, but changed her mind in almost the same second and shut it again. Of course she would feel much better if Garðar didn’t go alone; it wouldn’t take them long, but the proposal was still better than his original idea, the only difference being that it would be she rather than he who would be entirely dependent on herself. Líf was the only one whose position remained unaffected: she would have company at all times either way. ‘What if something happens?’
‘I don’t think anything worse could happen today. You were lucky to get out of that alive.’ Líf held up a hand to silence Garðar, who seemed about to speak, probably to say that he was going alone. ‘If you hadn’t jumped back, all the bricks would have hit you on the head, not just one on your foot.’
‘Did you hear a noise before the wall fell, Katrín?’ Garðar had tried to ask her this on the way back but Katrín hadn’t wanted to answer, so afraid was she that he would leave them alone, go back and look the place over in the hope of finding the boy. Since Katrín was now convinced that this was no ordinary flesh-and-blood child, she didn’t dare imagine what would happen if Garðar confronted him, let alone if the creature or whatever it was lured him into the ruins and killed him. ‘Maybe you saw a movement out of the corner of your eye, in time for you to get out? Líf’s absolutely right – your quick reaction saved you. It’s pretty clear what would have happened if you hadn’t moved.’
‘I saw the boy.’ Katrín remained stony faced. She was risking nothing by admitting it now; Garðar wasn’t about to go all the way back to the factory with things as they were. ‘I didn’t hear anything; I was just startled and jumped away. He was in there.’
Garðar’s expression suggested that he needed a moment to digest this. ‘He was in the ruins?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Are you saying that he’s staying there, that he lives there?’
‘I’m not saying anything other than that I saw him. Or about as well as we see him in general. He was standing hunched over, far back in the darkness.’ Katrín rubbed her knee; it had started to stiffen because of the unnatural position of her foot, which she tried to keep continually protected, even while sitting down. ‘Who knows, maybe he pushed the wall down somehow, but he certainly wasn’t anywhere near it.’
‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ Líf’s voice grew louder with every word. ‘Let’s go, like I suggested. I’m not staying here tonight.’ She stood up and Putti stirred at the screech of the chair as it was dragged across the floor. He lifted his head, looked at his owner and then went back to sleep, apparently accustomed to such disturbances.
‘You can see I’m not going anywhere on foot, Líf.’ Katrín moved her foot carefully and the pain shot up through her leg so forcefully that she winced. Of course this looked like a theatrical performance, but she felt so bad that she didn’t care what Líf thought. ‘Maybe you want me to stay behind and wait while you go to get help?’ She spoke through clenched teeth, her leg still burning.
‘Stop bickering.’ Garðar walked off towards the door. ‘You can argue as much as you want after I’m gone, but I’m in no mood to listen to this. I don’t want to waste any more time.’ He turned back towards them in the doorway. ‘I’m going – you wait here. It’s not safe for you to be here alone, Kata.’ He didn’t wait for an answer but left the room with a resolute expression, without turning around again. He’d hardly gone out of the door when Katrín made a snap decision that she knew she’d regret, yet also knew was right. ‘Go with him, Líf. I’ll be okay. Just hurry.’
The torch flickered again. At that Líf decided she didn’t need to be told twice, sprang to her feet and ran after Garðar. She turned around in the doorway, went back to Katrín and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. ‘Sorry. I’d forgotten about your foot when I suggested we get out of here. I didn’t mean that you would have to stay behind. This situation is just driving me crazy and I’m dying for a cigarette.’ She smiled at Katrín, who tried to smile back, although it came out awkwardly because of the pain, which seemed to be getting worse. ‘Putti will look after you.’ Líf ran out so as not to lose Garðar, who could be heard putting his coat on noisily in the dark front entrance. Katrín remained behind with Putti, who had opened his eyes to watch Líf leave the room. He closed his eyes again after the front door shut, at approximately the same moment as the torch went out.
The heavy, slow breathing of the sleeping dog granted Katrín little peace of mind. The torch refused to turn on again, despite her repeated attempts. The bulb had lit once but the light was barely noticeable and lasted only a few seconds. Time passed slowly and Katrín was painfully aware that under these circumstances each minute would feel like ten or a hundred or even a thousand. If she’d been out having dinner, in good company, the same amount of time would have gone by in a flash, but now she passed the time by repeatedly counting up to sixty, keeping track of every minute that passed. But she kept speeding up the count, ruining her timekeeping.