Page 77 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“That’s one reason why we’re going over there,” Riley says, and points to the snow that towers up by the sides of the glacier. “They can’t find us. We don’t leave footprints on the ice, especially not if we’re careful.”
She has a point. If we avoid stepping on the patches where the snow has been able to stick and gather, we can walk on blue ice to the edge of the glacier without leaving tracks.
“Then let’s go.”
This time I walk ahead, scouting for hidden cracks and testing the ice with each step. We walk a ways up the glacier to cross the wide crack where the stoka fell, at a narrower point. The snow heaps here are much larger than they looked from a distance, and some tower over me with strange, wind-carved shapes.
“We’ll dig into this one,” Riley says, and points. “From behind, so nobody can see from the saucer.”
I study the mound she points to. It rises higher than a man, shaped by the wind into a curved wall, its surface hard and smooth where the storm has pressed it tight.
I circle it, testing the snow with my hand. It is not soft like I expected. It resists my fingers, packed tightly, but not like stone. When I strike it lightly with the butt of the spear, it leaves an indentation. “Very well. Show me.”
She takes the spear and begins to cut into the drift, carving, scooping, shaping. I watch for a moment, then join her with my hands, widening the opening and throwing the snow aside.
It is slow work, but easier than the glacier. The snow yields, and soon there is a hollow large enough for us to crouch in.
“Deeper,” she says. “And make the walls smooth.”
I do as she asks, though I do not yet see the purpose. My hands grow numb despite the effort and the leather mittens, but the work warms the rest of me.
The light fades as the sun sinks until only a red edge touches the mountains, then slips away entirely. The world turns red, then gray.
Riley crawls in first, pushing further, shaping the floor. “Make it just big enough,” she says. “Too big and it gets cold.”
I follow her inside. At once, the cold changes. It is still there, but sounds are strangely muffled. The icy air cannot reach us, and the walls do not steal heat the way the open air does.
I run a hand along the curved surface. “This is getting warm.”
She smiles, tired but satisfied. “Told you.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Snow that keeps out the cold. I will have many stories to tell our own tribe when we return.”
“We need insulation,” Riley says. “We can take our furs off.”
We do, though it is so cumbersome that I have to crawl back out to get enough room to drop my long, heavy fur, holed and bloodstained. I go back inside and spread it on the ground before we sit on it. Riley pokes three holes with the spear, giving us cool air from outside.
Darkness settles around us, close and complete. Riley lets out a long breath and leans back against the wall. “That’s a lot better. They can’t find our tracks. If we stay in here tomorrow, there’s a good chance the Gar tribe will never find us.”
I lean my head back too, enjoying the first real rest I can remember in I don’t know how long. “No. They can see ourtracks leading to the glacier and the hole we hacked. They will know we’re nearby, and they will search every crack in the ice and every snow drift within half a day’s walk. Don’t you understand? They think they can have a woman. That’s worth every risk and every search, regardless of how long it takes.”
Riley leans into me. “I keep thinking I should feel worse about Prak’ox,” she says at last. “But mostly I just feel relieved it’s over.”
“Prak’ox took a big risk,” I state as I reach for the food pack. The contents are cold, but not frozen solid. “He went out into the storm hoping that you would follow. He was willing to risk his life for that chance. And he lost. Any hunter knows that possibility.”
We eat in silence, passing it back and forth, taking what we need and no more.
I close my eyes. “Will we have enough air?”
She pokes more holes with the spear. “Now we will.” Her shoulder brushes mine as she moves. “You’re hurt.”
I open my eyes and look down at my bare skin, covered in round red marks. “They were strange, the bloodwings. The bite didn’t hurt so much, but they bit deep.”
“Venom,” Riley says as she runs her hand along the marks on my arm. “It stops you feeling pain so you don’t realize how dangerous it is.”
I turn my head toward her, though I can barely see her in the dark. “That’s a sneaky way to bite someone.”
“They didn’t just want to bite,” she says, her fingers tracing each mark in a slow circle. “They wanted toeat.”
