speculatively. “My guess is under those
nice middle-class manners you’re a carnivore like me, even if
you don’t know it, and that lot are herbivores.”
“That’s an insulting way of
saying they’re kind.”
“No, just soft. In my experience,
no one does anyone any favours. Everyone’s out for himself.”
“Possibly you’ve been
mixing with the wrong crowd. Anyway, I’m not sure I like being
called a carnivore.”
“What I meant is, they’re
not gamblers, they’re risk-averse. To get lucky you have to
take a risk and maybe fail. It’s fear of failure that’ll
kill them. Yes, they’re managing now, but in the end the ice
will get them because they’re living off finite resources. What
will you do when you’ve chopped up the last scaffolding plank
or office desk for fuel, burnt the last book? What will Paul’s
kids do? There’s no future in this country, not till the
climate changes again.”
“I know.”
“If you know, what are you doing
here? You seem smarter than the others. The only future’s in
the south. I want to get there and have a life again, live instead of
just surviving, feel the sun on my skin. This whole country is like
some Arctic research unit, but with no supplies in and no helicopters
out and no long-term future. What’s your five year plan, Tori?
Where do you see yourself in ten years, twenty years? Before the
power went down, you couldn’t turn on the TV or the radio
without hearing people arguing over whether this was a Little Ice Age
or the real thing, or just something weird and transitory to do with
global warming. Whatever it is, it’s not going to get easier
here; it’s going to get a lot harder.”
I wasn’t going to tell him about
my project. I didn’t entirely trust him not to steal my
powerkite, though that I have got hidden in a safe spot – after
all, like me he wanted to go south, and needed transport. I decided
not to practise for a day or two in case he saw me, and focus on
finding materials for the sledge. On the other hand, if as I
sometimes suspected it was a dumb idea, I didn’t want him to
mock me.
“I’ll work something out.
What’s your plan, then? You’re no better placed than me.
That gold won’t help you.”
He smiled to himself. “Like you,
I’ll work something out.”
I eyed him. He’d got something in
mind he wasn’t telling me. Perhaps he’d got a powerkite
concealed somewhere too. I sipped my brandy, and started to think
about weapons. I quite forgot to ask him if he was a serial killer.
Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 7
Ceilidh
Morgan left early the next day without
saying where he was going – the gym, maybe, or running in the
snow. While washing up I thought over what he had told me about
himself the night before. He was the first cage fighter I’d
ever met. I don’t mix in the right milieu for cage fighters,
whatever that may be, nor do I see the appeal of watching two men
beat hell out of each other. On the other hand, with no police force
or justice system, civilized behaviour was optional and if it came to
it, might was right; martial arts experts had an advantage over the
rest of us. Morgan had made me appreciate how defenceless we were,
and I decided I must do something about that, however small. It was
my day for sweeping the rooftop help sign clear of snow, and once I’d
finished I made a lone trip to Argos.
It’s seriously creepy down there
on your own. The darkness, the maze-like quality of the abandoned
aisles in the storeroom, the rats’ faint scuffles; the
disagreeable dank odour, like an ice rink but with the added smell of
decay and rat droppings. The light from my torch illuminated only a
small circle at a time, making it slow work to find what I’d
chosen from the catalogue. I kicked myself for not bringing a
lantern. But I found them in the end; Sabatier twelve-piece knife
block sets. I opened two boxes and took the knives, leaving the
wooden blocks, and put the knives in my backpack.
nice middle-class manners you’re a carnivore like me, even if
you don’t know it, and that lot are herbivores.”
“That’s an insulting way of
saying they’re kind.”
“No, just soft. In my experience,
no one does anyone any favours. Everyone’s out for himself.”
“Possibly you’ve been
mixing with the wrong crowd. Anyway, I’m not sure I like being
called a carnivore.”
“What I meant is, they’re
not gamblers, they’re risk-averse. To get lucky you have to
take a risk and maybe fail. It’s fear of failure that’ll
kill them. Yes, they’re managing now, but in the end the ice
will get them because they’re living off finite resources. What
will you do when you’ve chopped up the last scaffolding plank
or office desk for fuel, burnt the last book? What will Paul’s
kids do? There’s no future in this country, not till the
climate changes again.”
“I know.”
“If you know, what are you doing
here? You seem smarter than the others. The only future’s in
the south. I want to get there and have a life again, live instead of
just surviving, feel the sun on my skin. This whole country is like
some Arctic research unit, but with no supplies in and no helicopters
out and no long-term future. What’s your five year plan, Tori?
Where do you see yourself in ten years, twenty years? Before the
power went down, you couldn’t turn on the TV or the radio
without hearing people arguing over whether this was a Little Ice Age
or the real thing, or just something weird and transitory to do with
global warming. Whatever it is, it’s not going to get easier
here; it’s going to get a lot harder.”
I wasn’t going to tell him about
my project. I didn’t entirely trust him not to steal my
powerkite, though that I have got hidden in a safe spot – after
all, like me he wanted to go south, and needed transport. I decided
not to practise for a day or two in case he saw me, and focus on
finding materials for the sledge. On the other hand, if as I
sometimes suspected it was a dumb idea, I didn’t want him to
mock me.
“I’ll work something out.
What’s your plan, then? You’re no better placed than me.
That gold won’t help you.”
He smiled to himself. “Like you,
I’ll work something out.”
I eyed him. He’d got something in
mind he wasn’t telling me. Perhaps he’d got a powerkite
concealed somewhere too. I sipped my brandy, and started to think
about weapons. I quite forgot to ask him if he was a serial killer.
Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 7
Ceilidh
Morgan left early the next day without
saying where he was going – the gym, maybe, or running in the
snow. While washing up I thought over what he had told me about
himself the night before. He was the first cage fighter I’d
ever met. I don’t mix in the right milieu for cage fighters,
whatever that may be, nor do I see the appeal of watching two men
beat hell out of each other. On the other hand, with no police force
or justice system, civilized behaviour was optional and if it came to
it, might was right; martial arts experts had an advantage over the
rest of us. Morgan had made me appreciate how defenceless we were,
and I decided I must do something about that, however small. It was
my day for sweeping the rooftop help sign clear of snow, and once I’d
finished I made a lone trip to Argos.
It’s seriously creepy down there
on your own. The darkness, the maze-like quality of the abandoned
aisles in the storeroom, the rats’ faint scuffles; the
disagreeable dank odour, like an ice rink but with the added smell of
decay and rat droppings. The light from my torch illuminated only a
small circle at a time, making it slow work to find what I’d
chosen from the catalogue. I kicked myself for not bringing a
lantern. But I found them in the end; Sabatier twelve-piece knife
block sets. I opened two boxes and took the knives, leaving the
wooden blocks, and put the knives in my backpack.
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