The Snow Tiger / Night of Error (25 page)

Had Rawson known of this he would have had it repaired immediately, being the sort of man he was. But he did not know of it because it was underground. Consequently, when the shock of the avalanche struck, the rear wall constituted a weakness and it gave way easily and without resistance.

Liz was hurled forward against stacked boxes of bandages which cushioned the shock, although the edge of a shelf broke two of her ribs. The whole mass, shelving, boxes and the bodies of Liz and Stacey, was forced against the rear wall which gave immediately, and Liz was precipitated through the air in a tangle of streaming and unwinding bandages.

She fell on to snow, and more snow covered her, holding her body and clamping her arms and legs. She was quite
conscious and rational and she wondered if she were about to die. She did not know that Stacey Cameron was in much the same position not more than ten feet away. Both girls lost consciousness at about the same time, roughly one-and-a-half minutes after being buried.

Rawson was also buried about twenty yards away and was dying slowly and quite painfully as the acid ate at his flesh. Fortunately, when he opened his mouth to scream it filled with soft snow and he died mercifully and quickly of asphyxia.

The Hotel D’Archiac, that abode of fools, was speedily demolished. Jeff Weston, the king of fools who had been coining it, was parted from more than his money. Business was so brisk that he had gone behind the bar to help the overworked bartender and when the building was hit he was struck on the head by a bottle of scotch whisky which left the shelf behind him like a projectile.

Most of the men who were drinking in the bar were killed by flying bottles. Behind the bottles came the whole wall and, after that, came the snow which covered everything. They died because they were fools, although a cynic might have said they died of acute alcoholism. But there were no cynics left in Hukahoronui after that Sunday morning.

Those in the dining-room died when the roof fell in. Alice Harper, the waitress who had served McGill with colonial goose on the previous evening, was killed by a heavy suitcase which fell from the bedrooms above. The suitcase belonged to the American, Newman, who had his own troubles at the time.

Newman’s room no longer existed as a room and the same applied to the room next door which had been taken by his friend, Miller. Miller was most fortunate to be absent.

Bill Quentin was exceptionally lucky because he had left the hotel with Eric Peterson only moments before the hotel was destroyed. He had gone into the lobby from the bar and found Eric. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘Does the council know what’s going on?’

‘About what?’

‘About closing the mine.’

‘The mine has been closed. Ballard closed it this morning.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean closing it permanently.’

Eric shook his head a little wearily. ‘No one has said anything to us – yet.’

‘Well, aren’t you going to do anything about it?’

‘What the hell do you expect us to do when we haven’t been notified officially? I don’t believe it will close.’

Quentin snorted. ‘Ballard said it would. He said it at a meeting yesterday. He said the company couldn’t afford to spend money on avalanche protection. I think this avalanche scare is a lot of balls. I think the company is trying to weasel out.’

‘Weasel out of what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Eric moved towards the door.

‘You know what these big companies are like.’ Quentin took a couple of steps to keep up with him. ‘I hear that Ballard is related to the big boss back in London. Know anything about that?’

‘I’ve heard it.’ Eric quickened his pace. ‘It’s true.’

‘I’ll bet he’s been sent to do the hatchet job. Hey – where are you going?’

‘To join Johnnie in the old Fisher house.’

‘I think I’ll come with you,’ said Quentin. ‘I think the council ought to know about this. Where’s Matt Houghton?’

‘At home.’

They stepped off the pavement, and Quentin said, ‘That means he’s the only sensible man around here. Everybody else is shutting themselves up in holes.’

Eric glanced at him. ‘Like me?’

‘Don’t tell me you believe in Doomsday?’

Eric stopped on the opposite pavement. His back was to the Fisher house and so he did not see his brother run across the road towards the telephone exchange. ‘Johnnie’s no fool and he believes it,’ he said deliberately. ‘And I’m beginning to.’

He resumed his stride at a quicker pace and Quentin, a much smaller man, was forced to trot to keep up with him. They entered the house and Eric glanced into the empty room off the hall. ‘He’ll be in the cellar.’

The two men were just going down the steps into the basement when the house was hit. Eric tumbled the rest of the way and fell on top of young Mary Rees, breaking her leg. Bill Quentin fell on top of Eric and broke Eric’s arm. He himself was quite unhurt; he was untouched and inviolate and was not even scratched by the falling rubble of the collapsing house.

After shouting his warning, McGill dropped into his own selected shelter, jostled by Ballard. He grabbed the telephone which had been installed by a mine electrician and rang the exchange which was busy. ‘For Christ’s sake, come on!’ he muttered.

He waited for ten seconds which were more like ten minutes before the operator, Maureen Scanlon, came on the line. He said quickly, ‘Plug me into John Peterson, Mrs Scanlon, and then get the hell out of there – fast.’

‘I understand,’ she said, and the ringing tone came into his ear.

‘John Peterson here.’

‘McGill. Get your people under cover. She’s coming down.’

‘What about Maureen Scanlon?’

‘I’ve told her to get out. You can see the exchange from where you are. Keep an eye open for her.’

‘Okay,’ Peterson slammed down the telephone and snapped at Bobby Fawcett, ‘Everyone downstairs. Move it, Bobby.’

Fawcett left the room on the run and Peterson looked out of the window at the telephone exchange up the street. The street was deserted with not a sign of movement. He thumped the table nervously and wondered what to do.

As soon as Mrs Scanlon had put the call through to Peterson she took off the headset, stood up, and lifted her coat from a hook. She knew exactly what to do because Peterson had told her. She was to join him in the old Fisher building, one of the few houses in town which had a basement. She did not bother to put on the coat but had taken only one step to the door when the switchboard buzzed at her. She turned back, plugged in and lifted the headset. ‘What number do you want?’

‘Maureen, this is Jim Hatherley at Matt Houghton’s house. Old Jack Baxter took a bad fall and we think he’s broken his leg. Do you think you can find Dr Scott?’

She bit her lip. ‘I’ll try.’ She plugged in a jack and rang Scott’s house.

In the Fisher house Peterson made up his mind. He ran from the room and into the hall. A freckled-faced fourteen-year-old girl was standing in the doorway, and he said, ‘Into the basement, Mary. On the double.’

The crackle of authority in his voice moved her body without her consciously willing it. But she said, ‘Where are you going?’

‘To fetch Mrs Scanlon.’ He ran out into the street, and Mary Rees went down into the basement to join the others.

Peterson ran up the empty street towards the telephone exchange. He reached the corner where a road ran off to the left towards the mine, cast a hurried glance along it, and skidded to a frantic halt. What he saw was incredible. The mist was gone and he could see as far as the mine, but that was not what held his attention. A building was flying through the air directly at him, disintegrating at it came, and in that split second he recognized the mine office block.

He jumped back and dived behind a concrete wall, landing heavily, and then he twisted over so that he could see. There was a fierce blast of wind in his face and then he saw the office block fall squarely on to the telephone exchange, obliterating it.

The wind gusted at him again and he felt a tremendous pain in his chest.
Heart attack!
he thought dimly,
I’m having a heart attack.
Even while fighting the pain he lost consciousness and died very soon thereafter.

In the basement of the Fisher house Mary Rees added her screams to those of the others as the structure collapsed overhead and something or someone fell on top of her. No one died in the basement but there were several serious injuries, including Mary’s broken leg.

In the Supermarket Phil Warrick looked about him and said with satisfaction, ‘We’ve just about got it cleared.’ He lifted the lid of the stove and dropped in some chunks of wood.

The Reverend Howard Davis, vicar of St Michael’s Anglican Church, agreed. ‘Just about,’ he said. ‘This will be the last load. He wheeled a pushcart before the biscuit counter and began to fill it with packets.

Warrick watched him and grinned. ‘McGill said no chocolate biscuits.’

‘I don’t know what Dr McGill knows about nutrition, but he certainly knows nothing about children,’ said Davis with a smile. ‘Chocolate biscuits are better than baked beans for keeping up morale.’

Warrick nodded. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing about this avalanche. I swear my arms have lengthened two inches because of lugging around all these cases of canned food.’ He replaced the lid of the stove.

Davis regarded him with amusement. ‘Do you mean you’ll feel sorry if there is no avalanche?’

‘Oh, you know I don’t want an avalanche, but it would be a shame to see all this hard work go for nothing.’

‘I don’t want an avalanche, either, but there’s no harm in being prepared. If John Peterson is willing to have his store looted like this then he must believe McGill, and John is a level-headed man.’

A truck pulled up outside, and two men got out and came into the Supermarket. Warrick said, ‘Hi, Len … Dave.’

Len Baxter said, ‘That plane has come back. It’s still floating around up there. Wonder what he wants?’

‘He’s not going to land,’ said Warrick. ‘This fog’s too thick.’

Davis picked up a coffee-pot and put it on the stove top. ‘You’ll need something to warm you up.’

Dave Scanlon held out his hands to the stove. He wore a worried look. ‘That’ll go down well. I’ll swear it’s getting colder.’ He glanced at Davis. ‘I’m getting worried about Maureen. Someone said the exchange is too exposed.’

‘John Peterson told me he’d look after her,’ said Davis. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right.’ He laid the back of his finger on the coffee-pot to test the heat. ‘Won’t be long.’

‘Got any more oil?’ asked Len.

‘Two more forty-five-gallon drums,’ said Warrick. ‘The last I could find. But we must have taken nearly six hundred gallons out of that tank.’

‘I was talking to one of the mine engineers up at Turi Buck’s place,’ said Len. ‘He’s fixing up a generator there. He said the diesel engine could use fuel oil at a pinch. I never knew that.’

Dave said, ‘I think I’ll go and check on Maureen after I’ve had some coffee.’

As Davis picked up a cup, Len Baxter said, ‘That reminds me. Does anyone know where my old man is? I’ve been so busy this morning I’ve lost track of things.’

‘He’s gone up to Matt Houghton’s house. McGill thought it was one of the safest places in the valley.’

Warrick nodded. ‘We discussed that in the council meeting. That and Turi Buck’s place are the two oldest houses. The kids have gone to Turi Buck and the old people to Matt’s place.’

‘Not all the kids,’ said Dave. He took a cup of coffee from Davis. ‘I saw Mary Rees just now.’

Warrick frowned. ‘Where?’

‘Here in town. She was standing in the doorway of the old Fisher house.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Davis. ‘It has a basement. That’s where Maureen will go. John Peterson organized all that.’

‘Where will you hide out?’ asked Len.

‘I will be in the church,’ said Davis firmly. His tone rejected any suggestion that he would be hiding anywhere.

Len considered it. ‘Not bad,’ he commented. ‘The church must be the strongest building here. The only one built of stone, anyway.’

Dave Scanlon finished his coffee. ‘I’ll just pop along and see Maureen, then I’ll be back to help you load.’ He waved his hand. ‘I’ve never seen the town so deserted, not even on Sunday.’

He turned to go, and froze in mid-stride. ‘The mist’s go …’

The three-ton truck parked outside was picked up bodily and thrown through the plate glass windows of the Supermarket like a monstrous projectile. Even as it came the building was collapsing around them. It had not been built too strongly in the first place and, hit by the giant fist of the avalanche, the showy false front sheared off and fell through the roof.

Suddenly the Reverend Davis found himself floundering in snow. He was dazed, and when he put his hand to his head it came away bloody. He was up to his waist in snow and, to his surprise, in his right hand he still held the coffee-pot. He opened it and looked inside and found it half full of steaming liquid. His head was spinning and hurt when he moved it suddenly. Darkness spiralled before his eyes and everything became dim just before he fell unconscious. The coffee-pot dropped from his hand and fell over on its side, and coffee stained the snow.