![]() Now the eyes and the great triangular beak were right out of the water and the beak was reaching up for his feet. He could even feel his spine being stretched. Bond was being pulled down, inch by inch. The eyes were glaring up at him, redly, venomously, and the forest of feeding arms was at his feet and legs, tearing the cotton fabric away and flailing back. Now the head of the squid had broken the surface and the sea was being thrashed into foam by the great heaving mantle round it. He was ready.īond had not time to worry about them. He stood up and took several slow deep breaths, ran his hands through his salt-and sweat-matted hair, rubbed them harshly up and down his face and then down the tattered sides of his black jeans. He reached back ana felt the handle of the knife. All he needed was an ounce of hope, an ounce of reassurance that it was still worth while trying to stay alive.īond examined the soles of his feet and his hands. Only, with Bond, the two halves were not yet dead. Bond was like a cut worm, the two halves of which continue to jerk forward although life has gone and been replaced by the mock life of nervous impulses. It moved alongside his body, or floated above it, keeping enough contact to pull the strings that made the puppet work. The thinking, feeling apparatus of Bond was no longer part of his body. The stinking, bleeding, black scarecrow moved its arms and legs quite automatically. He caught a glimpse of the tip of his spear lancing into the centre of a black eyeball and then the whole sea erupted up at him in a fountain of blackness and he fell and hung upside down by the knees, his head an inch from the surface of the water. It would be about six o'clock, the dawn of a beautiful day. Perhaps even now they were watching the scout groups far out at sea locating the fish. Far above him the cormorants were wheeling round the guanera. Clouds tinged with golden pink were trailing away towards the horizon. Apart from aiming the canvas mouth of the conveyor, there was nothing else for anyone to do.īond looked up at the sky. On the other side of the mountain men would be working, feeding the guano to the conveyor-belt that rumbled away through the bowels of the rock, but on this side no one was allowed and no one was necessary. There was no other sound, no other movement, no other life apart from the watch at the ship's wheel, the trusty working at the crane, and Doctor No, seeing that all went well. The morning breeze feathered the deep-water anchorage, still half in shadow beneath the towering cliffs, the' conveyor-belt thudded quietly on its rollers, the crane's engine chuffed rhythmically. A narrow rocky track, made by the feet of the workers, led down the other side and round the bulge of the cliff. On the bridge, the watch was lighting a cigarette. Twenty yards away, Doctor No, also with his back to Bond, stood sentry over the thick rich cataract of whity-yellow dust. The neck above the open khaki shirt was naked, offered, waiting. His guess at the distances had been right. Nowīond stepped up to the rock and inched an eye round. ![]() ![]() A voice called out, startlingly close, "Okay to go?" There was a distant answer: "Okay." The crane engine accelerated. Bond crept softly forward, watching his footholds for loose stones. Round the bead, the track filtered through a maze of giant, tumbled boulders. Bond, leaving drops of blood behind him, picked his way carefully down the track and along the bottom of the shadowed cliff.
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