22 Britannia Road - Amanda Hodgkinson [57]
‘I had a dog like this one,’ said Franek, stroking a big orange hound that beat its tail enthusiastically beside him. ‘My brother gave him to me.’
He stopped patting the hound and looked at Bruno, his face suddenly serious. ‘I want to see my dog. When are we going home?’
‘That ice looks thick,’ said Bruno, and Janusz watched to see if Franek could be that easily distracted.
‘It’s solid here, but further out it’s thinner,’ replied Ambrose. ‘This lake never freezes over completely. It has weak spots.’
Franek walked out onto the edge of the lake. ‘Look at this,’ he laughed. ‘Look at the dogs.’
They all laughed. Each dog was trying to run on the ice beside Franek, claws scratching for a grip as they flipped onto their sides and slid along on their bellies.
Ambrose lifted his hand for silence. ‘Shhh. Deer. Over there. In the trees.’
He raised his rifle.
Franek hurried off the ice, pulling his rifle off his shoulder. He and Bruno cocked their guns and waited. Janusz didn’t move. He had never enjoyed hunting. He didn’t want to shoot anything.
The men fell silent, their breath steaming in front of them. Janusz looked at them all, guns lifted, red cheeks, the sparkle of frost on their eyelashes. What if they stopped travelling? What if they came to a rest right here in this snow-covered world and waited until the war was over? Surely they could hide up here?
Ambrose sighed loudly. He lowered his gun and put the safety catch on. ‘No. I heard them but I can’t see them.’
Bruno did the same. He coughed as the tension left the small group and began stamping his feet, as if he had grown stiff standing motionless for too long.
‘I haven’t eaten venison for a long time,’ he said.
‘I’ve venison sausages back at the house,’ said Ambrose. ‘The trick is to make them with plenty of paprika.’
Janusz rubbed his hands together. ‘They sound delicious. And I’m starving.’
‘Those deer are around here somewhere,’ said Franek. He still held his gun, cocked, ready to shoot.
‘It’s not safe hunting in this fog,’ said Janusz, wondering when they could get back and eat the sausages.
Franek balanced his gun on his shoulder, broke a small branch from a tree and threw it onto the ice for the dogs to retrieve. The big orange-coloured hound ran for it. It turned with the stick in its mouth and slipped and slid onto its side.
Everything happened very quickly after that. Janusz saw the dog floundering, trying to get up, and then he heard the ice creak and groan, and watched in horror as the dog fell through a small gap into the lake.
‘Burek!’ called Ambrose. ‘Burek, you stupid dog!’
Ambrose pulled his backpack off his shoulders and stepped out onto the frozen lake, lowering himself quickly onto his belly and sliding out across the ice.
‘We need to smash the ice!’ he yelled. ‘Get the dog out from under it.’
‘I’ll get him!’ yelled Franek. Janusz saw the excitement in Franek’s eyes, the determination in the way he ran out onto the lake, past Ambrose.
‘No!’ Bruno shouted. ‘Get off the ice! It’s not safe!’
‘Burek!’ yelled Franek. ‘Burek! He’s here! I can see him. I can get him out.’
Franek hammered the ice with the butt of his rifle. He struck it hard twice, maybe three times. As he did so, a shot rang out and a flock of black crows in the treetops rose into the air. The gun sounded again and Franek fell to the ground, his body twisting. Ambrose slid along the ice beside him, sank his arm into the hole that had appeared and pulled the orange dog out of the water.
Something caught Janusz’s eye, a movement behind him, and he turned. Four red deer, their breath smoking in front of them, broke into the open,