After the Funeral (standard:mystery, 7089 words)
Author: Vinod Lalji	Added: Nov 24 2021	Views/Reads: 816/543	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Two men after crashing their plane in the Himalayas try to stay alive while they await rescue or capture by the Pakistani authorities.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


The cold began seeping into his body as he ploughed ahead, feeding out
the line behind him. The rope cut into his gloved hand giving him the 
reassurance of getting back home safely. His only lifeline, when he 
thought about it. Irfan reached the last few remaining trees after 
about twenty minutes of walking and stopped to catch his breath. 

No time to lose, he thought and started to hack away at the stiff wet
branches. He could hardly feel his fingers after cutting for a few 
minutes. Time stood still for him. He wasn't sure whether he had been 
here five minutes or fifty, neither would have surprised him. Pausing, 
he looked around at the white surroundings. It still amazed him that in 
a matter of a few hours how the landscape could change from serene and 
peaceful to a blizzard whiteout without any warning. God is Great, he 
said silently and began cutting the tree again. 

He gathered the sticks and wrapped them up in a small bundle. The knot
was loosely tied, his gloved fingers unable to perform the job 
properly. Quickly he slung the sticks over his shoulder and turned 
back. The falling snow blinded him. The cave was nowhere in sight. 
Irfan felt panicked, his heart racing; his breathing quickened. But 
then he remembered the rope and laughed. Idiot, he scolded and tugged 
at the rope around his waist feeling relieved. 

Following the line of rope he headed back to the cave. 

Scott was blowing gently on the dying fire. Irfan dumped the sticks and
sat down exhausted. ‘It's a whiteout. Can't see a thing,' said Irfan 
panting. 

‘Is that all you could find?' 

‘If you think you can do better then be my guest,' said Irfan, annoyed
and climbed into his sleeping bag. He took out his Koran and started to 
read it. It was his only refuge from this misery. 

Scott threw some of the dry sticks on the fire. The flames crackled and
danced. He went over to his sleeping bag and climbed in facing away 
from the fire. ‘I don't know what you see in that book,' he said after 
a moment. 

‘Well you wouldn't. You're not a man of faith,' replied Irfan not
looking up from his book. 

‘I don't think God gives a shit about us.' 

Irfan stopped reading and silently counted backwards from ten. Finally
he spoke, ‘and what would you know about God?' 

‘Enough to know that he bailed on us like a spoiled child taking away
his toys.' 

‘What do you mean?' said Irfan, unsure of where this was going. He had
grown weary of these long talks that often ended in shouting across the 
freezing cave. 

‘The first mistake Adam makes and what does the Almighty do, take his
toys and run off leaving the poor man to fend for himself.' 

Irfan tutted loudly. ‘That's the Catholic version I---' 

Scott cut him off, ‘Please, it's all the same bollocks.' 

‘That's not true. Look if you took some time to pray and contemplate the
Great God Allah, you would realise that there are more things to life 
then our immediate circumstances.' 

‘Don't make me laugh. This is all there is. There is no heaven or hell.
There's only this---this crappy moment---this fucked up situation with 
the two of us and no chance of rescue.' 

‘You just need a little faith my friend.' 

‘Faith? Fuck that! What I need is a little more food, a little more
warmth and a plane ticket home.' 

Irfan said nothing for a while. It was true. The longer they were out
here the slimmer the chances for rescue. Still he continued to pray 
every day with the hope that God would save them. Whatever sins he had 
committed up till now he felt he had more than repaid. Now it was time 
for help to arrive; now it was time to go home and face the 
consequences. 

‘Sit closer to the fire,' he said quietly. 

‘You call that a fire. There's more heat in a lighted fart.' 

‘What the hell do you want me to do? I spent the last hour scouring the
mountainside. Blasted trees are impossible to cut in this storm.' 

‘We must have something left to burn.' 

‘Not a thing. We've pretty much burned everything we had.' 

Scott rubbed his shoulders and burrowed deeper into his sleeping bag.
‘What about the book?' 

Irfan wasn't sure he had heard him right, ‘eh?' 

‘That book you constantly keep reading.' 

‘You got to be joking right.' 

‘It's only a book.' 

‘It's not only a book. It's the Koran.' 

'Oh come on get real Irfan. It's the last thing we have left. We're
going to freeze to death otherwise.' 

‘No, I will not do this.' 

‘We have no choice.' 

‘No. I will burn my flesh first, before I let a single page be
desecrated from this book.' 

‘Oh what's the fucking use?' 

They didn't speak again for the rest of the night. Scott fell into a
fitful sleep soon after. Irfan however couldn't sleep. His thoughts 
drifted to his friend buried out there in the snow. How long before he 
himself was killed here? Or Scott. Neither he or Scott had wanted to 
talk about what had happened, maybe God will forgive is, he thought. 

Rescue seemed impossible everyday they were lost out in the wilderness.
He clutched the Holy book closer to his chest and finally fell asleep 
listening to the wind howl outside. 

When morning came the cave was filled with white light. Scott climbed
out of his sleeping bag and picked up his rifle. He turned and glared 
at Irfan. The Koran was tucked into Irfan's chest as he slept. Scott 
took a silent step towards him. Suddenly Irfan was awake, startled and 
alert. His eyes fell on the looming form of Scott above him. Both 
stared at each other, neither blinked. Irfan's hand silently slipped to 
his pistol inside the sleeping bag. He undid the safety and gingerly 
fingered the trigger. 

‘I'm going out shopping, you want anything?' said Scott. 

Irfan got up, ‘there's nothing but snow out there.' 

‘We keep looking, sometimes we get lucky.' 

Irfan nodded. 

‘If I'm not back in an hour come and look for me.' Scott braced himself
and then launched himself out of the cave into the bitter cold. 

The blizzard had passed leaving fresh snow in heaps everywhere. Scott
surveyed the area letting his eyes sweep over the landscape. His eyes 
fell on the burial mound. He shook his head gently from side to side. 
Then he turned to the sparse trees and headed out. If there was any 
game, surely that was a good place to start. 

Irfan looked up from his book as Scott entered several hours later
carrying a dead animal over his shoulder. It looked like a white fox or 
small wolf. He dumped it next to the fire and then slumped down besides 
it breathing hard. 

‘Where on Earth did you get that?' said Irfan. Neither man had eaten
anything substantial in two days. 

‘Tesco,' replied Scott, took out his hunting knife and began to sharpen
the blade. 

‘What is it?' 

‘It is a supermarket. They sell shit.' 

‘No you idiot, what the hell is that creature?' He took his eyes off the
beast and finally looked at Scott. He noticed blood on his beard, like 
it had been hastily wiped away. 

Scott stopped skinning the animal, ‘you're telling me you've never seen
a fox before.' 

‘That's a fox?' 

Scott shook his head and chuckled, ‘it's not a cute little red fox you
get in fairy stories. This bastard's heavy and protected from the cold 
by a layer of fat under this thick fur.' 

Irfan watched in fascination as Scott expertly cut the animal open. He
then took out the guts and started to cut out the meat into small 
hunks. 

‘I've never cut a live animal before,' said Irfan. 

‘Don't you people have Bakri-Eid?' 

‘Yes, but I never had the chance to perform the sacrifice myself. Always
my dad or one of my uncles did it.' 

Irfan added a few more sticks to the fire. Scott started to skewer the
meat onto a stick and made a kebab. He handed this to Irfan, ‘we'll be 
eating like kings in a few minutes.' 

Irfan held his kebab over the fire. He watched the meat juices dripping
and sizzling onto the open flames. Rotating the stick every few seconds 
his thoughts drifted to the crash. The plane had banked too hard over 
K2 in the Himalayas as they made their escape from Pakistan. The wing 
had clipped a stone ridge on the mountainside and went into a spin. 
They had fallen out of the sky for what seemed like an eternity. He 
remembered screaming but hearing no sound erupt from his throat. 

Michael, the pilot had been thrown against the windscreen when the plane
crashed. He had died instantly. The fireball had seared his body to the 
seat. His burning body smelled somewhat like the kebab. 

Scott had pushed Irfan to the back of the plane before it had crashed
and somehow both had sustained only minor injuries. They had been the 
lucky ones. Abdul had hit his head and lay unconscious for days after. 
He wasn't quite the same upon awakening. 

The smell of cooked meat brought Irfan back from his reverie. He eyed
the charred meat chunks thinking about Michael. Suddenly his appetite 
was lost. 

‘I think it's ready,' said Scott. He took the skewer and gently pinched
the meat. He passed a hot chunk to Irfan and took one for himself. 
Scott started munching away almost immediately. Irfan was holding his 
piece but hadn't tasted it yet. Scott shifted his seat and looked up at 
Irfan. He stopped chewing and swallowed. 

‘Something wrong?' 

‘Nothing.' 

‘I thought you were hungry.' 

‘It's nothing really---I'm not that hungry.' He put the chunk down next
to the fire. 

‘Spit it out, and no bullshit.' 

Irfan shifted nervously, not looking at Scott, ‘it's just---it's not
halal.' He knew this didn't matter, the Koran allowed eating whatever 
it took to survive in dire situations. But he just couldn't shake the 
vivid images of Michael burning from his mind. 

‘Halal? What the fuck is halal?' 

‘It's when you kill the animal---,' 

‘I know what halal means idiot. I've known you long enough. What I meant
was, why should it matter in our situation?' 

Irfan didn't answer, his inner thoughts remained conflicted. They had
been starving for days now, and yet he still wasn't able to eat it. 

‘How is eating this meat any different from all the other non-halal shit
that we have done as a crew?' snorted Scott and resumed eating. 

‘That's different,' said Irfan, but even he knew this was bullshit.
Between them they had done a whole bunch of things definitely frowned 
upon by society. ‘It just doesn't feel right.' 

‘Oh, I'm sorry maybe I should have been more thoughtful and said a
little prayer over the fox before I blew its brains out.' 

Irfan stared into the fire. He was lost in his thoughts. ‘Maybe I'm
being stupid,' he whispered. 

Scott shook his head and grabbed the meat from the floor. ‘For fuck's
sake, dear God and sunny Jesus please bless this animal so my friend 
can eat it.' 

Irfan got up, alarmed, ‘take that back,' he roared. 

Scott got up and squared up to him. 

‘What the fuck is wrong with you? You wouldn't eat it because it wasn't
blessed and now that I have said a prayer over it you are still 
freaking out.' 

‘That's not it and you know it,' he shouted. 

Scott took a step closer to him. 

‘Oh yeah, well why don't you tell me what the problem is?' He jabbed his
finger into Irfan's chest. Both men stared at each other. Irfan took a 
step back after a few tense moments, his heart beating wildly, the 
hunger and cold both forgotten. 

‘I just hate it when you take the piss, just stop it,' he whispered. 

Irfan turned and walked away to a colder part of the cave. He sat with
his back to the cave wall. Scott walked up to him after a moment. 
‘Okay, I'm sorry. Look Irfan I know you're quite a religious guy. But 
we're not in a normal situation. We have to do whatever it takes to 
survive.' 

He pointed to the carcass behind him, ‘this is a Godsend as far as I'm
concerned. Call it a miracle. It's the first bite of food we've had in 
ages. We need to eat.' 

Irfan didn't meet his gaze. Scott continued, unperturbed, ‘come on, come
back to the fire. Please. You don't have to eat it straight away but at 
least think about it.' 

Irfan buried his head in his arms. After a few quiet moments where only
the soft drip of snow melt could be heard Scott walked back to the fire 
and picked up his portion. 

Later, contented Scott was snoring in his sleeping bag. Irfan silently
made his way to the diminishing fire and added some sticks to it. He 
looked at Scott for movement and found he was sound asleep. He 
cautiously picked up the chunk of cold charred meat. It felt heavy and 
almost frozen. Scott was right, their situation was unique. God didn't 
want him to die here in the Himalayas cold and alone, away from his 
family. He took a tentative bite and started to chew the tough meat. 

Allah hu Akbar, he thought. 

The following morning, both men continued their normal routine as if
nothing had transpired last night. Scott had headed out to collect 
sticks for the fire before Irfan had awakened. When he had returned 
Irfan was washing his face and hands, preparing himself before the 
morning prayers time. He placed his sleeping bag near the cave entrance 
facing east and started his ritual. 

Scott prepared breakfast, fox meat kebabs. Once Irfan was finished Scott
handed him a chunk without saying a word. They ate in silence listening 
to the crackle of the fire. Irfan reached for another piece of meat. 
‘We need to ration it,' said Scott. Irfan nodded, they had been here a 
while now with no other sign of human life. Not even a plane in the 
sky. Rescue could be days or even weeks away. ‘I'll bury the rest in 
the snow. It'll act like a fridge.' 

‘Will that work, won't the meat spoil?' 

‘It should work,' said Scott. 

When Scott came back in the cave Irfan was counting his share of the
money. He made small stacks of the hundred dollar bills in front of him 
arranged into a wall. 

Scott sat down and began carving a fox bone into a spearhead. Both were
sat near the fire. The wind had picked up again and could be heard 
whistling near the cave entrance. The canvas was flapping about. 

‘Do you think we'll be rescued?' 

‘If Allah wills it,' replied Irfan. 

Scott could feel his temper rising again, ‘and was it Allah's will that
our plane crashed?' 

‘I don't know, probably. He works in mysterious ways.' 

‘Bollocks, Michael fucked up and couldn't control the plane and now he's
dead. And we've been stuck here and not seen any sign of human life.' 

‘If Allah wishes it, we shall be rescued. If not then we shall perish.' 

‘Fuck destiny or fate or whatever karma bullshit that is causing our
predicament. We both know that the only reason we are stuck here is 
because people fuck up.' 

‘But we survived, didn't we? You don't find that strange?' 

Scott said nothing. 

‘If the wing hadn't clipped the mountain ridge we would have made it to
Nepal and then onto China. Don't you believe Allah's saved us for a 
reason? How many bullets did we dodge just to get out of there?' 

‘We got lucky or unlucky, whatever, either way we are fucked now. It
certainly wasn't Allah who saved us or any other God for that matter.' 

‘There is only Allah, and I believe we will be rescued because he isn't
going to leave us stranded here. I mean look, we were starving and He 
provided meat.' 

‘And Abdul, what about him?' 

Irfan shuddered at the thought. 

'It must have been God's will too right? The angle of the slope must
have just been at the right degree for him to fall and crack his head 
open on that rock which God had deliberately placed nearby,' said 
Scott. 

‘He should never have gone back to that cursed plane. It was his own
greed that killed him. Not God's will.' 

‘Like I said we got lucky and he didn't. God has nothing to do with it.'


‘It wasn't luck---,' 

‘Yeah yeah Allah's will. Blah blah blah. Okay I get it, can we stop
talking about it. I only asked if you thought we were going to be 
rescued. I didn't need a fucking sermon.' 

‘Scott I'm sorry if I went on a bit. I don't believe we were meant to
die on that plane and I don't believe we are meant to die here. This is 
a test by God.' 

‘Well can you tell Him to hurry up and mark it already? I think I
deserve an A at least.' 

‘I shall pray for us both.' 

Irfan carefully collected the hundred of bundles of US dollars he'd made
and lined his sleeping bag. 

‘Why'd you count it?' asked Scott. 

‘Huh?' 

‘It's the same every day. It's become like a ritual.' 

‘It gives me something to do---,' said Irfan. 

Scott cut him off, ‘bullshit, you don't trust me do you?' 

‘What---course I do, I've spent the last three years working with you
haven't I?' said Irfan. 

Scott said nothing. 

‘I count it to keep me sane, gives my mind something to do. I trust you
with my life.' 

They sat in silence for a while. 

‘Ah what's the use of that cash? It won't do us any good anymore. We'll
never get to spend it.' 

‘Have a little faith my friend.' 

Scott didn't reply. 

A few weeks later Scott picked at the last of the fox meat. He had been
surprised that they had made it last this long. He methodically went 
through the remaining provisions. There were a handful of dried 
biscuits, a few preserved dates and some stale Bombay mix. 

After the robbery they had scrambled out of Pakistan in a hurry. This
food had been stashed by Micheal while he waited for them at the 
airfield. He had been a big lover of all things Asian and had wanted to 
take them back to his wife. He hadn't survived the plane crash but was 
feeding them from the grave. 

But it wouldn't be enough. Both men had been slowly getting weaker as
starvation crept in. If another animal didn't come around soon enough 
neither would be strong enough to go out and hunt. 

We need to get lucky again, thought Scott and went out. He surveyed the
area. The snow covered land was at once beautiful and deadly. There was 
nothing of sustenance for a man to survive. He shook his head, 
something must be done or neither one was going to live long enough to 
be rescued. The authorities were surely looking for them; they had 
gotten away with a huge quantity of American dollars. This money had 
been a loan to the Pakistani government from America. Money that would 
have eventually found its way into many corrupt politicians. Instead 
they had formulated a daring raid and took it all. Scott's gaze turned 
to Abduls grave. ‘Stupid bastard, why did you go back to that plane?' 

A few days later Irfan had slept poorly the previous night. Hunger had
kept him awake for most of it. He dreamt he saw his cousin Abdul. He 
was weeping silently near a well. Irfan approached him and placed a 
weary hand on his shoulder. Suddenly Abdul turned around. He had no 
face. It had rotten away. Irfan woke with a start, heart racing, 
confused as to where he was. He looked around; the cave was cold and 
dark. His sleeping bag was drenched in sweat. 

He gulped a few times trying to coat his dry throat in sticky saliva.
Reaching inside he picked up a wad of cash from his sleeping bag. It 
too was soaked in his sweat. What good is this money if we can't spend 
it on our loved ones? 

He let out a snort and stuffed the money back in the sleeping bag. Scott
who was sat besides the small fire must have heard Irfan shuffle around 
because he soon turned around. ‘Morning, sleep well,' he said. 

‘No, not really,' croaked Irfan, his throat still dry. The dream had
frightened him. 

Scott walked over and handed him a steaming bowl. Irfan looked at the
broth, thinking it was a mirage or hallucination. He inhaled the meaty 
fragrance and looked up in surprise. 

‘What's this?' said Irfan as he inspected the bowl of thin gruel. It had
the consistency of gravy with small unrecognisable brown lumps. 

‘Eat up before it gets cold.' 

‘See I told you Allah is gracious.' He began to slurp up the hot liquid.
It felt like the most delicious soup he had ever eaten. 

‘Yeah, I'll believe it when he sends one of his angels in a great big
helicopter to pick us up from this dreadful mountain.' 

Irfan scooped some of the meat into his mouth using his fingers and
swallowed hard. He had almost forgotten how to chew by now. The food 
just slipped down his throat. He ate greedily. 

‘This tastes better then that fox, what is it?' Finished, he licked the
metal bowl clean. 

‘You really want to know, last time you kicked up such a fuss over the
halal business.' 

Irfan nodded, unsure what the answer could be. 

‘Relax,' said Scott after a tender silence, ‘its goat.' 

‘Bollocks,' snorted Irfan and found himself laughing. ‘Don't tell me you
get goats climbing mountains now.' 

‘You've never seen the Discovery channel, do you?' 

Irfan cocked an eyebrow. 

‘Yeah, there are such things as mountain goats. They're called Ibex and
we got lucky again.' 

‘You're making this shit up, am I really eating or hallucinating.' 

‘You want some more?' 

Irfan nodded. Scott took his metal bowl and refilled it. Irfan ate in
silence until he'd finished his second helping. 

He looked up into Scotts eyes, ‘where's the rest of it?' 

‘What do you mean?' said Scott scratching his beard. He had never kept a
beard before and this one was irritating him to no end. 

‘The rest of the goat carcass---' 

Scott pushed a thin finger into Irfan's chest, ‘you think I'm trying to
cheat you?' Irfan pushed his hand back weakly. 

‘No I didn't mean that.' 

‘You ungrateful bastard! I bust my nuts out there in the blistering cold
trying to find us food to keep us alive. And you have got the bloody 
nerve to accuse me of cheating you.' 

‘Scott take it easy. I didn't accuse you of cheating me. If it wasn't
for you we'd probably have starved to death by now. I was just asking 
that's all. I just wondered whether this was all there was or was there 
anymore.' He gently put his hand on Scott's shoulder. Scott was 
breathing heavily. 

‘I've stashed it okay. It's under a pile of snow that'll act like a
freezer. We got greedy and ate the fox too quickly. But using the meat 
to make this soup will last us a while, I hope.' 

‘I'm sorry. Okay.' He patted Scott warmly. ‘It doesn't taste much like
goat.' 

‘It's because it's not in a korma with a side dish of pilau rice and
some fresh Peshwari naan.' 

Both men chuckled. The tension was broken. Scott started to walk away. 

‘Scott? 

‘Hmm?' 

‘Thanks. I really mean it.' 

Scott nodded his head in appreciation and walked to his sleeping bag. He
climbed in and rested his head on his arm. It was much thinner now and 
provided little cushioning. ‘It's your turn to tend to house keeping,' 
he said without looking up. 

Irfan didn't reply. He made his way to the fire and dropped his bowl. He
observed the makeshift rig Scott had created using metal poles from the 
aeroplane. It was just perfect to heat up broth, which Irfan assumed 
Scott had used to make it. 

Irfan wrapped his coat around his body tightly using the rope to hold in
the excess fabric and then began to dig up the ash. He scooped it up 
and started to dump it on the small hard stools at the back of the 
cave. It helped mask the strong smell of the urine. After learning the 
hard way Scott had pretty much decided he was not going to try to 
defecate outside. He had nearly got frostbite of his arse and couldn't 
sleep on his back for days after. 

Irfan went outside and dumped the stool and ash over the ridge. He
stared down into the abyss; it was a long way down. If I just jump now, 
it would be over quickly, thought Irfan. 

But then he shook that thought from his mind and turned to look over the
big ‘SOS' letters they had put together using bits of the aeroplane and 
parachute canvas. Snow had gathered on half of it and Irfan spent the 
next hour or so clearing it up. His lack of stamina meant the job took 
four times as long. 

He pushed the last stone back in place so that it gave a full stop to
the SOS. Irfan smiled at a job well done. Recently he had very little 
to smile about. Even counting the money everyday brought him no joy or 
‘grounding' as he liked to call it. Now, even if the authorities caught 
them and put them in jail he wouldn't even mind. All he cared about was 
seeing his family once more. In jail at least they would have visiting 
rights. 

A chilly wind picked up around him but Irfan didn't return to the
comfort of the fire in the cave. It must be a test by God, he decided. 
How much could he endure? Just when he was beginning to believe they 
were going to starve to death God had provided goat meat, his favourite 
kind of flesh. Scott had been right; he didn't have the stomach for 
butchery. Better that Scott did all the bloody stuff away from the 
cave. 

Scott came out and joined him, ‘you ok?' 

‘No, not really.' 

‘You've been out here a while, I was getting worried.' 

‘It's nothing. I just wanted to see a view other than the dark cramped
cave walls.' 

They both stood in silence. ‘Come on, it'll be dark soon and the
temperature will drop suddenly. We can't risk being out then.' Together 
they turned around and returned to the cave. 

A few weeks later Irfan was lying in his sleeping bag in a semi-comatose
state, unthinking, unfeeling. Scott was crouched besides the fire, 
stirring a bowl of thin gravy. He brought it to his lips, took a sip 
and almost spat it out again. The flesh was slowly rotting away. He 
could taste it now. He pinched some ash and sprinkled it into the gruel 
and let it bubble a while longer. He took another tentative sip and 
managed to keep it down. Their luck seemed to be running out. Hunting 
every day had yielded nothing and the rest of Michael's food was also 
gone. 

He crawled over to where Irfan was bedded and pushed the bowl near him.
‘Eat,' he said. 

Irfan remained unmoved. Scott shook him awake making him startled. He
looked at the thin weary face of Scott and then to the bowl. Quickly he 
slurped up the watery soup without tasting. It went down in one big 
gulp. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and then licked it. 

Irfan looked at the empty bowl and sighed, ‘is there anymore?' Scott
shook his head. 

‘We're going to die here aren't we?' 

Scott shook his head again. He didn't have anything to say. 

Irfan lay back down on his back and stared at the cave ceiling. 

‘Come on get up, keep to the routine, otherwise we will die here.' He
nudged Irfan constantly until he crawled out of the sleeping bag. Some 
of the wads of cash fell out with him but he didn't bother pushing them 
back in. He grabbed both bowls and went outside. Taking some snow in 
his gloved hand he began to wipe away the bowl. It didn't really need 
doing since both men usually licked every drop away leaving their 
feeding bowls clean. But he did it to maintain some resemblance of a 
routine. 

A high pitched unnatural noise made him look up to the skies. In the
distance he spotted a tint dot. Irfan tried to focus on the object, 
could it be a plane, he wondered. He got to his feet and started to 
jump and shout. This commotion brought out Scott from the cave. 

‘What's going on?' 

‘I---I think it's a fucking plane,' he gasped pointing to the sky. 

Scott followed his gaze and saw nothing. ‘What, where?' 

Irfan pointed excitedly but could no longer see or hear anything that
sounded like a plane. Could he be hallucinating now? ‘It was there, I 
swear to Allah.' He got to his knees and began sobbing. ‘I'm not making 
this shit up, I heard and saw a plane.' 

Scott patted his shoulder, ‘if there is a plane and somehow they seen
our SOS sign they will be back. We need to keep strong. Read your book, 
find the strength within.' 

Irfan wiped away the tears and got to his feet. He looked once more at
the sky but saw only clouds and blue sky. They returned to the cave. 

‘Fires getting low,' murmured Scott. 

Irfan collected a handful of cash and threw it on carelessly. 

‘What the fuck are you doing?' Scott jumped up and pulled out some of
the charred notes. He slapped at the bundle putting out the flames. 

‘It has no value, if we can't spend it.' Irfan chucked another bundle
into the flames. This time Scott let it burn watching the beautiful 
flames lick away at the notes. After a minute he threw back the charred 
notes in his hand. 

‘We will be rescued,' said Scott. ‘Tomorrow we'll build a fire on the
SOS stones. That will definitely attract their attention.' 

Irfan said nothing. Had he really seen a plane? Starvation did different
things to different people. Maybe he had hallucinated the whole thing. 
Who could really tell in the end, only he and not Scott had heard or 
saw anything. He needed something to focus on and now that he had 
burned most of his money he only had one thing. His Book, the Koran. He 
took it out and opened it, hoping the wise sayings of Mohammed the 
Prophet would bring him solace in the end. 

Scott bit his lip and then climbed into his sleeping bag. He pushed
himself so he was leaning against the wall. When Irfan read Scott did 
the only thing he was really good at, taking apart his rifle and 
putting it back together. Using a pipe cleaner he carefully pushed it 
in and out of the various nooks in the piece. 

Irfan put his book down and instead focused on the dancing fire.
Qurbani, or sacrifice as the Koran put it was important to all Muslims. 
Had he simply realised the only way home was to sacrifice the money he 
had looted? The last of the dollars was now burning to a cinder. God 
must be watching us, surely, he thought. So why won't he rescue us? He 
let these thoughts plague his mind before finally falling asleep. 

He woke up to the familiar smell of the watery gruel they had been
eating for the last few months. Quite surprised it had lasted as long 
he asked Scott, ‘this goat seems to be the only thing keeping us alive, 
how much is left?' 

‘Enough,' snorted Scott, who wasn't a morning person by any means. 

‘I mean will it last until we are rescued?' 

‘Doubtful, but not to worry everyday I go out and hunt. Something is
bound to show up Inshallah.' 

‘Don't say that!' 

‘What?' 

‘It just doesn't sound right coming out of your lips.' 

‘Are you kidding me, after all we've been through these last few months,
Inshallah is what is bothering you?' he laughed mirthlessly. 

It was a stupid thing to hold against Scott after all they had shared
more time together in one place than he had with his own brothers. 

‘Its nothing, well its just when you say it, I think you're taking the
piss.' Irfan picked up his bowl and stormed out of the cave. He was 
sick of Scott taking the piss out of his religion. He started to eat 
the broth, not much caring for the cold outside. Suddenly he stopped. 
An eyeball stared at him from the bottom of the bowl. 

‘It can't be,' he whispered. He was imagining things again. He opened
and closed his eyes a few times, the eyeball was still there. And it 
didn't look like a goat's eyeball. Suddenly Irfan felt sick, thin brown 
gravy erupted from his mouth and splashed across the snow. 

He heaved in shallow breaths unable to contemplate what was happening.
Irfan dumped the rest of the bowls contents on the vomit and then ran 
as fast as he could to the graveside. 

He found it recently disturbed. The snow around the head of the mound
was scattered like someone had pushed it back in haste. Irfan got to 
his knees and began to slowly dig. A few minutes later his fingers hit 
flesh and bone. Bracing himself he grasped the head and pulled upwards. 
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. The realisation hit him hard. 
He started to cry. ‘Oh God, no no no!' 

Abduls face was butchered. Only half of the flesh remained. This wasn't
the work of a predator scavenging in the snow. This flesh was cut using 
deliberate knife strokes in an attempt to make it last. Irfan didn't 
need to dig up the rest of the body to know that Scott most likely 
started with the fleshiest parts first. 

Just then Scott came to the graveside, ‘Irfan?' He put his hand on his
shoulder and squeezed gently. 

Irfan threw him off, ‘how could you do this?' 

‘What's the matter with you?' hissed Scott, ‘what the fuck are you
talking about?' 

‘Why is Abduls grave disturbed?' 

‘How would I know? There are predators here you know.' 

Irfan pointed to the skilled cuts adorning Abduls defiled body, ‘what
kind of teeth or claws made these type of cuts?' 

‘I don't know what you're talking about!' But even he didn't believe his
own words. 

‘Stop lying to me!' 

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' he repeated, his voice
quivering. He started to edge away. Irfan got up and grabbed him. 

Scott pushed him away, ‘get the fuck off me!' 

‘How long has it been going on?' 

Scott remained quiet. He looked at the grave and then back at Irfan's
face. ‘Long enough,' he said with a sigh, a huge weight suddenly 
lifting off his shoulders. 

‘You sick bastard!' cried Irfan. ‘How could you!' 

‘That meat was the only thing keeping us both alive in this wilderness.'


‘He isn't meat. You sick maniac.' 

‘Irfan---I would have told you before, but would you have eaten it?' 

He looked at him but Irfan was unable to meet his gaze. Tears welled up
in his eyes as he thought back to the hot broth he and Scott had filled 
their bellies for the last few months. 

‘I didn't think so. You had a hard time eating that fox. I didn't think
you would eat this meat. But I'm glad you know now. Come on.' 

‘It is not fucking meat! His name was Abdul. He was a person, a fucking
person. He had a wife and kids. People out there loved him and cared 
about him. Hell he was like my brother. How could you eat him! How 
fucking dare you!' 

‘We were starving to death.' 

‘That is no reason; that is just an excuse. God would have provided,
something would have come along.' 

‘I got tired waiting for your God to intervene.' 

‘Don't you say His name in vain.' 

‘Irfan you're over reacting. Take some time out and clear your head.
Think for once in your life. Not everything in this world is written in 
your precious book.' 

‘Fuck you Scott!' 

‘No Irfan, fuck you.' 

‘I won't let you do it.' 

‘Do what.' 

‘You came here to take more pieces of Abdul's flesh.' 

‘I came here to get us our supper tonight.' 

‘Stop calling him that.' 

Irfan lunged at Scott and threw him to the floor. He tumbled upon him
and punched him hard in the belly knocking the wind out of him. They 
fought hard for a few brief moments but tired easily. The thin cold air 
took away their breaths. 

He managed to climb on top of Scott and pin him down. He reached around
the snow and clutched at a rock and repeatedly bashed in Scott's head. 
Dull thuds resonated around the mountains. After a few moments he 
stopped panting hard. He turned and looked at his bloody hand, he 
hadn't grabbed a rock, it was Abduls rotting skull. 

Irfan fell besides the dead body of Scott, and cried hard. Tears rained
off his face and mixed with Scott's blood. He held Abduls head in his 
arms and cried himself out. ‘Oh God, what have I done.' The cold 
brought him back to his senses. He placed the head back into the grave 
and turned over to face Scott. He wasn't breathing; the blood had 
quickly become frozen on the man's brow. He shook Scott's body but he 
was very still. Dead still. 

‘Oh my God. Oh my God what have I done? I'm sorry I'm so sorry. Scott.
Scott please don't die. Oh God' 

He sat besides Scott crying. He wasn't sure how long he had sat crouched
there. An overhead sound of an approaching helicopter disturbed his 
lamentations. It got louder as it drew near him. Irfan looked above at 
the heavens. He was saved, at last he realised. 

‘Allah be praised,' he said as he got up and stared as the speck grew
ever larger. ‘But after what I have done how can I show my face ever 
again to my people.' 

He walked slowly back into the cave and closed the canvas behind him.
Moments later a single gunshot shot was fired. 

THE END


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