It was Abud. When so many better prolats had perished, he was alive
and whole.

We got out, crawling under the key-boards till we could make a dash
for the door. We emerged into a world ablaze with the light of many
fires, and reverberating with the far off crashing of destruction. To
the right we could see the tumbled remains of what a short hour before
had been our barracks. Two digging machines were still ponderously
moving about among the ruins, pounding down their heavy buckets
methodically, reducing the concrete structure to a horrible dead
level. Ten score prolats had been sleeping there when I left.

As we rushed into the open, the machines turned and made for us; but
they had not been built for speed, and we easily outdistanced them.
The rest of that day will always remain a dim haze to me. I can
remember running, running, Abud's broad form always in the lead. I can
remember long minutes of trembling under tangled underbrush, while
from above sounded the burring of an air machine searching ceaselessly
for us. I can remember seeing at last the tall white ramparts of the
Glacier. Then a blackness swallowed me up, hands tugged at me, and I
knew no more....

* * * * *

The great white waste of hummocky ice dazzled under the blinding sun.
My eyes were hurting terribly. There was a great void in my stomach.
For two days I had not eaten.

Keston, tottering weakly at my side, was in an even worse state. His
trembling hand could scarcely hold the primitive bone-tipped spear.
God knows I had difficulty enough with mine.

Yet, tired, hungry, shivering as we were, we forced our dragging feet
along, searching the interminable expanse for sign of polar bear or
the wild white dogs that hunted in packs. We had to find flesh--any
kind--to feed our shriveled stomachs--or go under.

Keston uttered a weak shout. I looked. From behind a frozen hummock a
great white bear padded. He saw us, sniffed the air a moment, then
turned contemptuously away. He must have sensed our weakness.

Almost crying in his eagerness, Keston raised his spear and cast it
with what strength he had at the animal that meant food and warmth for
our bodies.

The weapon described a slow arc, and caught the shaggy bear flush in
the shoulder. But there had been no force behind the throw. The
sharpened bone tip stuck in the flesh, quivered a bit, and dropped
harmlessly to the ice.

Aroused, the creature whirled about. W