'GANS ON ICE

by Lucille D'ecoupage

Farthing and Dickinson were, in a strangely comparative way, almost comfortable.

They had stripped the other two bare and made use of their clothes. They had dragged the remains some hundred yards and buried them under rocks on the shore of an island lest they attract some scavenging beast. They took more stones and piled them around the outside of the overturned launch, having not the strength to drag the boat to the shore. They would winter here, await the spring thaw. Five, six months... under a dinghy in sub-zero temperatures with no light and nothing to eat.

Well, almost nothing.