The silence pleased them. Only now and again did something occur to them as they walked. Aymee was remarking with a chuckle, ‘Think of all the industry and machinery it took to land us here. And you could say we’re back in a pastoral setting!’ He clasped her arm to halt her. Their eyes had adjusted to the near-dark; they clearly saw the figure lying sprawled ahead of them. They were astonished. They hurried over to it. The figure wore an air mask. As Aymee was about to take the man’s pulse, the figure rolled over and said weakly, ‘Dying … my Maker. Following our Saviour.’ He began to choke, his air supply failing. Rooy pulled off his own mask, and alternated holding it to the other man’s face then his own, so that they could take turns having access to oxygen. The man groaned. Struggling, he managed the words, ‘Too late.’ ‘Let’s get him on our shoulders and drag him home.’ As Rooy was speaking, he heaved the man more or less upright.
