If he missed, he would be torn to shreds on the fence.īond thrust his knife between his teeth and his hand dived for the crook of the wire spear. He would have to let go with one arm to stoop and get within range. Ten minutes later, Bond, his wet rags clinging to his scrubbed, stinging body and his hair slicked back out of his eyes, climbed over the top of the headland.

All he needed was an ounce of hope, an ounce of reassurance that it was still worth while trying to stay alive.

Only, with Bond, the two halves were not yet dead. Bond was like a cut worm, the two halves of which continue to jerk forward although life has gone and been replaced by the mock life of nervous impulses. It moved alongside his body, or floated above it, keeping enough contact to pull the strings that made the puppet work. The thinking, feeling apparatus of Bond was no longer part of his body. The stinking, bleeding, black scarecrow moved its arms and legs quite automatically. There were iron ship-noises and the sound of water splashing into the sea from a bilge pump. He could hear the changing beat of its engine. Then Bond sat down and meticulously went over the photograph that was in his brain.įrom close by came various sounds and echoes. Apart from aiming the canvas mouth of the conveyor, there was nothing else for anyone to do. On the other side of the mountain men would be working, feeding the guano to the conveyor-belt that rumbled away through the bowels of the rock, but on this side no one was allowed and no one was necessary. There was no other sound, no other movement, no other life apart from the watch at the ship's wheel, the trusty working at the crane, and Doctor No, seeing that all went well. The morning breeze feathered the deep-water anchorage, still half in shadow beneath the towering cliffs, the' conveyor-belt thudded quietly on its rollers, the crane's engine chuffed rhythmically.

Brave frontier memes