He threw the plastic back over the box, stuffed the bundle partially inside his jacket, and began to climb. The bulky package sticking partway out of his jacket made it difficult. Once, his hand slipped on the freezing metal rung, and he hung sideways for a moment, out over the dark abyss of the well. He swung his hand back to the ladder, continued climbing.
By the time he reached the top of the ladder, he was panting, his breath making explosive gray puffs in the air. He climbed awkwardly out of the well. Setting the bundle down, he lowered the hatch, spun the wheel.
His hands were freezing, almost completely numb.
He grabbed the gloves and started running toward the fence, the bundle tucked under one arm as he struggled to pull his gloves on with his teeth as he ran. The cold air was beginning to burn his throat, his eyes filling with tears and making it difficult to see.
By the time he reached the fence, the gloves were over his hands, and he was thankful he didn't have to touch the bare, cold metal with his fingers.
But what if the fence current was back on?
He shrugged off the thought. He'd know soon enough anyway.
Then he realized he had a problem: he could never climb the fence holding the bundle.
He backed up a few feet, tossed the bundle over the fence, then launched himself onto it and began to climb. The only sound now was the wind and the rattle of the fence as he clamored up it.
How much time? his mind thundered. How much time?!
He jumped from the top of the fence, fell, picked himself up and went over to the bundle. He bent down to pick it up, then stopped. Only two inches from the bundle a thin metal bar protruded above the light covering of snow. He realized it was probably the trip sensor for a mine.
He reached down and snatched the bundle up, carefully stepped around the mine sensor, and began running again. He felt the Makarov thumping against his side in the parka pocket, could hear his blood pounding in his ears. The tears in his eyes blinded him. He stumbled, went sprawling on the ground, the bundle clattering a few feet away.
He rose up, grabbed the bundle. All about his feet he could see the tiny, dull-gray tips of more mine sensors. And now he was disoriented. Which hill was the right one? Then he saw the faint outlines of the road that bordered the minefield.
He forced himself to run again, sprinting, lifting his feet in their clumsy boots, trying to make himself lighter, faster.
He fought the urge to jump toward the boundary of the road; he didn't have the strength, anyway. His feet were like lead, his chest was burning, the cold air making his throat tight, the wind seeming like a living thing that wanted to knock him down, blow him back toward the fence, back into the mines that must any second now become active.
And then he was across the road.
Benjamin fell to his knees, gasping for breath, the bundle clanging as it dropped from his hands. A light snow was falling now, the flakes landing on his upturned face. A dim grayish glow was appearing in the east as the sun worked to force its light through the low-hanging clouds. For a moment, he stayed down on all fours, fighting to catch his breath, to fight off the numbness from the cold, to still the pounding in his head.
After a minute, he straightened, slid the parka sleeve back from his wrist, looked at his watch.