Cold Skin Page #4

When we planned the story..

When lay me down.

Look at us. We cannot survive

another assault like that.

We're running out of supplies..

Running out of ammunition,

running out of will.

Where you going?

Hey! what is it?

There's a boat.

No!

Gruner knows how to defend himself.

Gruner rules the world.

Gruner wants what he has

and has, only what he wants.

Ungrateful little..

- Get outa my way boy.

- Please Gruner.

No more people.

I see what you are.

A sad pathetic failure

of a misanthrope.

You're too afraid

to let your friends leave!

Too afraid to kill your enemies.

Afraid of having

no one left to hate.

arguing

F*** you ...

Look.

Look.

What has he done to you this time?

You call this..

A boat.

You see?

What?

I found a rowboat.

I know of it.

Sorry, what?

Why didn't you say so?

Wouldn't do you no good. I'm sure

you'll make it off my island,

and you'll be taken by hypothermia,

starvation, storm.

Most likely end up as toadfood,

but hey, who am I to deny you

the right to choose how you die?

- Where'd it come from?

- Along with some Portuguese.

- Shipwreck?

- Tremendous storm.

Came to grief in the night.

And I'm sure you did everything

you could to save them.

I did what I could.

Those who made it to shore, were set

upon trying to reach the lighthouse.

Nothing left of them by the morning.

Dragged back out to the depths.

What were they doing so far

from commercial routes?

Was an illegal ship.

Dynamite smugglers.

Found some crates,

washed up ashore.

No good though, all waterlogged.

- You want to dive that ship.

- We recover the dynamite.

Repair the rowboat, head out

in the morning at low tide

when it's safest.

You're an idiot.

What is it 'bout blowing up

a thousand toads you don't like?

Suicide mission, I'm not

going down in that water.

Scared?

I'll do it.

- All I require from you

is to pump my air.

- Won't work.

I'm talking about toad extermination.

No.

I changed my mind.

We leave right away.

Remember, one tug on the rope,

everything's fine.

Two, load is secured.

Three..

Three ...

The second line is too close

to the lighthouse.

At this distance, the toads

will be packed in nice and tight,

like a can of sardines.

We'll end up perched

on the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

The austral summer is fading timidly,

but with grandeur.

Now we are inexorably heading

toward the winter,

or rather the darkness.

Time is a relative idea.

Drops suspended from a spider web

for centuries, before it falls.

Sometimes, however,

a week, passes in the blink

of an eye.

Come inside.

Three weeks. Three weeks

and nuthin'.

- We can't eat that garbage.

- Gruner!

She told them!

You told your friends, huh?

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