Mikkel pushed Emil's head down between his knees. "Deep breaths, kid. Deep breaths."
Emil's sobs were frantic, and his breathing fast and shallow. Mikkel pressed a big hand over Emil's mouth. "Breathe slower. Slow, Emil. Slow. Breathe slow and deep." Emil struggled to obey, tears still running down his face. He was shaking all over. Mikkel kept on talking to him. "I'm going to get you a blanket now, okay? I need you to keep your head between your knees and keep breathing slow and deep. I'll be right back."
Tuuri looked up from the book she was studying, her voice slightly muffled by the mask. "Are Emil and Sigrun okay?"
Mikkel shook his head. "Something happened." He took the blanket from the bed and headed back towards Emil, adding over his shoulder, "Keep your mask on."
"Wha-" Reynir began,
"Keep your mask on," Mikkel told him in Icelandic, "Something happened."
It was a while before Mikkel felt Emil was stable enough that he could be left on his own. He was washed, warm, and breathing easily now, asleep on the bottom bunk, near the heater. Lalli was perched in the corner, watching Emil with wide eyes.
Tuuri was trying to hold back her tears. "What happened?" she asked, "Is Sigrun-"
"She might not be," Mikkel said, strapping his medical supply belt on, "I'm going to go and see. Don't open the door until you see it's me, and keep your mask on." He paused, then said slowly, "If I'm not back by noon tomorrow, take the tank back to the tunnel. Leave the camp here."
"But-"
"That was an order." Mikkel took a deep breath. "Don't ask Emil any questions. Don't let Reynir go outside, and you don't either. Listen to your cousin, and if he says you need to leave, you leave. Do you understand?" Tuuri nodded. "Good." Mikkel checked that he had everything, then picked up his gun. "I'll try to get back before sundown."
The rain had stopped. Mikkel moved as quickly and as silently as he could, on the alert for trolls or beasts. Before long he was at the building and went in carefully, looking for Sigrun. Maybe she was okay. Maybe she had just been cornered somewhere and needed someone to get her out. Maybe she was unconscious, but not hurt too badly. Maybe he could still save her. Maybe---he saw her then.
Mikkel knelt down next to the body. Sigrun's eyes were still open, her features frozen in a relieved smile. The bleeding was minimal---the shot must have gone straight through her heart. At least it had been an instantaneous death.
Mikkel covered his mouth. It was sixteen years since he had seen his first casualty, and it never got any better. Just easier to forget.
Taking a deep breath, he carefully closed the sightless eyes, then began removing the items from the corpse, unbuckling the belts and going through the pockets. Finding a folded pohtograph he carefully smoothed it out and looked at it: it was a bearded man and a lady with braids, holding a small girl between them. A family portrait. Mikkel swore softly, refolding the picture and tucked it safely away in an inside pocket.
When he had removed everything of value, he stood up and looked around. Emil's gun was lying nearby, and he gathered that up as well, clicking the safety on and slinging it over his shoulder. Then pulling out a canister of lighter fluid, he poured it over Sigrun---Sigrun's body---and lit a match.
It was protocol to stay in order to insure that the body finished burning completely, but Mikkel didn't give a blank about protocol right now.
As he started to head out of the building, Mikkel saw the bags. They were full and strapped up, ready to go.
Mikkel stared at them, then slowly, deliberately, began to swear. He swore for a long time then stopped, took a deep, shuddering breath, and gathered up the bags as well.
He estimated they weighed about 20 kg, combined.
20 kg of books for one Norwegian captain.
"Tuuri, it's Mikkel. Let me in." The door slid open and Mikkel got in, dumping everything in an untidy heap on the ground. "Don't touch anything. Get back into the sleeping area while I decontaminate." Tuuri obeyed silently as Mikkel began peeling off his gloves and boots and bundling the things he had brought into the decontamination unit.
Tuuri looked up as Mikkel came in, looking twenty years older. She had been crying. Lalli was sitting next to her, his hand comfortingly on her back. Reynir was cross-legged on the cot, watching with wide frightened eyes.
"What-what happened?" Tuuri asked.
Mikkel checked on Emil. The boy was still asleep. Then he shook his head.
"Accident," was all he said. "She was dead when I got there."
