Gregor had scavenged blankets and sheep skins, even a couple of ex-military sleeping bags from when army patrols still made it as far as the Wall. Improvised wooden shutters and squares of tarpaulin kept out the worst of the knife cold wind.
‘Home sweet home,’ he’d said, blind eye shining pale in the torchlight. ‘You’re lucky to have been posted here, man,’ he said. ‘Best watchtower on the Wall.’
That night he showed me how to operate the night vision camera, what to look for in the grainy green image.
‘Always scan the ground,’ he said, drawing deep on a roll-up. ‘They try to dodge the cameras by keeping low.’
A flicker of fear bumped in my chest. ‘They’re clever enough to avoid the camera?’
He flashed a jagged smile. ‘Don’t believe what they teach you at school, Con. These mutts are smart.’