30
NO ONE CONSIDERED SLEEPING, DESPITE HAVING BEEN UP
all night. Rick lit a fire on the ledge so they could have warmth and light as they waited for the sky to brighten. While Joe stood guard with the gun, Rick climbed down to retrieve the pot and to pluck and butcher the nightstalker. By the time that task was done, light had returned to the sky. Joe took some pieces of the nightstalker and dropped them into the pot in which water boiled. "It's only proper to serve our visitor," he said cheerfully.
"That raid was a sign we need to head out," said Rick.
Joe's cheerfulness left him. "I wish we got all those sneak-ing bastards," he said. "I don't fancy camping out with them. Maybe they were after us last night."
"They were after our store of meat, not us," said Rick.
"Besides, predators are territorial. We'll leave them behind when we go. The nightstalkers we encounter on our journey will be naive about guns and humans."
"That's good to hear," said Joe, not sounding convinced.
"Are we leaving today?" asked Con.
"There are still some last-minute preparations to make," said Rick. "We'll go when we're ready. We're not being chased out."
"No," said Con in a distant voice, remembering the yellow-brown eyes. "Of course, we aren't."
"Joe," said Rick, "do you know what a travois is?"
"Isn't that what the Indians used to drag their stuff?"
"Yeah, two long, trailing poles with a platform in between. Do you think you could make some for us?"
"Sounds easy enough."
"Great," said Rick. "Con, could you turn the two ponchos into a tent?"
"I'd have to cut them up," she said. "Won't we need them later?"
"We'll need a tent more in the snow," said Rick. "It won't rain again until it gets warm. By then, we'll be gone."
"I'll start unraveling some thread," she said.
"Good," said Rick. "I'm going to smoke what's left of the nights talker." Despite their exhaustion, they worked most of the day pre-paring for the journey to the sea, napping only briefly. As darkness came upon them, it was clear they were spending their last night on the ledge. They made the evening fire extravagantly warm, for they intended to burn all the wood they couldn't take with them on the travoises. The comfort and festiveness of the blaze made the prospect of leaving the ledge even more melancholy. As crude as it was, it had be-come home. The fact that it no longer felt safe did not di-minish their sense of loss. At times, Rick thought Con was on the verge of crying, and she clung to him after dinner, almost like a child seeking reassurance. He was aware that he could not fathom the nightmare she had endured alone in the cold, dark world. Yet tomorrow, he would lead her back into it. There was enough wood to have a small blaze throughout the night. They had agreed to keep guard during the dark hours, in case the nightstalkers returned. Rick theorized that the nightstalkers' sensitive eyes could see in the early night and early morning, when humans were still blind. Those were the most dangerous times, and he volunteered for those watches.
RICK STARED AT the semicircle of snowy ground that was dimly illuminated by the fire. The only movement was the lightly falling snow. Occasionally, he heard Con moan in the throes of a nightmare. Otherwise, it was si-lent. He imagined their upcoming journey and pondered their chances of being rescued. They seemed very small. Joe doesn't believe there are any, he thought. Yet, what other choices are there? Rick could think of none. He had an additional worry. It was in the form of a nagging question. Is Joe hiding something? Does he know more about the island than he's letting on? He had come to trust Joe, and it bothered him that he would even have such questions. Nevertheless, they would not go away.
Although Rick had assured Joe and Con that the night-stalkers had only been after the meat supply, they worried him also. He knew mammals were their natural prey. We're safe because there were no mammals like humans in the Cretaceous, he told himself. They won't think of us as prey. Yet, as a scientist, he knew such reasoning was unsound. How can I know what those animals think? It was a question, like so many others, for which he had no answer.
LIGHT RETURNED AS Rick finished the last watch. The light snow that had fallen throughout the night continued to fall. The loaded travoises below the ledge were cov-ered with an inch of flakes. Rick built up the fire and placed a pot of water upon it. When it boiled, he threw in the last of the fresh meat. It was frozen and took a while to cook. When breakfast was ready, he woke Con and Joe. They ate silently until Joe spoke. "Con," he said, "I've been watching you. You're not eating enough."
"I'm not hungry," said Con.
"Don't give me that," retorted Joe. "I know you better than that. Rick, talk some sense to this girl."
"You won't be helping us by not eating," said Rick. "We all need to be at our peak for this journey."
"I'm eating," replied Con. "I eat as much you and Joe combined."
"And you're losing weight," said Rick. "I can see it in your face. No short rations on this trip. Promise me. You'll need food to keep warm."
"I promise," said Con.
"Good," said Joe. He went to the bag of smoked meat and pulled out two pieces. "I'll believe you when you eat these."
Con nibbled at the meat at first, but soon she aban-doned the pretense that she wasn't hungry and wolfed the rest down.
When Con finished eating, she, Joe, and Rick made their last-minute preparations for the journey. Con slipped on a sock she had made from a scrap of poncho over the socks on her sandaled foot. They placed their extra clothing in a single duffel bag. The load was small because they were wearing most of their clothes already. They packed the meat spit and its holder along with the pot. Rick secured the meat supply to a travois, then cov-ered it with conifer bough bedding. The rest of the sup-plies had been previously loaded. They wrapped rag scarves around their heads, and Con handed out mittens she had made from socks stuffed with feathers. Joe slung the gun over his back. Everyone grabbed a spear. It was time to leave. As they left the canyon, each made their good-bye in their own way. Con made hers with quiet tears.
The dim light and the falling snow made it hard to see very far, not that there was much to look at. The fire and the flood that followed it had scoured the land of all but a few blackened stumps. Even those were disappearing beneath snow. The view had the bleak sterility of the arctic. The brown river marking the way to the sea was the most prominent landmark in this austere, trackless country. Following it was not difficult. The snow was not yet deep, and it aided them in dragging the travoises over the hardening ground.
They walked for several hours before stopping to eat and rest. Afterward, they continued their journey. They left the valley behind them as they crossed an open plain. There, fire had also cleared the land. The few trees they encountered had been reduced to blackened trunks, stand-ing like lonely monoliths in an abandoned graveyard. Several hours passed before they saw another brown line in the distance to their left.
"Damn," said Rick, "a tributary! We're trapped in the fork."
"Looks like a detour," said Joe.
"Maybe not," said Rick. "Let's take a look."
Within fifteen minutes, they were standing by the other river. It was only sixty feet across and flowed sluggishly. Rick paced along its bank, studying the river carefully. "It doesn't look too deep," he said finally.
"It looks deep enough," replied Joe.
"Only one way to find out," said Rick. "Con, could you look the other way?" He removed his shoes and placed them on a travois.
"Why? What are you doing?" asked Con.