"It's not hard," said Rick. "Dig a small entrance tunnel at the base of the drift and enlarge the interior cavity to fit the two of us. Just don't collapse the roof while you're digging it."
"The snow feels pretty firm," said Con. "I don't think that'll be a problem." Rick dumped the wood near the drift and hurried off to retrieve Joe. By the time he returned, it was getting difficult to see. Rick started a small fire with some of the driftwood, setting aside the rest for the next morning. While Con warmed her frigid hands, he finished the snow cave. Afterward, they crouched over the liny blaze until it was only embers, then retreated to the cave.
It was so dark by then, as Rick huddled with Con be-neath the snow, he could not see her face inches from his. "Con," he whispered, "I love you. I loved you even back on the island."
"You're not saying that because you think we're not going to make it?"
"No," he said. "I just want you to know how I feel."
"I already know," whispered Con. "This sounds like a cliche, but I think we were destined for each other. I've the strangest feeling—like I've always known you. Rick, we're going to spend the rest of our lives together."
Rick softly kissed Con and prayed that the rest of their lives would be longer than one night. A FAINT, GRAY light filtered through the snow. Rick woke, stiff and frigid. The first thing he did was to see if Con was breathing. "Con, wake up. It's our last day." Con opened her eyes.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Cold," Con replied groggily.
"I'm going to get the fire started," said Rick as he pushed his way through the outer wall of the snow cave. The morning air was colder than the inside of the cave, but no snow fell from the dark sky. He brushed the night's snow off the driftwood and grabbed some down and tinder from Con's pack. By the time Con stretched and hobbled over to Rick, flames were spreading from the tinder.
"What a night," said Con. "My left foot tingled and hurt after you went to sleep and kept me up. Do you know you snore?"
"I do now."
"Well, my foot's fine this morning. It's not even cold."
Rick anxiously glanced at Con's sandaled foot. The outer sock on it looked icy. "Can you wiggle your toes?" he asked.
Con looked upset. "No."
Rick gently felt her foot. It felt hard and cold beneath the frozen socks. "You have frostbite."
"What should I do?" asked Con in a frightened voice. "Rub snow on it? Thaw it by the fire?"
"Just leave it alone. As long as it's frozen, you can walk on it. When we're rescued, it can be treated. It'll be fine."
"And if we're not rescued?" Con looked at Rick and caught him wiping his eye. "Well. . ." she said in a very quiet voice, "then it won't really matter."
They lingered by the fire, trying to get warm and to steel themselves for their last day of travel. Finally, Con said, "Let's go."
Rick walked over to Joe, who was covered with a thin shroud of snow. He hefted up the two poles. As soon as they touched his shoulders, he felt as if they had been there for hours. The slow march to the sea had begun.
The air was clear of snow, and it wasn't long before they spotted what looked like a series of low hills ahead.
"The mounds left by the tsunami!" cried Rick. Their spir-its lifted, and their pace quickened. Still, it took hours to reach the mounds, for the trail was rough, and it chal-lenged their limited stamina. When they finally ap-proached them, they could see they were made of boulders, black mats of seaweed, entire trees, and other debris piled high by the giant wave. In many places, the undulating piles towered several stories high.
The flood had cleared a pathway through the debris, and Rick and Con stayed close to the riverbank. A harsh, cold wind arose and blew at their backs as if to inflict one last measure of suffering before they ended their journey.
Finally, they reached the outermost mound. The wave had uprooted miles of forest and deposited a bounty of wood. Some of it was burnt, but much was intact. Rick and Con looked at it in awe, trying to envision what force could do such a thing. Some of the boulders were the size of automobiles. Immense trees were shattered into splin-ters, while others seemed delicately plucked like flowers and left to wither with all their leaves intact. Jumbled among the remains of the forests were those of the sea. The bones of a mosasaur ornamented a pine. A broken ammonite shell, over six feet in diameter, lay like a dis-carded beach toy.
When they rounded the mound, the sea lay before them less than a mile away. The sloping landscape leading to the shore had been reshaped by the tsunami and left bar-ren and rippled. Only a few mounds of debris, smaller than the ones they had just passed, broke its emptiness. One was a huge pile that consisted mostly of unburnt wood. Rick pointed it out to Con.
"That could be our signal fire," he said.
"And Joe's funeral pyre," said Con, her eyes filling with tears. "What a light it'll make." They dragged Joe's body to the mound and Rick laid down his burden. Joe had aided him one last time—he had helped get Con to the sea.
"I want a closer look at the island," said Con
"So do I," said Rick.
The persistent wind had swept the ground of snow. At first, it was easy walking. Then, they encountered sandy patches that were as tiring to cross as snow. Farther on, the sandy patches grew into undulating dunes. Each seemed taller than the preceding one, and each was more exhausting to climb. Finally, they ascended a twenty-foot-high dune and had an unobstructed view. The shore was only forty yards away. Gentle waves broke on the dark sand, their foam resembling lace on velvet. Beyond the surf lay the sea. It was a dull pewter under a dark slate sky. Close to the horizon, the black spire of Mon-tana Isle bridged the two.
They strained their eyes for some sign that the island was occupied, but detected none.
"Do you think anyone's there?" asked Con.
"It's too far away to tell," replied Rick. "We'll find out tonight when we light our signal fire. In the darkness, no one could possibly miss it."
The wind momentarily shifted, and the cold air turned heavy with the stench of putrescence. The foulness made Con nauseous, yet Rick's curiosity drove him to approach the shoreline and investigate. The darkness in the sand was the stain left by a soup of decay. The waves were oily with it. Before him was stark evidence that acid rain, darkness, and rot had done their worst to the shallow sea. It was dead. 35
CON AND RICK SLOWLY TRUDGED BACK TO THE DEBRIS
pile, knowing it would be their last journey. The wind was in their faces on the return trip, and, though it was stingingly cold, it cleared the stench of the sea from their noses. As they walked, the calmness of resignation came over them both. They had done everything they could. Once they lit the signal fire, their fates were beyond their control.
They reached the mound where they had left Joe and took shelter behind it from the wind. Rick pulled wood from the pile and stacked it a few feet from a large tree trunk at the mound's base to make a fire. He lit it and soon had a huge blaze going. He and Con sat on the ground, leaned against the tree trunk, and warmed themselves. Rick put his arm around Con's shoulder as they watched the flames.
"I'm going to need help getting Joe on top of this mound," he said. "But rest as long as you want. There's no hurry."
"I'll rest better once it's done," said Con. "I need to do this soon, while I still can." Rick looked at Con, so pale and thin, and feared she was already preparing for death. 'Tonight we'll really light up this place," he said. "They'll come running." Con simply nodded.
After they had rested a bit and were warm, they looked for a means to get Joe atop the mound of wood. On one side, a tree trunk formed a ramp leading to the top of the fifteen-foot-high pile. It was the only reason they succeeded in rais-ing Joe to the top. When they finished, Con collapsed from the effort and lay staring blankly at the fire. Rick warmed some water in a seashell and held it to her lips. She drank, smiled wanly, then went to sleep.