“This is the end of the swamp,” Doc stated, wiping off his stick on a damp handkerchief. “We’ve reached deep water. Mayhap a lake, or even the original river of this area before the nukes reshaped the landscape.”
Swatting at flies, Ryan studied the raft. “I think we lost enough supplies that it’ll float with all of us on board.”
“Only one way to find out,” J.B. said with a grin, dropping his rope.
Pushing the raft ahead of them, the companions trod water until no longer able to touch bottom. Carefully, they climbed onto the craft and saw that the salty water washed over the logs, but they stayed afloat.
“Some of us could swim alongside,” Dean suggested, precariously balanced on the very edge of the raft.
Harshly, Ryan vetoed that idea. “Everybody stays on board. There could be anything swimming around down below.”
“Bullets can’t go very far through water,” J.B. commented. “Nothing can, really.”
“So we move fast,” Ryan stated. “J.B., use your shotgun. I’ll use the Steyr.”
The Armorer stared at the water with scorn. “I guess we have to.”
Going to opposite sides of the raft, the men flipped their longblasters over and started using the wooden stocks as oars, steadily stroking in unison. The others kept watch as the men slowly paddled away from the swamp and into the hidden sea. Despite the crudeness of the oars, they soon built up a good speed, and the dot of greenery expanded to a wide strip. Soon they could discern a faint smell of living plants.
“Land,” Krysty said, sighing. “I’ll cook dinner if somebody else gets the wood.”
“A deal, dear lady,” Doc said. “Chopping wood will be a delight after dragging the Cornucopia through mud for ten miles.”
“But, once we get to dry land,” Dean said, “this raft will be useless. Too bad there isn’t some way to keep the cargo with us. I like having enough to eat and spare ammo.”
“Too true, lad,” Doc rumbled.
“Got three wheels,” Jak suggested, thumping the bottom of the raft.
Paddling in easy strokes, J.B. chewed the inside of his cheek, “Yeah, mebbe. If there’s enough wood, we could make a cart and roll the stuff along. But we’d be traveling slower than shit in winter.”
“Better dump the excess, and only take what we can carry,” Ryan decided, muscles rippling in his powerful arms as he pulled the blaster through the water. Thankfully, the Steyr had a plastic stock, but J.B. was doing irreparable harm to the tiger wood of his scattergun. “If we travel too slowly, the blue shirts will find us, rather than the other way around, and they have too many advantages as it is.”
Resting his back against the canvas mound, Doc barked a bitter laugh. “Too much ammunition. I daresay this is a problem we have never faced before.”
“Hush,” Mildred said urgently, staring into the murky depths. “I saw a disturbance underwater.”
“Snake?” Jak asked, drawing his blaster.
“Could be.”
Ryan and J.B. continued paddling, but watched the surface of the water carefully for any unusual movements.
Suddenly, a hundred of the beings resembling the humanoid they had encountered earlier silently rose from the water, completely surrounding the raft and its startled occupants. Each was armed with a long spear and what seemed to be a needle-thin knife made out of intricately carved bone.
“It’s a trap!” J.B. shouted, hefting the shotgun and pumping a round into the chamber. But before he could act, the strange beings turned their backs on the humans, forming a line around the raft, their bamboo spears leveled as if for battle.
“What the—? They’re here to protect us,” the Armorer said in realization, lowering the scattergun.
“We do have permission to be here,” Ryan noted, placing the Steyr on his lap.
“Protect us from what?” Mildred demanded suspiciously. Few folks these days knew the word honor, and even fewer obeyed its simple rules.
“Look there!” Krysty pointed. Something large was moving through the lake, coming straight toward the raft, the water foaming white in its wake.
The mutie from the swamp rose into view as smoothly as if it were riding an elevator. Excited, the creature waved its arms and gestured at the land, clicking so fast the noise was like a stick dragged across a picket fence.