“Sure thing,” Krysty said, finally letting go of his fingers. “You just sleep. Everything’ll be fine, lover.”
He felt the clumsy raft rock as everyone stepped off onto the lush grass on the shore.
His leg felt comfortable, tightly bound, and he flexed it experimentally, wincing at the stab of fresh pain. But he’d been shot and stabbed often enough to know that this wasn’t too bad a wound. He began to think back to other times when he’d suffered from a bout of lead poisoning and quickly drifted off into a warm and comfortable darkness.
WHEN HE WOKE UP, starting from sleep with a momentary anxiety that he didn’t know where he was, Ryan realized quickly that the raft was moving again. He was alone in the cabin, though he could hear the murmur of conversation from outside on the deck. When he checked his wrist chron, he found that it was eighteen minutes after four in the afternoon.
His leg felt less painful, and the shock of the shooting was already fading away.
“Where we going?” he called, his voice much stronger.
Krysty ducked in out of bright sunshine, blinking in the gloom. “You feeling better, lover?”
“Some. Where we going?”
“Where the river takes us. South. Just south.”
Chapter Twelve
He slept again, not waking until the sun was setting away to the west, beyond some high, wooded bluffs that lined the Tennessee River.
Ryan could hear the creak of the steering oar and the rippling of the fast-flowing water.
“How’re we doing?” he croaked. “Anyone got any good drinkin’ water out there?”
Jak appeared in the doorway, moving stiffly, carrying a battered metal cup filled with fresh water and a handful of mixed berries, which he offered to Ryan.
“Rich land,” he said. “Plenty of game if we need it. Saw deer and pigs.”
Ryan sat up, wincing as the healing wound pulled. “Thanks,” he said. “How’re you feeling, Jak?”
“Sore. Got bruise like stormy Colorado sunset.” He knelt slowly. “You?”
“Better than I was. Anything happened on the run south? Seen anyone?”
“Old man fishing with no line on rod. No ears, neither. Called out ‘hello’ to us, real cheerful.”
“No danger?”
The albino shook his head slowly, the tumbling veil of long snowy hair seeming to fill the gloomy cabin with its brightness.
“Nothing.”
“We mooring up soon?”
“Probably.”
Conversation had never really been one of Jak’s strong points.
“Thanks for water and fruit.” The berries had been delicious, tangy and sharp, taking away the furry taste from his mouth and tongue.
“Welcome.”
The teenager crept out, leaving Ryan alone again. But a few moments later Krysty came in.
“How’s the wounded hero? Been snoring like Doc while we sailed along.”
“Doesn’t feel bad. Wouldn’t back me to run against a hungry stickie.”
“It’s been a beautiful afternoon.” She squatted at his side. “Jak bring you some fruit?”
“Handful of berries. Good. And some water. I needed that. Felt thirsty.”
” J.B. reckon we should be tying up for the night real soon, before it gets dark.”
Ryan nodded. “Sounds right to me. If you give me a hand, I’d like to see some sun before it all goes.”
He shuffled out on his ass, helped by Krysty, moving backward and dragging his wounded leg behind him. He felt a numb pain as it knocked against the rough timbers, but nothing that he couldn’t cope with.
The light from the setting sun was a bright reddish orange, casting long shadows across the river. The waterway was nearly a quarter-mile wide, still flowing clean and free.
“How is it?” Mildred asked, sitting near the stern of the raft, close to J.B., who was steering.
“Not so bad. We mooring soon?”
The Armorer nodded, his eyes invisible behind the burning light reflected off his glasses. “Real soon.”
“Know where we are?”
Krysty pointed ahead, where there were the remains of what had once been a major highway bridge across the Tennessee, its supports shattered and distorted either by the nuking or by quakes. “Mildred thinks that could be old I-40,” she said.
“Running east-west,” he said, steadying himself and looking all around.
Doc was dozing near the bow, while Jak was on watch for any sign of life.