The raft drifted on south, carried by the gentle stream of the Tennessee.
The clouds had vanished, and the afternoon saw temperatures rising well into the upper nineties.
Everyone except Ryan took turns steering the raft, following the center of the river as it wound its way between the deserted land. There was nearly half a mile between the banks, and they saw nobody to threaten them.
At the place where the rad count was highest, they saw a number of small, capering creatures that hopped and skipped, throwing stones in their general direction. They were less than three feet in height, and several of the vaguely humanoid muties seemed to have extra limbs, with one or two having secondary skulls. But there was a heat haze lying over the river, and it was difficult to be absolutely certain.
At the most blighted part of the terrain, Jak had been dabbling his hand in the river to cool off, when he jumped. “What fuck that!” he exclaimed, looking at a bead of blood that clung to the tip of his white finger.
They all looked over the side of their craft, trying to see beneath the sun-dappled surface, shading their eyes against the bright sunlight.
“Eels,” Mildred said, leaning so far over that her beaded plaits nearly dangled in the water.
There was a sudden explosion from the deeps of the river, and several tiny eels erupted and clung to the plaits. They were no more than four or five inches long, thick as a man’s finger, and had a dozen protruding eyes and staggeringly ferocious triple sets of needle teeth.
The woman screamed in shock, pulling back, while J.B. and Jak tugged the vicious little creatures off her, throwing them back into the sullen water.
After that, everyone kept clear of the edges of the raft, avoiding the places where the logs didn’t fit well, with gaps straight down into the river.
JUST PAST SAVANNAH the Tennessee forked, split down the middle by a gigantic spit of muddy yellow sand.
Doc was at the helm, and he called out for instructions.
“Right or left? Should I sail for port or for starboard? Starboard or larboard? Red light or green? Keep off the lee shore, Mr. Hornblower! Pass the starboard I mean, pass the port, if you please.” He was grinning broadly, the light breeze tugging at his silvery mane of hair. “Clockwise or counterclockwise or widdershins about?”
Ryan had been sitting on the roof of the cabin, and he stood, balancing with care, trying to see which of the channels seemed the better option.
“Try left, I think,” he called, then hesitated. “No, make that right. Seem to be shallows to the left. Yeah, steer her to the right, Doc.”
The makeshift steering oar creaked as Doc heaved at it, sending the lumbering craft crabbing its way to the side, passing the soft shallows on the left.
“Boat ahead,” Krysty called.
Everyone looked down the Tennessee, where it bent to the right. Just on the crown of the bend was a small rowboat, with a pair of oars rising and falling in perfect rhythm.
It was coming upriver toward them, making fine progress against the sluggish current. Because of the way that they were facing, the oarsmen had no idea that they were closing fast with the raft.
Ryan waited until they were fifty yards ahead and then hailed them.
“Yo the boat!”
If he’d launched a frag gren at them, it would hardly have had more effect.
The man on the left caught a crab, his oar digging in deep, the loom rising and hitting him under the chin, sending him sprawling flat on his back in the bottom of the little boat. His companion tried to look around while carrying on rowing, which meant that his oar completely missed the water, flailing around in the air like a demented windmill.
“What the fuck is this?” yelled the man lying sprawled on his back, kicking his little legs in the air, his arms whirling as he tried desperately to recover his balance and regain his seat on the thwart.
“Sorry to startle you,” Ryan called. “But you were going fair to hit us.”