Ryan wasn’t that worried. He had never imagined that his plan would involve the deaths of all of the ferocious mutie pigs or all of the brushwood tribe.
But it was enough to know that the twin threats had been thoroughly diluted.
By the time they reached the rocky beach, the weather had deteriorated. There was the unusual combination of a howling wind and a thick fog that swirled about them.
Krysty shuddered. “Like to get away fast,” she said quietly to Ryan. “Don’t care for this much.”
“Me neither. Raft was over here.” There had been the worry that someone, or something, might have found the fragile, ramshackle craft and destroyed it. But it was where they’d left it. “Wood’s gotten sodden,” Abe said, peering at it. “Floats lower in the sea than before.” Abe was understating the problem. There was barely any freeboard above the lapping waves.
“Two trips?” Mildred queried. “Make it one,” Trader argued. “Bastard impossible journey to try and run a ferry service. Look at that rucking riptide running out there.”
Ryan had to agree with his former leader.
Through the patches of fog, they could see the way the ocean was tearing past them, with oil whirlpools and ragged stretches of white, tumbling water. The mist concealed the redoubt.
“Once we’re off, there won’t be any coming back,” Ryan said. “Current’ll pluck us off, and we’ll have to paddle like smoke. Be risky.”
They all stood and looked at the raft, barely afloat, tethered to a jagged spur of rock at Trader’s feet.
“Go for it,” Dean said. “That’s my vote.”
“Why can we not detour along the coast to that other craft that needed a bit of mending?” Doc asked.
“Take too much time,” Ryan replied. “And we might finish up in a nest of scabbies.”
“I say let’s take a chance,” Krysty offered. “Got a bad feeling about staying here.”
Jak stared out into the fog, the wind blowing his silken white hair around him like a torn veil of snow. “Go,” he said, lips hardly moving.
“Three to one so far,” Krysty said, turning to the Armorer. “What do you reckon?”
“Sea’s triple bad. We could wait until this evening, or even until tomorrow morning.”
“I vote with John,” Mildred said. “I agree with you, Ryan. Once we’ve pushed off there’s no way we could get back to shore with this tide running.”
“Three all. Abe?”
“Stay,” the gunner replied, tugging nervously at his mustache. “Definitely stay. I’m not that good at swimming. But I reckon I’d be terrific at drowning.”
“I vote for chancing it,” Ryan said. “If we keep balanced, we could make it across to the island.”
He turned to Trader. “Well, seems you have the casting vote.”
The old man looked at him, half smiling. “You and John Dix were the sons I never had. You know that?”
“Sure.” Ryan sniffed, realizing at that moment how much he owed Trader, how different his life would have been, probably a deal shorter, if it hadn’t been for the survivalist ways of the grizzled man standing in front of him.
“I say we try for it. Man never opens the door, he never gets to know what’s behind it. I’ve always wondered about what lies behind that door. Could be a good way of finding out. Yeah, fucking go for it.”
“Five for and four against,” Ryan said. “Means we go for it. No point waiting. Everyone on. Slow and careful. Keep balance or she’ll go over.”
Dean went first, followed by Jak, the albino still clumsy. J.B. climbed cautiously on board, reaching to help Mildred. Even with only four of them settled on board, the raft was already almost under water.
Doc nearly fell into the weed-wracked breakers, his sword stick snagging in some of the tangled cordage. “By the Three Kennedys! I sympathize with your sentiments, Abe, my dear chap. For a moment there I was more nearly drowning than waving.”
Krysty stepped on, finding a place for herself, taking up one of the makeshift paddles. Only Abe, Ryan and Trader remained on the shore.
The little gunner hopped on, his weight pushing the raft a little farther below the surface of the sea. He clung to the water-logged timber like a monkey, on the landward side of the craft.