Above the constant smell of sulfur seeping across from the mainland, Ryan could taste a fresh, incredibly bitter scent in the night air, like a mixture of cold iron and hot blood. Then the crab finally vanished from sight under the dark ocean, and the smell also stopped.
There was the instant burst of nervous chatter among the nine companions that always broke out after such a close brush with death.
“Think it’ll die, Dad?”
“Upon my soul, but that was a creation worthy of the talent of Hieronymus Bosch.”
“I think I could’ve put out the other glim if Ryan had given me the word.”
“Shit-eating bastard! Wish it’d gotten closer so we could have chilled it. Always liked crabmeat. Mebbe we can take the raft and go after it.”
“I thought I was going to shit myself, Trader. I never saw anything like that.”
“Might be others. Crossing to mainland on raft could be dangerous.”
“Used up a lot of ammo on that. How’re you fixed for 9 mm, Ryan?”
“Got enough. You all right, lover?”
“Once I stop shaking I’ll be fine. That what the Bible means by the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep? If it does, then the Lord can keep them.”
THEY ALL SCOUTED among the jagged rocks above the strip of beach for more dry wood for the fire, bringing it back to flaming life. Though none of them actually came right out and said it, the idea of having a good blaze helped to dispel the demons of the night.
J.B. went over to sit by Ryan, taking off the Uzi and starting to fieldstrip it, wiping the moisture of the night away from the metal, cleaning the action with a piece of oily cotton, removing any fouling from the blaster.
“How about the raft, Ryan?”
“Seems solid enough. We’ve got some pieces of wood about the right size and weight for paddles.”
“More worried about that crab. Dark night, but it was a true monster!”
Ryan nodded. “If something like that came at us out in the strait between this island and the mainland” He allowed the thought to hang between them.
“Be somewhere between a triple-small chance and no chance at all.”
“Agreed. Then again, it won’t be coming after anybody for a while.”
The Armorer dropped his voice, making sure nobody could overhear them. “If we don’t try the raft, we have to jump again. How do you feel about that? And the boy?”
“Rather face that mutie crab’s mother and father. No, seriously, I think we have to try for the mainland. Despite the stink of farts.”
J.B. looked around. “Fog’s lifting. Be dawn in an hour or so. When do we go?”
Ryan stood and stretched, grunting at the tightness in his shoulders. “What I remember about the western islands, word was that they weren’t heavily occupied. Rad hot spots as well as the boiling mud and stuff.”
“I checked the rad counter.”
“Yeah, me too. Been veering between the low yellow and a sort of mid-orange. Bad, but not too bad.”
The Armorer stared into the mist that still obscured the other side of the channel. “Best we try and get landed soon after first light.”
“In case anyone’s on lookout?”
“Sure. Be dead meat, floundering around on that raft, if anyone’s got hostile intentions toward us. And if they got a good long gun.”
“Can’t argue with that. Best tell everyone to get themselves ready. We’ll push off in fifteen minutes.”
THE OCEAN WAS AS FLAT and as still as a sheltered millpond, with only the slightest suggestion of a swell.
They launched the raft as near to the end of the beach as they could, to minimize the struggle through the thick, clogging weed, finding themselves in clear water within a few yards. The wooden craft settled lower than they’d expected, with only a couple of inches freeboard, and some of the makeshift timbers shifted as everyone clambered carefully on board.
But it floated.
The mist was almost totally cleared, and the unknown mainland beckoned them.
They were on their way.
Chapter Eleven
” ‘Row, row, row the boat, gently down the stream,’ ” Doc sang, digging the crude paddle into the limpid waters of the strait, watching the tiny whirlpool as it drifted away behind every stroke.