“Dark night, what was that?” the Armorer spluttered, trying to clear his mouth and lungs of salt water, coughing heavily.
“Fucker chilled now,” Jak rasped. “Look for Doc more important.”
“Over there,” Dean retched, pointing to where Doc was visible as he bobbed up above the waves.
The oars had gone from the raft, but the current was pushing them roughly in the right direction. Doc had hit the water from less of a height than Mildred and had been able to keep conscious. He was weakly striking out toward them with as much energy as he could put into the breaststroke. Jak leaned over as Doc got within range and took hold of one of the older man’s hands, using all the strength in his wiry frame to pull the old man toward the raft. Dean leaned back to counterbalance as J.B. joined Jak in helping pull Doc into the raft.
Both rafts were now adrift without oars, at the mercy of the tidal currents. Waves brought the two rafts close enough for the occupants to be able to shout across to each other.
“What the hell do we do now?” Ryan yelled. “No fireblasted paddles.”
“What can we do except hope?” J.B. shrugged. “Is Millie okay?”
Ryan shook his head. “Still out cold. I’d feel happier if we could get her on dry land, warm and dry. But how the hell do we get past this bastard current?”
“Sea take us over this,” Jak pointed out, indicating the fact that the waves had now swept them across the bulk of the choppy waters. “Mebbe we hit tide, take us into island,” he added.
“He’s right, lover,” Krysty whispered hoarsely to Ryan. “Look.”
The white water was now behind them. The tidal current that swept toward the shore of the island had now gripped them and, slowly but inexorably, the sandy strip of beach was moving closer.
Chapter Three
Twilight’s last gleamings faded into the darkness of night as the two rafts were gently wafted toward the shore. Once free of the crosscurrents, the tidal flow around the island was gentle, the waves small and slow, lapping at the sands. Each flow took them in toward shore, each ebb, back out a little, making progress without the oars to assist a painful and slow task.
But for the inhabitants of the rafts, there was little inclination to hurry in any way. In one, Jak, Dean and Doc were lying in a state of half wakefulness, their attention drifting in and out with the ebb and flow of the tide. J.B. was more watchful. He was concerned that Doc had taken more of a buffeting than he could stand, and if the older man didn’t get warm and dry soon, there was risk of pneumonia. Even with Mildred’s skills, there was no guarantee that he could be saved if that occurred. And on a more communal level, it would make matters difficult to carry a sick Doc if the environment on the island were to prove in some manner hostile. And then there was Mildred herself. With little communication between the rafts, even shouting precluded by the weariness and salt-sore throats of the companions, there was no way for him to judge Mildred’s condition or its seriousness. He was worried about her.
So, while the others dozed, the Armorer stayed awake, unable to rest as his aching limbs commanded, his brain racing. What if it was a hostile environment? What if Doc got ill? What if Mildred bought the farm? What if… He knew that it was an extreme weariness and hurt that caused his brain to race feverishly in such a way, but he felt unable to stop it. He looked toward the shore. It seemed to be farther away than ever.
In the other raft, Ryan and Krysty had disentangled themselves from the ropes around the sides of the craft and had moved into the middle. Bailing as much of the loose water as they could from the slightly concaved floor of the raft, they had stripped off Mildred’s jacket, which was soaked with seawater, keeping her cold and wet. Krysty checked Mildred over. She was breathing regularly, although her eyes were still rolled up into her skull; it was likely the impact of the sea had concussed her. Her pulse was regular and strong. The important thing was to try to keep her warm until they reached shore. The only way they could do this, marooned in this manner, and soaking wet themselves, was to huddle next to her to try to impart some of their own body heat to her.