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.

 

"Been a good afternoon," Krysty commented. "Makes me think that there could be worse ways of passing your life than on a boat on a good, safe river."

 

"Thought you wanted a small farm with fresh grass and a spring and a few cattle." Ryan reached and squeezed her hand. "We'll get what we want one of these days, lover."

 

She stared at him, her emerald eyes intent on his face, looking as if she was about to say something, then Jak called out from the bow.

 

"Good mooring place to left."

 

Ryan was still holding Krysty's hand. "You going to say something, lover?"

 

"I was, but let it pass. Nothing we haven't both heard plenty of times before."

 

J.B. threw his weight against the steering oar, bringing the clumsy craft toward the riverbank. "Best get into the cabin for a while, bro," he said to Ryan. "In case there's any trouble."

 

But there wasn't.

 

It was an idyllic scene, with an inlet where they could moor the raft to a tall, solitary live oak. A fast-flowing stream bubbled into the main river with the freshest, coolest water, and there were bushes of all kinds of berries, along with the overgrown remnants of an ancient orchard, the bent trees still bearing succulent pears and apples.

 

Jak borrowed Ryan's panga and vanished into the surrounding countryside, returning a half hour later with a brilliantly whittled walking stick.

 

"Thanks a lot. Make me mobile." Ryan took the stick and walked up and down the sloping shore, limping heavily and finding it hard going on the soft earth. But gradually it became easier, until Mildred made him stop.

 

"Look, you stupe! You've started to bleed again. Got to rest it as much as you can. Or I'll take your nice new stick and break it over my knee."

 

"Oh, I love it when you get angry," Doc teased with a faked shudder of excitement.

 

"Maybe I'll break it over your bony ass instead."

 

"Promises, promises."

 

 

 

J.B. HAD GONE HUNTING with the Steyr, and they heard the booming sound of the powerful rifle, sending a flight of wood pigeons susurrating into the evening stillness.

 

By the time the Armorer returned with a dead hare slung over his shoulder, Krysty had a fire going and a pot of water bubbling over it.

 

Mildred had gone scouting for herbs and vegetables, returning with a large handful of mixed greens that she now tossed into the steaming stew.

 

"I feel sure that I could set my mind to some verses about the pleasures of life on the open highway," Doc said, seeing the looks on everyone's faces. "But perhaps it can wait for a subsequent occasion."

 

The sun had set by the time the hare was cooked. Krysty pulled it out and dismembered the carcass, laying it on a large leaf for everyone to help themselves, digging into the pile of boiled greens, as well.

 

"Good," J.B. said, licking his fingers. The steam had condensed on his glasses, and he took them off, putting them safely into one of the deep pockets of his coat.

 

"Only good, John?" Mildred queried.

 

"Better than good. Delicious."

 

"See any other game?" asked Ryan, who had found that a half sitting, half lying position was least uncomfortable for his wounded leg.

 

"Deer, but I couldn't carry a body back on my own. And it would have taken longer to cook. There's tracks all over the place. Horses, unshod. Some cattle. Wild pigs. Man could live here for a long time and not go hungered."

 

Everyone lay back, relaxing in the warm gloaming, feeling the deep satisfaction of having shared a good meal among the best of friends.

 

"Get some more wood for fire," Jak offered, getting up and walking away into the quiet darkness surrounding the camp, his magnesium hair visible a long while after the rest of him had completely vanished.

 

"No sign of men or muties?" Ryan asked.

 

J.B. had his head in Mildred's lap, his glasses perched again on the bridge of his narrow nose. "Nothing. Apart from that solitary crazie we saw fishing, we haven't seen a soul. No smoke. No buildings." He hesitated. "Though it looks like this might once have been part of a large estate. The orchard and the stuff that Mildred found could've come from a kitchen garden."

 

Ryan was feeling tired, his eyelids drooping. "Best decide just where we're going and what we're doing."

 

"A time out of war," Doc pronounced. "A time to rest and a time to take it easy. A time for eating and sleeping. A time without fighting. Ah, me! But it has been a perniciously long time since we spent any time together without death and destruction dogging our steps."

 

"True enough," Ryan agreed. "I guess there's no reason why we shouldn't just cruise down for a day or so. Where would we end up, J.B.? Memphis?"

 

"Hell, no. Memphis is a ways west of here."

 

"How far?"

 

"Hundred miles. One-twenty."

 

"What's the biggest old ville we come to if we carry on down the Tennessee?" Krysty asked.

 

Jak returned with a pile of dry wood, dropping it with a clatter by the side of the fire, putting a few branches on to keep the flames burning brightly.

 

"What talking about?"

 

"Where we get to if we keep going south along the river," Ryan said.

 

"Savannah," J.B. offered.

 

"That's in Georgia," Mildred corrected. "That's not what you mean, is it, John?"

 

Doc interrupted. "John Barrymore is right as ever, Dr. Wyeth. Where are all your memories of the great War Between the States? Your historical education was obviously somewhat lacking in this area."

 

"Gone to flowers, every one," she replied. "What happened at Savannah, Tennessee, then?"

 

J.B. spoke again. "Shiloh. Bloody Shiloh. Only about ten miles away from Savannah." His eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "Dark night! We went close there with Trader, but I never visited the battlefield. If it still exists. That would be a wonderful thing to do."

 

"How far from here?" Ryan asked.

 

The Armorer shook his head. "Depends on the goosenecks of the river. Twists and turns. I'd hazard a guess it'll be around eighty to a hundred miles. Speed the water's flowing, that wouldn't take us more than a day's plain sailing."

 

"I would be interested to see Shiloh," Doc admitted. "This is such fun, my friends. My good, good friends. A boating holiday. Hurrah!"

 

 

 

SINCE THEY DIDN'T SEEM to be any threat, Ryan agreed that it wasn't necessary to post a guard. He believed Trader's theory that everyone needed sleep and to suffer deprivation was like having a battery depleted. The more you could store away, the better it was for any bad days that might be around the corner. So an early night sounded like a good idea for all of them.

 

His own wound was pulling painfully, and Mildred confirmed that he was running a slight fever.

 

"Maybe I should've stitched it for you," she said doubtfully. "But both entrance and exit wounds were nice and neat. No deformation of the ball."

 

Ryan shuddered. "Being stitched is high on the list of things I fucking hate, Mildred."

 

"Then you shouldn't go around getting yourself knifed and shot, should you?"

 

He grinned. "Guess not." He paused for a moment. "And I appreciate what you've done for me. Cleaning it and bandaging it and all."

 

"Part of the job." She laughed. "How pompous and stupe that sounds. Sort of thing I'd probably have said when I was in my late twenties. Before the operation and the the freezing. Part of the job I'll be telling you all about my Hippocratic oath next."

 

A white egret, with a wingspread of at least a dozen feet, flapped low over the moored raft, diverting its course slightly at the sight of the fire, floating elegantly above them like a snowy ghost.

 

"I think I'm ready for bed," Ryan said.

 

"On land or on the raft, lover?"

 

"Land's a sight softer. Those logs have already worn some bare patches off of my skin."

 

"Keep the fire going?" Jak asked. "Can go get some more wood." The teenager stood, gasping and pressing both hands to his midriff at the sudden pain.

 

"You all right, Jak?" Mildred moved J.B. off her lap and went toward the albino.

 

"Yeah. Just sharp."

 

"I checked and I'm fairly certain that there's no fractures to the ribs. Might easily have damaged the intercoastal cartilage, I suppose."

 

"Be fine," he insisted.

 

"Pile the wood on the fire and then let it go down," Ryan said. "Seems a safe enough campsite to me."