His shoulders were slumped, his eyes rimmed with dark circles of fatigue; a bit of something, vomit perhaps, was caught in his beard. “We’ve got the bilges working—we should be dry pretty soon. You have to hand it to Michael, the guy knew how to build a boat.”
“Any injuries?”
Rand shrugged. “Few broken bones, I heard. Some cuts and scrapes. Sara’s taking care of it. Lucky thing no one’s going to want to eat for a week, seeing as how we’re so low on food. The smell is pretty bad down there.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, carefully, “Want me to shut down the engines? It’s your call.”
She considered this question. “In a minute,” she said.
For a while they stood together without talking, watching the sun descend over the starboard side. The last of the clouds were separating, lit from within by a purpling light. An area of water near the port bow had begun to boil with fish, feeding near the surface. As Lore watched, a large bird with black-tipped wings and a yellowish head swooped low over the surface, reached down with its bill—a quick, sharp jab—hauled a fish free, tossed it backward into its gullet, and began to climb away.
“Rand. That’s a bird.”
“I know it’s a bird. I’ve seen birds before.”
“Not in the middle of the ocean you haven’t.”
She darted into the pilothouse and returned with the binoculars. Her pulse was racing, her heart was in her mouth. She pressed the lenses to her eyes scanned the horizon.
“Anything?”
She held up a hand. “Quiet.”
She made a slow circle. Facing due south, she stopped.
“Lore, what are you seeing?”
She held the image in the lenses for an extra few seconds to be sure. Holy damn, she thought. She lowered the binoculars.
“Get Greer up here,” she said.
By the time they were able to bring him up on deck, darkness was falling. Lucius did not appear to be in pain; that part had passed. His eyes were closed; he did not seem to know where he was or what was happening. With Sara supervising, Caleb and Hollis served as stretcher-bearers. Others had gathered around; word had spread throughout the ship. Pim was there, with Theo and the girls; Jenny and Hannah; Jock and Grace, holding their infant son; the men of the crew, weary after the long battle of the storm. All stood aside as the stretcher passed.
They carried him to the bow and lowered the gurney. Lore crouched beside him and wrapped one hand with her fingers. His skin was cold and dry, loose on the bones.
“Lucius, it’s Lore.”
From deep in his throat, a soft moan.
“I have something to show you. Something wonderful.”
She slipped the palm of her left hand beneath his neck and gently tipped his face forward, toward the bow.
“Open your eyes,” she said.
His lids separated to make the thinnest slits, then a little more. It was if he were using the last of his strength to perform this tiny act. All stood silent, waiting. The island was well within sight now, directly ahead: a single mountain, lushly green, soaring from the sea, and, above it, a cross of five bright stars, punching through the twilight.
“Do you see?” she whispered.
The breath in his chest was barely a presence; death was in his face. A long moment passed as he struggled to focus. At last the faintest of smiles curled his lips.
“It’s … beautiful,” Greer said.
86
Lucius Greer lived three more days, thus earning the distinction of being the first settler on the island, as yet unnamed, to die upon its soil. He spoke no more words; it could not have been said that he regained full consciousness. Yet from time to time, as Sara or one of the others attended to him, the smile would reappear, as if rising from a happy dream.
They buried him in a clearing surrounded by tall palms with a view of the sea. Apart from the men who had worked on the boat, few of the ship’s complement knew the man or even who he was, least of all the children, who had heard only vague rumors of a dying man in a cabin, and whose shouts of play could be heard throughout the ceremony. Nobody minded; it seemed suitable. Lore was the first to speak, followed by Rand and Sara. They had decided in advance that each would tell a story. Lore spoke of his friendship with Michael; Rand, the tales Greer had told him about his life in the Expeditionary; Sara, the day she and Greer had met, so many years ago, in Colorado, and all that had happened there. When this was done, they formed a line so each could place a stone upon the grave, which bore a simple marker Lore had fashioned from pieces of driftwood:
LUCIUS GREER
SEER, SOLDIER, FRIEND