Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  Carefully and methodically, Rick built up the fire. He placed a bit of down, a handful of tinder, and a few sticks of kindling beneath some driftwood. He struck a spark with his knife and whetstone and blew softly until the down glowed orange, then burst into flame. When the fire spread to the driftwood, Rick thought, That will make Joe more comfortable. Then he remembered cold no longer bothered Joe, and his eyes filled with tears.

  Rick heard a faraway voice. "It happened so fast," said Con. "He opened his eyes and looked right at me, but he didn't see me. He said, 'Nicole, Nicole, it's dark.' He felt about until he touched my face, then he smiled, and said 'Nicole' again. And I said 'Daddy.' And he said 'I love you, Nicole. I never wanted to leave you.' And I said, 'I know. I love you, too, Daddy.' You should have seen his face, Rick. He looked happy. He looked so happy that I said it again 'I love you, Daddy. I love you.' " Con began to sob. "He was so happy. You should have seen him. And then... and then his hand dropped from my cheek. At first I thought he was sleeping, but his eyes were open. Then I knew ..." Con dis-solved into tears and was unable to continue talking.

  Rick entered the tent and wrapped his arms around Con. They wept for Joe together. Entwined in grief, they also clung to one another for reassurance. Rick and Con were the last two people in the world, and they had just been shown how fragile a vessel is a person's body. Joe's death made the prospect of unbearable loneliness frighteningly real. Each felt they would rather die themselves than have the other leave them.

  For a while, they were paralyzed by their sorrow. Yet, as they embraced in the tent, the cold eventually forced them to mind the necessities for living. Rick added wood to the fire and recalled the wood he had left behind when he had run to the tent. That reminded him of the news that he had thought would bring so much joy.

  "When I was getting driftwood, I climbed a bluff and spied the sea."

  "The sea?" said Con.

  "It's only a day's hike."

  "He got so close," she said sadly.

  "There's piles of stuff left by the tsunami. There must be tons of driftwood."

  "For a signal fire?"

  "Yeah," said Rick, "a huge one. They can't possibly miss it."

  "If there's anyone to see it," said Con listlessly.

  Rick looked at Con with concern. "You're not giving up? Joe would have never wanted you to do that."

  "I'm just tired," said Con. "I'm tired all the time."

  "I'm going to get the wood," said Rick. "It'll only take a minute. Get warm, and things will look better." The sky had turned gloomy. Soon it would be utterly black. How I miss the moon and the stars, Rick thought, as he headed for his abandoned load. Tonight will be long... He envisioned trying to sleep as Joe's body slowly froze outside the tent.... very long.

  When Rick returned, he found that Con had dressed Joe's body in the Tyrannosaur hide.

  "Won't we need that for our bed tonight?" asked Rick.

  "I made it for him!" said Con vehemently. "We won't be able to get it on him after he ... after he ..."

  "You're right," said Rick quickly. "Oh course, you're right."

  "He's coming with us Rick."

  "What?" asked Rick, wondering if Con's mind had snapped.

  "I thought it out," continued Con. "We can take him with us on the travois."

  "Why?"

  "The signal fire will be his funeral pyre, too. That way, no matter what happens, he'll leave this world with us."

  "Con, that's ..."

  "Crazy? Is that what you're thinking? We can't bury him, the ground's frozen. And I'll never leave him for the night-stalkers to find. Never!"

  Rick looked at Con, searching for signs of a shattered mind. The gleam in her eyes could be read either as reso-lution or madness.

  "We can do this," said Con in a firm voice. "We owe it to him." Seen in the cold arithmetic of calories, it was an absurd idea. A dispassionate person would have abandoned Joe's body. A more dispassionate one would have used it. Yet Rick had come to respect the importance of things that were not easily calculated. He saw that having a goal was vital to Con. Her wasting frame already seemed sustained more by her will than by their meager rations. He knew she would do her utmost to put Joe to rest. Taking him to the sea would help ensure that Con reached it also.

  "We'll get him there," said Rick. "His fire will light up the world." A look of relief came to Con's face. She hugged Rick. "I was worried you'd say 'no,' and I didn't think I could do it myself."

  Rick looked at Con with respect. "You would've tried though, wouldn't you?"

  "Of course."

  Though it was a painful job to do so soon after Joe's death, Rick and Con bound the poles to his body so they could take him to the sea. They realized that by morning he would be frozen stiff, and the task might be impossible. They arranged his hands in a position of repose and placed his bloody spear within them. Con stood and addressed him. "Good night, Joe. We're taking you to the sea. I don't need to forgive you, because you did what you thought was right, and you always took care of me. I know Nicole loves you and would be proud of you. I love you, too."

  "Amen," said Rick.

  They left Joe in the tomb-dark night and returned to the fire. There were three strips of meat left, each no larger than a strip of bacon. Rick pleaded with Con to eat them all, but the most she would take was two. They ate their last meal slowly, trying to stretch it out. Throughout their pitiful dinner and long afterward, they talked about Joe. As they shared their stories, it seemed like they had known him for years, rather than weeks. Rick added wood to the fire, and they crawled into the tent and tried to sleep. Con lay on her side, curled up tightly. Rick lay behind her—his chest to her back, one arm thrown around her and his face in her hair. Never had Con seemed so precious to him. Or so fragile. RICK WOKE WITH a sense of urgency. They were in the final stretch. The goal of all their hardship and sacrifice lay within reach, but just barely. That thought both ex-cited and frightened him. Tonight we'll find out if it was all in vain. He realized that Con was approaching the limit of her endurance. So was he. To further lighten her load, they would leave the tent behind, wagering every-thing on being rescued. Speed would be of the essence, for in the relentless mathematics of survival, each minute in the cold cost calories.

  Joe, stiff as a wooden statue and strapped to the poles, made a macabre travois. It was a manageable load, but just barely. Con, who, like Rick, wore one of the thin blankets as a cloak, carried everything else—down and kindling to start the signal fire, a spear and a water bottle. When they reached the riverbank, Con asked. "How far do you think it is?"

  "See that bluff near the river?"

  Con gazed into the distance. Snow was falling again and the bluff looked faint and far away, a gray hump near the horizon. "I think so," she said.

  "I saw the shore from the top of that bluff."

  "So the sea's behind the bluff?"

  "Well. . . no," said Rick, "but I could see it from there."

  "Oh," said Con with disappointment.

  Soon after they started out, it became clear that their progress would be slower than Rick had planned. He had underestimated the difficulty of dragging Joe's body. De-spite having lost many pounds, Joe was a heavy and awk-ward burden. Rick's muscles had shrunken and the weight of the poles on his now bony shoulders chaffed and bruised them. When the pain became unbearable, he had to halt and rest. As the journey wore on, the halts became more and more frequent.

  They reached the riverbank below the bluff after hard hours of travel. The view from there was unchanged, of-fering no hint of the tsunami debris mounds that Rick had spied from above. Instead, the bleak, burnt forest spread out as before. The cold land looked empty of life, a place where even the nightstalkers had departed.

  With the bluff behind them, there was no visible goal for them to reach. Their pace lagged and, after a while, even Rick was beyond caring. In his exhaustion, it took all his effort to keep moving. He set little goals for him-self. First, they were to rea
ch the next bend in the river. Then, they were to reach a blackened tree trunk a few dozen yards ahead. By the time it started to grow dark, his goals had been reduced to taking the next step.

  "We have to stop," said Rick. "I can't go on."

  Con wordlessly dropped her pack. Despite her tiny load, she looked every bit as exhausted as Rick felt. Rick realized that his urgency to finish their journey had clouded his judgment. He had pushed himself and Con too hard and still failed to reach their goal. Now, they were at the end of their strength and would spend the night in the open. If his miscalculation was not to be fatal, he would have to think more clearly.

  "I'm going to look for driftwood," said Rick. "Will you be all right?"

  "I'll help you," replied Con in a tired voice.

  They walked along the riverbank looking for wood. It proved just as scarce as at the last camp. Though they moved as quickly as their exhaustion allowed, racing the gathering darkness, it was soon clear they wouldn't find enough wood to burn all night.

  "We'll have to dig a snow cave," said Rick.

  "A snow cave? I thought we wanted to be warm."

  "It's better than being out in the open. We'll snuggle close to keep each other warm."

  "From a log cabin to a snow cave," said Con. "You sure know how to lower a woman's expectations!

  But I like the snuggling part."

  Rick smiled and felt encouraged that Con still had her sense of humor.

  As they walked along the bank, Rick spotted a charred trunk of a large fallen tree. On one side, the snow had drifted to the height of the four-foot log. "There's a likely spot," he said.

  "You'd better get Joe and our stuff, then," said Con. "It's really getting dark. If you tell me how to make the cave, I'll dig it."

  "It's not hard," said Rick. "Dig a small entrance tunnel at the base of the drift and enlarge the interior cavity to fit the two of us. Just don't collapse the roof while you're digging it."

  "The snow feels pretty firm," said Con. "I don't think that'll be a problem." Rick dumped the wood near the drift and hurried off to retrieve Joe. By the time he returned, it was getting difficult to see. Rick started a small fire with some of the driftwood, setting aside the rest for the next morning. While Con warmed her frigid hands, he finished the snow cave. Afterward, they crouched over the liny blaze until it was only embers, then retreated to the cave.

  It was so dark by then, as Rick huddled with Con be-neath the snow, he could not see her face inches from his. "Con," he whispered, "I love you. I loved you even back on the island."

  "You're not saying that because you think we're not going to make it?"

  "No," he said. "I just want you to know how I feel."

  "I already know," whispered Con. "This sounds like a cliche, but I think we were destined for each other. I've the strangest feeling—like I've always known you. Rick, we're going to spend the rest of our lives together."

  Rick softly kissed Con and prayed that the rest of their lives would be longer than one night. A FAINT, GRAY light filtered through the snow. Rick woke, stiff and frigid. The first thing he did was to see if Con was breathing. "Con, wake up. It's our last day." Con opened her eyes.

  "How do you feel?" he asked.

  "Cold," Con replied groggily.

  "I'm going to get the fire started," said Rick as he pushed his way through the outer wall of the snow cave. The morning air was colder than the inside of the cave, but no snow fell from the dark sky. He brushed the night's snow off the driftwood and grabbed some down and tinder from Con's pack. By the time Con stretched and hobbled over to Rick, flames were spreading from the tinder.

  "What a night," said Con. "My left foot tingled and hurt after you went to sleep and kept me up. Do you know you snore?"

  "I do now."

  "Well, my foot's fine this morning. It's not even cold."

  Rick anxiously glanced at Con's sandaled foot. The outer sock on it looked icy. "Can you wiggle your toes?" he asked.

  Con looked upset. "No."

  Rick gently felt her foot. It felt hard and cold beneath the frozen socks. "You have frostbite."

  "What should I do?" asked Con in a frightened voice. "Rub snow on it? Thaw it by the fire?"

  "Just leave it alone. As long as it's frozen, you can walk on it. When we're rescued, it can be treated. It'll be fine."

  "And if we're not rescued?" Con looked at Rick and caught him wiping his eye. "Well. . ." she said in a very quiet voice, "then it won't really matter."

  They lingered by the fire, trying to get warm and to steel themselves for their last day of travel. Finally, Con said, "Let's go."

  Rick walked over to Joe, who was covered with a thin shroud of snow. He hefted up the two poles. As soon as they touched his shoulders, he felt as if they had been there for hours. The slow march to the sea had begun.

  The air was clear of snow, and it wasn't long before they spotted what looked like a series of low hills ahead.

  "The mounds left by the tsunami!" cried Rick. Their spir-its lifted, and their pace quickened. Still, it took hours to reach the mounds, for the trail was rough, and it chal-lenged their limited stamina. When they finally ap-proached them, they could see they were made of boulders, black mats of seaweed, entire trees, and other debris piled high by the giant wave. In many places, the undulating piles towered several stories high.

  The flood had cleared a pathway through the debris, and Rick and Con stayed close to the riverbank. A harsh, cold wind arose and blew at their backs as if to inflict one last measure of suffering before they ended their journey.

  Finally, they reached the outermost mound. The wave had uprooted miles of forest and deposited a bounty of wood. Some of it was burnt, but much was intact. Rick and Con looked at it in awe, trying to envision what force could do such a thing. Some of the boulders were the size of automobiles. Immense trees were shattered into splin-ters, while others seemed delicately plucked like flowers and left to wither with all their leaves intact. Jumbled among the remains of the forests were those of the sea. The bones of a mosasaur ornamented a pine. A broken ammonite shell, over six feet in diameter, lay like a dis-carded beach toy.

  When they rounded the mound, the sea lay before them less than a mile away. The sloping landscape leading to the shore had been reshaped by the tsunami and left bar-ren and rippled. Only a few mounds of debris, smaller than the ones they had just passed, broke its emptiness. One was a huge pile that consisted mostly of unburnt wood. Rick pointed it out to Con.

  "That could be our signal fire," he said.

  "And Joe's funeral pyre," said Con, her eyes filling with tears. "What a light it'll make." They dragged Joe's body to the mound and Rick laid down his burden. Joe had aided him one last time—he had helped get Con to the sea.

  "I want a closer look at the island," said Con

  "So do I," said Rick.

  The persistent wind had swept the ground of snow. At first, it was easy walking. Then, they encountered sandy patches that were as tiring to cross as snow. Farther on, the sandy patches grew into undulating dunes. Each seemed taller than the preceding one, and each was more exhausting to climb. Finally, they ascended a twenty-foot-high dune and had an unobstructed view. The shore was only forty yards away. Gentle waves broke on the dark sand, their foam resembling lace on velvet. Beyond the surf lay the sea. It was a dull pewter under a dark slate sky. Close to the horizon, the black spire of Mon-tana Isle bridged the two.

  They strained their eyes for some sign that the island was occupied, but detected none.

  "Do you think anyone's there?" asked Con.

  "It's too far away to tell," replied Rick. "We'll find out tonight when we light our signal fire. In the darkness, no one could possibly miss it."

  The wind momentarily shifted, and the cold air turned heavy with the stench of putrescence. The foulness made Con nauseous, yet Rick's curiosity drove him to approach the shoreline and investigate. The darkness in the sand was the stain left by a soup of decay. The waves were
oily with it. Before him was stark evidence that acid rain, darkness, and rot had done their worst to the shallow sea. It was dead. 35

  CON AND RICK SLOWLY TRUDGED BACK TO THE DEBRIS

  pile, knowing it would be their last journey. The wind was in their faces on the return trip, and, though it was stingingly cold, it cleared the stench of the sea from their noses. As they walked, the calmness of resignation came over them both. They had done everything they could. Once they lit the signal fire, their fates were beyond their control.

  They reached the mound where they had left Joe and took shelter behind it from the wind. Rick pulled wood from the pile and stacked it a few feet from a large tree trunk at the mound's base to make a fire. He lit it and soon had a huge blaze going. He and Con sat on the ground, leaned against the tree trunk, and warmed themselves. Rick put his arm around Con's shoulder as they watched the flames.

  "I'm going to need help getting Joe on top of this mound," he said. "But rest as long as you want. There's no hurry."

  "I'll rest better once it's done," said Con. "I need to do this soon, while I still can." Rick looked at Con, so pale and thin, and feared she was already preparing for death. 'Tonight we'll really light up this place," he said. "They'll come running." Con simply nodded.

  After they had rested a bit and were warm, they looked for a means to get Joe atop the mound of wood. On one side, a tree trunk formed a ramp leading to the top of the fifteen-foot-high pile. It was the only reason they succeeded in rais-ing Joe to the top. When they finished, Con collapsed from the effort and lay staring blankly at the fire. Rick warmed some water in a seashell and held it to her lips. She drank, smiled wanly, then went to sleep.

  Rick had heard of something called the "white death" that afflicted soldiers on Napoleon's Russian campaign. Mal-nourished men quietly fell asleep and froze. For a dreadful time, Rick thought the same was happening to Con. It grieved him to see her lying there, yet he could not bring himself to wake her. Instead, he fed the fire to keep her warm. He also prepared Joe's pyre so, when the time came, the fire would spread quickly. As he worked, he prayed that when the pyre lit the night, there would be only one body atop it. When he had done this last thing and fed the fire one more time, Rick lay next to Con and fell into an exhausted sleep.