‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ Tranter grumbled before clutching his jaw in pain. That was the last time he would say it, even though he knew his words were nothing more than an incomprehensible moan. If she couldn’t work that out then to hell with her.
Her hand was on his knee, squeezing reassuringly as he lay in the small hull of the rotting dinghy she had found. The paint and wood was peeling and cracked, though it floated well enough, even if it did let in water through a deep crack on its side.
Lucidity came to him in waves of no particular duration. He had no recollection of walking to the shore, though he had been acutely aware of the time it had taken Toubec to find a boat. The disordered thoughts came with the cold that settled in his marrow, when he started questioning his motives and asking himself why he shouldn’t just sleep.
She said something, though the look on her face suggested she understood his meaning if not his words. She took up the oars and began rowing again, deeper into the channel, until the border of Bridgewater seemed far enough a distance to cause them any trouble.
Tranter closed his eyes and tried to ignore the cold. He tried to ignore the pain. He tried to shut everything out, and yet it was impossible. He shivered until his bones hurt. He felt so weak, so impossibly fragile. He didn’t know it was possible to be drained so completely and yet still survive.
You just need rest, he assured himself, knowing that it wasn’t entirely true. He needed rest, but he needed medicine, splints, stitches… God knows what else. His cheek had stopped bleeding, but he knew that the wound would turn septic if it wasn’t treated. He didn’t know how long it would take, but he feared the smell of infection would reach his nostrils with every breath.
Why are we doing this? He thought, trying to remember why he had cared so much. He remembered a time when he had wanted to get to Mortehoe for a reason, to prove something, to complete someone else’s journey, but it was lost to him. The boat wavered and he was jolted awake. Stumm! He thought, and it was clear to him again.
He felt anxious of slipping away into a delirious state and he tried to sit upright, his spine protesting and forcing him into a slouch again. Don’t lose it, he willed, watching Bridgewater Garrison on the shore. This is where Stumm had died. He couldn’t lose it before he’d even reached the border.
The moon was losing its vibrancy in the encroaching dawn. A line of gold was in the east, and dark clouds unfurled to blot the sky. He watched the sun rise for a moment, but it seemed to make him colder, and he retreated from it, turning his back to it and shivering once more.
He looked at Toubec, a swell of tiredness overwhelming him again. Who was she? He idled. He had spent so much time in her company and yet he didn’t know what drove her to follow him. Why was she pushing herself so hard? This is my fight, he thought, looking up at her wearily, it’s my... right to get there. I owe it to Stumm. Why do you care so much?
She looked down at him, her face full of concern and wasted comfort. She tried to smile, though it was nothing but a grim reflection of his frailness. She looked away, not wanting him to see her tears.
He hadn’t seen. His eyes were on the dark fortification of Bridgewater border. Orange lights pulsed at its peak, small as match-flares, and search-lights scoured the waters close to the shore.
How did they find you? He questioned Stumm as he watched the lights. Why didn’t you come out into the channel..? Here, where it’s safe.
He watched the lights of a helicopter ascend slowly in the dawn, thinking how much more activity there was at Bridgewater than at Stone Hill. The helicopter disappeared to the south, and he reached for Toubec’s knee, missing it.
Toubec was slowing, exhausted and drowsy. She rowed with her eyes closed, checking infrequently that they weren’t drifting off-course. She felt his hand brush against her knee and she opened her eyes. He was staring across the wide channel toward Bridgewater Garrison.
‘What is it?’ She said, looking anxiously for a long while until she realised he was indicating that they had crossed beyond the garrison. She turned back to him, her precarious smile falling. She wept freely, not worried about him seeing her tears, he had drifted into sleep, or unconsciousness, safe in the knowledge they had finally crossed the border.