“The others,” Gary said, pointing back to the Wedge. He felt sleepy, and knew if he closed his eyes he’d succumb to it, but this was important. “You must…you must go back…”

Dirk was crying, his face wet with tears, but still he went to the boat and started to push.

“No,” said a larger man. Jacob Wheatley, he realized. Jacob was always quick to argue, more temper than sense. But he seemed calm here, and he eased Dirk out. “I’ll go.”

He stepped into the boat, angled it, and began rowing.

Time grew slippery. Gary remembered the first boat returning, weeping men disembarking. He heard muttering, names listed off. Counting the dead, he realized. He wondered if they counted him or not. More men appeared, though he didn’t remember their arrival. The water splashed the shore, and he wished to dip his hand in it. Suddenly he was thirsty, very thirsty.

“Gary?” someone asked. He opened his eyes, not remembering closing them. A young face hovered over him, blurry and unrecognizable.

“Get back,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”

“Gary, it’s Dirk. You got to stay awake. Gruss says you got to…”

Darkness, filled with the sound of water. Something touched his shoulder, and the pain awakened there. He opened his eyes and saw Jerico kneeling before him. White light shone from his hands, which pressed against his shoulder. His drowsiness faded, and the pain, which had been all encompassing, shrank down to something he could endure, something he could comprehend. Carefully Jerico wiped the blood from Gary’s left eye with his bare thumb so he might see.

“Stand, Mr. Reed,” he said, taking his hand. “You have a wife and child waiting for you.”

3

When the light of morning shone through his window, Jerico winced. Every part of his body ached, and it felt like a pack of giants banged drums inside his forehead.