get back to shore with this tide running."

"Three all. Abe?"

"Stay," the gunner replied, tugging nervously at his mustache. "Definitely stay. I'm not that good at

swimming. But I reckon I'd be terrific at drowning."

"I vote for chancing it," Ryan said. "If we keep balanced, we could make it across to the island."

He turned to Trader. "Well, seems you have the casting vote."

The old man looked at him, half smiling. "You and John Dix were the sons I never had. You know that?"

"Sure." Ryan sniffed, realizing at that moment how much he owed Trader, how different his life would

have been, probably a deal shorter, if it hadn't been for the survivalist ways of the grizzled man standing

in front of him.

"I say we try for it. Man never opens the door, he never gets to know what's behind it. I've always wondered about what lies behind that door. Could be a good way of finding out. Yeah, fucking go for it."

"Five for and four against," Ryan said. "Means we go for it. No point waiting. Everyone on. Slow and

careful. Keep balance or she'll go over."

Dean went first, followed by Jak, the albino still clumsy. J.B. climbed cautiously on board, reaching to help Mildred. Even with only four of them settled on board, the raft was already almost under water.

Doc nearly fell into the weed-wracked breakers, his sword stick snagging in some of the tangled cordage. "By the Three Kennedys! I sympathize with your sentiments, Abe, my dear chap. For a moment there I was more nearly drowning than waving."

Krysty stepped on, finding a place for herself, taking up one of the makeshift paddles. Only Abe, Ryan

and Trader remained on the shore.

The little gunner hopped on, his weight pushing the raft a little farther below the surface of the sea. He clung to the water-logged timber like a monkey, on the landward side of the craft.

"You next, Ryan," Trader said quietly.

"Age goes before beauty, Trader."

"Give me your hand."

Slightly puzzled, Ryan offered his right hand to Trader, wincing at the power in the old man's grip.

"Now get on."

Ryan picked his moment, waiting until the sullen raft was on the crest of a wave, then stepping beside

Krysty, turning to face Trader, who had loosened the rope and was holding it coiled in his right hand.

"Nothing's forever, Ryan," Trader shouted, hurling the rope onto the raft, simultaneously giving it a hard push with his boot, sending it spinning out into the strait.

Everyone was thunderstruck. For once, Abe was the quickest to react.

Feeling the first tug of the current starting to suck the raft away from the shore, the little gunner gave an

inarticulate shout and threw himself over the side, splashing the few dangerous feet to the rocks, where

Trader stooped to help him, dripping wet, from the water.

"Get back!" Doc called. "We must" He stopped speaking abruptly as he realized that it was already way, way too late.

They were already swinging into the main channel, thirty or forty yards from the mist-shrouded

promontory of sea-slick boulders.

"Paddle!" Ryan bellowed. "Fireblast! They've given us a better chance. Don't let's piss it away. Paddle till your backs break. Keep her straight for the redoubt."

The fog wrapped itself around them, the wind tearing at the raft, trying to lure it off course.

Ryan glanced back once, seeing Trader, the shorter figure of Abe at his side. The older man lifted the familiar Armalite once above his head in a valedictory salute.

That was almost the end, the mist shutting down visibility, the surging water needing all of Ryan's

concentration.

"NEARLY THERE," J.B. gasped. Effectively one-armed, the Armorer had done what he could. But it had been a desperately close thing. Now the raft was well below the water, but the jaws of the current had relaxed their grip, and Ryan knew they were going to make it.

He looked back one last time. The gusting wind suddenly tugged back the white fog, like a curtain across a huge window, revealing the shore.

There were the jumbled rocks, and Trader and Abe, standing side by side, facing away from the ocean. Surrounding them was a menacing circle of men, looking, as far as Ryan could make out, like a mix of brushwood survivors and some capering scabbies.

And at the front, leading them, was the unmistakable figure of Straub.

There wasn't a thing that could be done.

As the raft grounded near the entrance to the redoubt, Ryan whispered, "No, Trader. Nothing's forever."