“I’ve got a cane. It’s only about three feet long.”
“I’ll bring a line with me and toss it up to you.”
She pulled her t-shirt over her head and stepped out of her shorts, revealing an athletic-cut bikini. Culann forced himself to look at the water. She dropped a white ring buoy into the water and slid into it. She kicked her way to the island until she reached the sloping slippery rocks that made up its western shore. A sheer cliff of about six feet separated the two of them. She threw a length of rope up to Culann. He reached out with his good left hand, but missed it. She gathered the line up and threw it again. He again missed the catch, but the rope landed on the ground at his feet. He scooped it up.
“Ah, hold on a second,” he replied. “I’m a bit injured. I better anchor this end first.”
He wrapped the end of the line around a tree trunk. He leaned back against the tree and set his good right leg. He gripped the rope with his left hand and clamped his clawed right hand behind the left.
“Okay, I am going to start pulling now.”
She couldn’t have weighed much more than a hundred pounds, but he was effectively pulling with just one arm and one leg. He pulled with his left arm, held the rope in place by gripping it overhand with his damaged right mitt, and then pulled again with the left. She pressed her bare feet against the slippery rockface and scaled the cliff.
When she reached the top, he grasped her hand and pulled her towards him. She tumbled forward, and the two fell to the ground, her soft skin pressed against his body. Her wet hair fell across his face. She smelled like cinnamon.
“Thanks,” she said with an appealing upturn of her lip.
He swallowed hard and then shoved her aside. He rolled to his belly and started pushing himself to his feet.
“Here, let me help you,” she said, sliding her thin arms around his waist.
“No,” Culann snapped, and she pulled away. He grabbed the trunk of the tree with his good hand and pulled himself up.
“Whoa, what’s with all the dogs?”
The pack churned forward to greet the newcomer. The dogs sniffed and licked and nudged so persistently that the girl nearly toppled back into the sea.
“Stay back,” Culann ordered, and the dogs halted.
“How many do you have?”
“There are forty-eight, although they really aren’t mine.”
“Whose are they?”
“They don’t belong to anyone anymore.”
She gave him a puzzled look but didn’t say anything more. He snatched up his cane and led her through the woods back to the once-inhabited part of the island.
“Thanks again for saving me,” she said as they walked. “It was so weird. All the electronics went dead at the same time. Must’ve been a short circuit or something. Do you know anything about electronics?”
Culann shook his head. He didn’t want to talk to this girl, this girl who tempted him with her nearly-naked body, this girl who would not be alive in twenty-four hours.
“Are you some kind of hermit?”
Culann smiled despite himself. He realized how he must look to her eyes: six weeks’ growth of beard, shaggy hair that reached his collar, limping along with the help of a jury-rigged cane which he gripped in a gnarled hand, and a policeman’s utility belt wrapped around his waist. He was thankful that his injuries had healed sufficiently that he could resume wearing normal clothes instead of simply cloaking himself in a grass-stained bedsheet.
“I guess so,” he said.
“Is that why you won’t look at me?”
“Come on,” Culann said. “Let’s get you some clothes.”
2
Culann was still alive, and he was confident in way that he hadn’t been with Constance and Schuler that he would continue to be alive, at least until winter hit. He was some sort of chosen one, although he had little faith in this Dog-God who’d done the choosing. He decided that this status had to have been earned, that it couldn’t have been just dumb luck that allowed him to survive when so many people, stronger people, were dead. He just didn’t know how he had earned it. He concluded that there must be some sort of cosmic Calvinism going on here, that he’d been born one of the elect and was only now discovering it. If that was the case, he needed to live a life, however short, of irresistible grace.
The girl emerged from Alistair’s bedroom wearing Julia’s bathrobe, which was far too large for her. Culann looked away from the exposed tanned skin of her neck and collarbones, and the brown curls that cascaded down her shoulders. He took a drink of club soda, having foresworn alcohol until the girl was gone.
“My name is Nereida, by the way.”
He nodded.
“Do you have a name?” she asked with a smile as she slid onto the barstool next to him.
“Culann.”
“That’s an interesting name. Does it mean anything?”
“It’s from Celtic mythology.”
“That’s cool,” she said, “My name comes from mythology, too.”
“I know.”
“I get it. You don’t like to talk. That’s why you live all by yourself out here.”
Culann nodded. It was simpler to have her think that he was some antisocial recluse than a man whose craving for a drink was surmounted only by his craving for her flawless young body. The less they spoke, the easier it would be for him to pretend she wasn’t there. Unfortunately, Nereida didn’t seem to care much for silence.
“Where did you get this bathrobe? Did you have a wife who died, and that’s why you’re a hermit?”
Culann couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, that’s it.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, yeah. To be such a romantic that you can’t live a normal life without her.
She must have been very beautiful.”
“How old are you?” Culann asked.
“Thirteen.”
“Jesus Christ,” he said with a cough. “What were you doing out there all by yourself?”
“I’m trying to set the record for the youngest girl to sail solo around the world.
I’m doing a practice run from California to Alaska and back, and then next year I’m going for the record.”
“Are you serious?” Culann turned to face her. “What do your parents have to say about this?”
Nereida rolled her eyes as if she’d been asked this question a thousand times.
“My parents think kids are too overprotected nowadays. Everybody’s so afraid of child molesters and stuff that they hide their kids away and never give them the chance to grow up. If I can do this, I will accomplish more at fourteen than most people do in their entire lives.”
Her acorn-brown eyes sparkled when she spoke. She oozed ambition. Culann could see she was the type of person who was destined for greatness, if only she had more than one day to live. He shook his head.
“If you were my daughter, I’d never let you do anything so crazy. Think how awful your parents would feel if something happened to you.”
Culann’s words surprised him. For the first time in a long time, he’d forced himself to imagine how another person felt, to see the world through strangers’ eyes.
He’d stopped thinking about himself. Nereida stopped being some sea nymph sent to tempt him. She was a child, and he was again a teacher, a man entrusted with children and who was committed to shepherding them
