Cretaceous Sea

occurred—they would sleep on the small, lumpy platform.

'Joe woke up while you were gone,' said Con in a hurt voice. 'He thought we were on the island.'

'What did you tell him?'

'That I was taking care of him, but... but...' Con burst into tears and finished her sentence haltingly. '... he said ... he said I was a rich bitch ... and didn't know anything.'

Rick entered the tent and gently embraced Con. She con-vulsed with sobs as she tenderly cradled Joe's feverish head. 'You know he didn't mean it,' Rick said softly. 'He's de-lirious, and you're exhausted.' He held her for a long time while she cried herself out. When she calmed, he asked, 'Are you hungry?' A ghost of a smile came to her face. 'That's a silly ques-tion.'

Rick was too tired to make broth and simply cooked the frozen meat on the coals. They ate, then tried to sleep. The night was mercifully calm, and the tree trunk radiated the tiny fire's warmth into the tent. Joe was unable to sleep sitting up, so Con and Rick lay on either side to keep him warm. The lumpy travois platform kept their torsos off the frozen ground, but not their legs. Despite the cold and dis-comfort, they fell into an exhausted sleep.

They were awakened by Joe, who suddenly sat bolt up-right. He turned around to face the glowing embers and the darkness surrounding them, accidentally kicking Rick in the process. Joe was oblivious that he had done so. His attention was fixed on some unseen vision.

Joe laughed loudly, and his sweat-bathed face broke out into a grin. 'Well, well, well, if it isn't Peter!' Con shook Joe's shoulder and called his name.

He turned briefly in her direction. 'Shh! Mr. Green has something to say.' Joe listened to the darkness. 'You didn't want me to come,' he answered. His grin grew broader.

'Now why would I want to do that?'

Joe heard the night's reply. 'No... No,' he said. 'You see, I know where that probe goes. I always knew. Sam told me.'

The grin left Joe's face, and it hardened. 'It's too late.'

After a few moments of silence, he grew angry. 'You can't scare me!' he shouted. 'You can't hurt anyone now! You're in Hell!'

The anger left Joe's face and was replaced by a look of consternation. 'No ... No!'

'You,' he said in a small voice. Frantically, he turned toward Con and tried to shield her from his vision.

'Don't look!' he cried in anguish.

Con could feel Joe's hot, moist hand tremble as it covered her eyes. After what seemed like a minute, he sighed deeply, and his hand left her face. Joe's vision had departed. He gently folded his good arm around Con and pressed her head to his burning cheek. 'I wish you hadn't seen that,' he whis-pered.

'Seen what?'

'You were never supposed to know.' Joe began to cry with deep wrenching sobs that jerked his body like blows. His words came out like gasps. 'I'm ... sorry ... Con. I'm... so ... sorry.' The animation drained from Joe's face as he was overwhelmed by exhaustion. He stopped crying. Rick and Con gently lowered him down to rest. As he fell asleep, he murmured over and over again, 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' Con lay down quickly and feigned sleep to avoid discuss-ing Joe's hallucination with Rick. She felt she had to sort things out herself. Con pondered what had just occurred, try- ing to decide if it was a meaningless delusion or the reve-lation of a terrible secret.

Am I lying next to the man who caused my father's death! she wondered. It seemed possible, even probable. It would explain a lot. Yet the explanations led to deeper confusion. She had grown to love Joe. If my suspicions are true, what does he deserve? My hate? My forgiveness? My pity? My love

? Sometimes, she felt he deserved them all.

And Daddy? What about him? She could remember him promising Sara to return. Did he make me the same promise? Con couldn't remember. She was unsure if it even mattered, her father kept so few promises. What does Daddy deserve? She didn't know. She felt empty. Her emptiness made her feel guilty.

The night dragged on as the turmoil in Con's mind fought with her body's exhaustion. Sometimes she slept, and the turmoil invaded her dreams. She saw the shade of her father standing outside the tent.

'Don't call me Daddy,' it said. 'Call me sir.' In another dream, Joe stood in the dark, hold-ing a cake covered with peaches. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm so sorry.' When a dream woke her, the wearing round of questions renewed until, tired and answerless, she fell to dreaming again. Other things also conspired to keep Con from resting. The fire