'He's coming with us Rick.'
'What?' asked Rick, wondering if Con's mind had snapped.
'I thought it out,' continued Con. 'We can take him with us on the travois.'
'Why?'
'The signal fire will be his funeral pyre, too. That way, no matter what happens, he'll leave this world with us.'
'Con, that's ...'
'Crazy? Is that what you're thinking? We can't bury him, the ground's frozen. And I'll never leave him for the night- stalkers to find. Never!'
Rick looked at Con, searching for signs of a shattered mind. The gleam in her eyes could be read either as reso- lution or madness.
'We can do this,' said Con in a firm voice. 'We owe it to him.' Seen in the cold arithmetic of calories, it was an absurd idea. A dispassionate person would have abandoned Joe's body. A more dispassionate one would have used it. Yet Rick had come to respect the importance of things that were not easily calculated. He saw that having a goal was vital to Con. Her wasting frame already seemed sustained more by her will than by their meager rations. He knew she would do her utmost to put Joe to rest. Taking him to the sea would help ensure that Con reached it also.
'We'll get him there,' said Rick. 'His fire will light up the world.' A look of relief came to Con's face. She hugged Rick. 'I was worried you'd say 'no,' and I didn't think I could do it myself.'
Rick looked at Con with respect. 'You would've tried though, wouldn't you?'
'Of course.'
Though it was a painful job to do so soon after Joe's death, Rick and Con bound the poles to his body so they could take him to the sea. They realized that by morning he would be frozen stiff, and the task might be impossible. They arranged his hands in a position of repose and placed his bloody spear within them. Con stood and addressed him. 'Good night, Joe. We're taking you to the sea. I don't need to forgive you, because you did what you thought was right, and you always took care of me. I know Nicole loves you and would be proud of you. I love you, too.'
'Amen,' said Rick.
They left Joe in the tomb-dark night and returned to the fire. There were three strips of meat left, each no larger than a strip of bacon. Rick pleaded with Con to eat them all, but the most she would take was two. They ate their last meal slowly, trying to stretch it out. Throughout their pitiful dinner and long afterward, they talked about Joe. As they shared their stories, it seemed like they had known him for years, rather than weeks. Rick added wood to the fire, and they crawled into the tent and tried to sleep. Con lay on her side, curled up tightly. Rick lay behind her—his chest to her back, one arm thrown around her and his face in her hair. Never had Con seemed so precious to him. Or so fragile. RICK WOKE WITH a sense of urgency. They were in the final stretch. The goal of all their hardship and sacrifice lay within reach, but just barely. That thought both ex-cited and frightened him.
Joe, stiff as a wooden statue and strapped to the poles, made a macabre travois. It was a manageable load, but just barely. Con, who, like Rick, wore one of the thin blankets as a cloak, carried everything else—down and kindling to start the signal fire, a spear and a water bottle. When they reached the riverbank, Con asked. 'How far do you think it is?'
'See that bluff near the river?'
Con gazed into the distance. Snow was falling again and the bluff looked faint and far away, a gray hump near the horizon. 'I think so,' she said.
'I saw the shore from the top of that bluff.'
'So the sea's behind the bluff?'
'Well. . . no,' said Rick, 'but I could see it from there.'
'Oh,' said Con with disappointment.
Soon after they started out, it became clear that their progress would be slower than Rick had planned. He had underestimated the difficulty of dragging Joe's body. De-spite having lost many pounds, Joe was a heavy and awk- ward burden. Rick's muscles had shrunken and the weight of the poles on his now bony shoulders chaffed and bruised them. When the pain became unbearable, he had to halt and rest. As the journey wore on, the halts became more and more frequent.
