The wind momentarily shifted, and the cold air turned heavy with the stench of putrescence. The foulness made Con nauseous, yet Rick's curiosity drove him to approach the shoreline and investigate. The darkness in the sand was the stain left by a soup of decay. The waves were oily with it. Before him was stark evidence that acid rain, darkness, and rot had done their worst to the shallow sea. It was dead. 35
CON AND RICK SLOWLY TRUDGED BACK TO THE DEBRIS
pile, knowing it would be their last journey. The wind was in their faces on the return trip, and, though it was stingingly cold, it cleared the stench of the sea from their noses. As they walked, the calmness of resignation came over them both. They had done everything they could. Once they lit the signal fire, their fates were beyond their control.
They reached the mound where they had left Joe and took shelter behind it from the wind. Rick pulled wood from the pile and stacked it a few feet from a large tree trunk at the mound's base to make a fire. He lit it and soon had a huge blaze going. He and Con sat on the ground, leaned against the tree trunk, and warmed themselves. Rick put his arm around Con's shoulder as they watched the flames.
'I'm going to need help getting Joe on top of this mound,' he said. 'But rest as long as you want. There's no hurry.'
'I'll rest better once it's done,' said Con. 'I need to do this soon, while I still can.' Rick looked at Con, so pale and thin, and feared she was already preparing for death. 'Tonight we'll really light up this place,' he said. 'They'll come running.' Con simply nodded.
After they had rested a bit and were warm, they looked for a means to get Joe atop the mound of wood. On one side, a tree trunk formed a ramp leading to the top of the fifteen-foot-high pile. It was the only reason they succeeded in rais-ing Joe to the top. When they finished, Con collapsed from the effort and lay staring blankly at the fire. Rick warmed some water in a seashell and held it to her lips. She drank, smiled wanly, then went to sleep.
Rick had heard of something called the 'white death' that afflicted soldiers on Napoleon's Russian campaign. Mal- nourished men quietly fell asleep and froze. For a dreadful time, Rick thought the same was happening to Con. It grieved him to see her lying there, yet he could not bring himself to wake her. Instead, he fed the fire to keep her warm. He also prepared Joe's pyre so, when the time came, the fire would spread quickly. As he worked, he prayed that when the pyre lit the night, there would be only one body atop it. When he had done this last thing and fed the fire one more time, Rick lay next to Con and fell into an exhausted sleep.
It was dark when Con woke him a kiss. The fire was burn-ing brightly, and Rick was warm. He stared about groggily.
'It's time to say good-bye to Joe,' said Con.
Rick still felt exhausted. 'How long has it been dark?'
'Not long. I see you got everything ready. Thanks.'
Rick rose and, after stretching his stiff muscles, took a flaming brand from the bonfire. 'This tribute was your idea,' he said. 'You should light the pyre.'
'We should do it together.'
Each holding the brand, they advanced to the kindling and wood Rick had placed at the base of the mound on the wind-ward side. Flames danced and spread, fanned by the wind. They rose ever higher into the black sky and illuminated the landscape with reds and oranges. The fire grew so hot, it drove Con and Rick back. They sat on the ground, which now seemed pleasantly cool, and watched the spectacle of light. Somewhere within it, Joe was ascending to the sky.
Rick felt an anxious excitement as he scanned the night sky where he thought the island lay. Any moment he hoped to see the lights of a plane.
Con did not share his optimism. 'It's as if my cabin's burning,' she said sadly.
'Your cabin?'
'The cabin I dreamed of while I was alone. The place where I was going to make you and Joe honey cakes. I guess I don't need it anymore.'
'You won't need it because we're going to be rescued.'
Con nodded, but otherwise seemed lost in her own thoughts. 'Will you make me a promise?' she asked.
'Anything.'
'Will you make me a pyre, too? It doesn't have to be as big as Joe's, just something bright and warm.'
'Con, we don't need to talk about that...'
