Dark Moon Walking (28 page)

The warmth of the cabin wrapped around Dan like a soft blanket as he stepped inside. It felt wonderful, although it made his clothes feel even wetter and colder, if that was possible. He briefly considered joining Old Tom, who was still sitting in the same place at the table, hunched as far into a corner as he could get, but he didn't want to soak the cushions with his wet clothes and there was still that eye-watering smell to deal with. Instead, he stood awkwardly in the doorway, dripping on the wood floor, until finally Annie came to his rescue.

“I've got a shirt and pants might fit you,” she said. “Come on up front.” She started forward, then turned to look past him at Claire. “You want to make the tea? It's up there in that cupboard.”

Annie dug out the clothes and pointed him to the shower. Heated by the wood stove, the water was blissfully hot, and Dan reveled in the warmth that cascaded over his shoulders. He would have liked to let it run for hours, but he forced himself to limit it to a brief rinse. There would be time for indulgence once he got back to
Dreamspeaker
and got hold of Mike.

The pants were a pair of gray, elastic-waisted sweatpants. They were old, loose at the waist, and several inches too short in the leg, leaving his ankles bare, but they were clean and dry and comfortable. The shirt was a “wood shirt,” one of her ubiquitous lumberjack shirts in faded green-and-black plaid, and it was tight across his shoulders, but it too was clean and dry and felt wonderfully warm. He toweled off his hair, stuffed his wet clothes into a plastic bag, and made his way back to the galley.

Annie's trademark cup of tea was waiting for him, along with a plate of cookies. Belatedly, he remembered the bag of cookies she had given them earlier. It must be floating around in that pool of water in the bottom of the dinghy. He had forgotten all about it.

Mercifully, Tom was quiet, his eyes tightly closed, but he was still rocking compulsively, his arms wrapped tightly around his thin body. Dan noticed that Annie had opened all the ports in what was probably an effort to clear the pungent smell of sour body odor, but it had been only partially successful, and both she and Claire were standing near the open door, about to move back outside to where the air was fresher.

“You and Walker take care of things?” Annie obviously didn't want to mention the body, perhaps afraid that it might either upset Claire or set Tom off again.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “It's safe for Tom to go home. His cove is clear again.” He glanced at the hermit, who appeared not to have heard, then at Claire, who had turned to stare out into the night. He knew he needed to explain to her what he and Walker had done with—and for—Robbie, but now was not the time. He took a sip of the hot, sweet tea. “I need to get home too. I've got to talk to a friend of mine.”

“You'd have to be crazy to go tonight.” Annie gestured into the darkness. “Darker than a coal mine at midnight—and that wind's not gonna let up till morning.”

They had moved out of the cabin and were standing on the lee side of the boat, where it was relatively quiet and calm, but they could feel the slap of the waves coming up through the hull and the deck rocked under their feet.

“Can't be helped,” Dan said. “I don't have much choice.” He felt better about his chances now that he had dry clothes and a warm drink.

Annie didn't agree. “Won't help if you get lost or flipped or sink. And you'd have to fight that wind all the way. Take you till morning to get there.” She looked out into the night. “Might as well stay here and sleep for a couple of hours. You can still leave before dawn. Wind might be down by then too. You'll probably get back quicker that way than if you leave now.”

Her argument made sense and Dan realized he didn't need much convincing. In spite of his need to get back to
Dreamspeaker
, he knew what she was suggesting was the wisest course and he found himself surrendering willingly to her urgings. Minutes later, Annie led him back through the galley to the salon, where two long cushioned settees beckoned. By the time Annie came back from her stateroom with a pillow and a blanket, he was already asleep.

TWENTY-THREE

Walker sank quickly under the waves. He was
sat'sam
, the spring salmon, his body sleek with silver scales. The black water wrapped him in its embrace, enfolded him, caressed him. He moved through it, powerful muscles surging through its currents. This was his home.

His hand touched the smooth black hull and he rose to the surface. He was at the stern, hidden from anyone on the deck by the curve of the transom. Just below him, twin propellers sat idle on the end of their shafts. On either side, through-hulls provided passage for the exhaust.

Walker had told Percy and the others to give him half an hour. More than that and hypothermia would claim him. As it was, his skin had lost feeling and he could feel the cold cramping his muscles. Soon it would penetrate deep into his bones, burn along his sinews, sear his nerves. Then it would send shards of ice into every cell. The myth of
sat'sam
could only sustain him for so long.

He had long since stripped off his clothes, wanting the speed and freedom that bare skin would give him. His only burdens now were the long strands of bull kelp he had tied to a rope he had wrapped around his waist and the knife he had strapped to his wrist.

There was no sign of movement on the black ship, although he thought there would almost certainly be someone on watch. Most likely they were sitting in the comfort of the bridge, watching the radar for intruders. On a night like this, it made sense: it was too dark outside to see anything without the help of technology. Fortunately for Walker and the rest of his small group, technology was much too sophisticated to notice something as primitive and small as a wooden canoe. Or a swimmer. And for that he was very grateful.

He slid under the surface again, feeling his way along the hull to the propellers. There were two of them, attached to pod-like structures that hung beneath the hull. It was impossible to see through the night dark water, so he worked by feel, praying that the numbness creeping into his fingers would hold off long enough for him to finish. Strand by strand, he pulled the kelp from his waist and wove it around the blades, wrapping it tightly around the curved metal and up and down the shafts. He lost count of the number of times he came up for air, but finally he was finished. He had built up a smooth, intricate covering and tied it off by weaving the ends back in. Satisfied, he moved on to the exhausts. They were larger than he had expected, and there was a heavy mesh screen just inside each one. It was an odd configuration and one he had never seen before. He figured it might explain why the engines were so quiet, but it meant there was nothing he could do there. Again he moved forward, his hand sliding along the hull till it found another opening. He wasn't sure what it was for, but it was big enough to reach his hand into, and his fingertips touched heavy rubber. It was some kind of valve or through-hull, a flap that allowed waste or water out but blocked it from coming back in. He took the knife and pushed it in as far as it would go. Cutting the rubber would be impossible, but if he could jam the flap open, it could cripple the ship, even sink it.

He had done all he could do. The dangerous tendrils of fatigue were already creeping into his brain, weaving dream into reality and reality into dream.
Sisiutl
, the sea serpent, beckoned him down to the depths, and the pale face of
Bukwas
, king of ghosts and lurer of drowned spirits, laughed at him through the waves. For a moment he thought he could feel the brush of soft hands caressing his hair, and then all of them were willing him to sleep.

He shook his head and fought to clear his mind as he pushed off for the shore. He had left Percy with the canoe, hidden among the rocks. Percy would be watching for him and would come if he signaled him, but any signal that would alert Percy could also alert the men on the black ship, and he could not, would not, do that.

Walker sucked in a lungful of air and slid under the water. Silently he prayed to the Creator, willed himself to transform once again into the magnificent
sat'sam
, giver of life, strong and sleek, girded with muscle, armed with scales. He was too cold to feel his muscles respond.

The return of warmth to his legs came with stabbing pains that shot along his nerves and set them on fire. His back arched with agony, and his hands reached out like claws in an effort to stop Percy from rubbing life back into them. A rivulet of blood crept down his chin and started to meander down his neck from the split his teeth had opened in his lip as he fought to stop from screaming.

He was more dead than alive when Percy fished him out of the water, dragged him up on the shore, and covered him with a blanket, but he knew he needed to get the circulation in his legs going enough to let him get back into the canoe. They needed to get out of the bay.

Three more canoes were waiting for them around the point. They slid out of the darkness as soon as Percy and Walker threaded their way through the rocks and turned into the channel. Percy steered alongside the first and Walker forced his aching body to lean close to it.

“It's quiet. The crew boat is tied alongside. Two lines. Keep it between you and the black ship.” He spoke in a whisper, even though they were out of sight of the two boats. Sound carried well over water, and the night was quiet. No point in taking a chance.

Percy released the canoe he had been holding on to and let himself drift as he watched it move into the night, followed by its two companions. Further talk was unnecessary: they had discussed their options earlier and knew what they were going to do. But that didn't mean there was nothing more to be done, and both men lifted their heads and spread their arms wide, offering up a silent prayer to the Creator, calling on the ancestors to lend their blessing to this enterprise.

As soon as the three men had disappeared, Percy turned his canoe east and slid his paddle deep into the water. He had done all he could. It was time to get back to camp. Walker sat huddled in the bow, his head bowed and the blanket wrapped tightly around his trembling body.