Ryan Cawdor looked back one last time. The gusting wind suddenly tugged back the white fog, like a curtain across a huge window, revealing the shore.
There were the jumbled rocks.
Trader and Abe, standing side by side, faced away from the ocean. Surrounding them was a menacing circle of men, looking, as far as Ryan could make out, like a mix of brushwood survivors and some capering scabbies.
And at the front, leading them, was the unmistakable figure of Straub.
There wasn’t a thing that could be done.
As the raft bobbed on the current, Ryan whispered, “No, Trader, nothing’s forever.”
