Chapter 31

My trip to the north end of the island was not eventful, other than the occasional bad moments when I thought I might slip—and I fell only twice. I developed a kind of determined lope, a half-run that, while fairly rapid, was slow enough to allow me to recall and use what I remembered about that part of the shoreline. I discovered that I have a good memory for that sort of thing—and it wasn’t more than two hours before I reached the burnt-out station.

Then I was at the creek, drinking and washing myself with the deliciously cold water. I filled the water bag, slung its strap over my shoulder, and headed back. I was getting tired by this point, but strengthened my resolve with images of the Marine, and the feel of the water at my hip.

I was also alert for any signs of a rescue, wondering what form it would take. When I was climbing the rock promontory that marked the east end of the lagoon, for some reason I began to doubt. It was at least four hours since I had signaled the plane.