IN THE FIRST full flush of dawn, he heard Krayer yelling his name. But he stayed where he was, meaning to ignore Krayer. Any damn fool who’d get up at this hour on an island was more than half crazy anyhow. He smiled bitterly to himself. It was different if a person hadn’t slept at all.
The fact that he hadn’t slept brought all his thoughts forcefully back to Fran. The truth was that she wasn’t out of his mind for more than a moment. He’d never known anyone could fill all a person’s thoughts, tormenting him because he wanted her badly enough to cross hell barefoot to have her.
“Millar!”
Webb decided the bastard must be feeling better this morning, or else what had happened last night had stirred all his glands. He sat quietly aware that he’d lost all fear of the man. Alfred Krayer had been wrong. At first, Webb had been afraid to fight back. The pain and the memory of pain was strong inside him. But now it wasn’t strong enough. He knew now what Krayer could do, what Krayer would attempt. But now he was going to be ready for him. As long as he kept Krayer at arms length he could batter him senseless. And that’s what he would do. If Krayer thought he could keep Fran by force, then it was up to Webb to take her by force. That seemed to be the only law left on this island.
He couldn’t go on abjectly like this. He might as well have never left home. Back there he’d been surrounded by laws and restrictions and threats he no longer believed in. He’d as soon die as go on living like that down here — and wanting Fran made it all worse. He had to have her or life wouldn’t be worth living anyhow.
“Millar!”
There was strident anger in Krayer’s tone. Anger. The man was made of white cells of anger. Webb knew what Krayer would do. If he didn’t answer soon, or show up, Krayer would vent his small-minded anger on Fran. She would pay.
The hell with it. He answered Krayer.
When Webb walked back into the clearing he saw that Fran was still sleeping. She was pressed as close to the canopy of vines and the raft as she could get.
Webb felt his heart pound over his hollow stomach. He felt Krayer’s sardonic gaze on him and he dragged his eyes away.
Krayer was kneeling over a small heap of splinters as he worked his two sticks for friction. There was still no fire, but now Krayer had dug a small hollow, banked it in and set up two pronged sticks with a green limb across the fire pit.
He’ll get the fire, Webb thought. He’s just nuts enough that he’ll stay right there until he does….
By ten o’clock there was a small blaze in the fire pit. In the hours Krayer had worked over it, Webb had gathered more wood and back tracked the turtle until he found where its eggs were buried.
Using the first-aid tin, Krayer cooked three eggs and hung turtle steaks from the cross sticks. At noon the three of them sat down to eat steaks and eggs with coconut milk to drink.
Krayer said, “Do you understand now? As long as you do what I tell you, I’ll keep you alive.”
Webb glanced at him, wondering if this were the moment to tell Krayer to go to hell and let the fight follow? As though reading his thoughts, Krayer reached out for no apparent reason and pulled the harpoon nearer to him.
Fran lifted her head. She looked directly past her husband. Webb grinned inwardly. It looked as though Krayer’s rule was already hitting snags.
Fran’s voice was level. “The turtle steaks were so good, Webb. I never thought I could eat a turtle egg. But I did.” Her smile was gentle. “I loved it. I feel like a human being again. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t gotten all of it.”
Webb heard Krayer’s sharp drawn breath. He shrugged and didn’t look at Fran. He didn’t have to look at her. He could feel her gaze on him, and it was like a caress — a caress he couldn’t return, couldn’t even acknowledge.
“I’m glad you feel better.”
He knew Krayer was watching him. But he didn’t have to look up to know what expression was on the man’s face….
Alfred Krayer cut a thick bamboo pole and sharpened the end of it. With this crude shovel, Webb began to hollow trenches three feet wide and six inches deep. Slowly he carved out letters five feet high in the beach above the high water mark.
While he dug, Fran brought sea weed, coral and vines and piled them near the letters. She said once from under her floppy hat: “Remember on the raft, Webb?”
He didn’t look up. “I’m trying to forget it. It’s either forget it or kill Krayer. If he didn’t harpoon me for touching you, he’d kill you for letting me.”
She gave a hollow laugh. “You’re beginning to know him.”
“I know too much about him. I wish to God I never had to see him again. But there’s no sense asking for him to hurt you. I’ve got to stay away from you.”
“Can you?”
“I’ve got to.”
She laughed again, helplessly. “Yes. I suppose so.”
He finished carving the last letter, looked up at her. Her eyes were warm. “Maybe some other lifetime,” he said.
“I can’t wait for that.”
“Do you think I want to? But I’m telling you this: until I can settle with Krayer, I’m staying away from you. I can’t keep him from hurting you. He gets too much pleasure out of that. But I’m damned if I’ll cause it.”
She looked about forlornly. “This place doesn’t look like hell at first glance, does it?”
He tossed seaweed and vines into the hollowed trenches. “It does to me,” he said.
She breathed in deeply. “Maybe he can keep us apart, Webb. Maybe. But there’s one thing he can’t do. He can’t keep us from wanting each other.”
He stopped working. His head came up and he stared at her. “God, Fran, what am I going to do? This island, less than a mile of it. You’re everywhere.”
“I’m here,” she whispered. “Something will happen, Webb. I don’t know what. Something.”
He came upon them suddenly, without a sound, his feet like cat’s paws on the sand. When he spoke, Fran went tense, trembling.
Krayer’s laugh was cold. “You haven’t half enough seaweed, Fran. If you want a plane to spot this S.O.S. you better make it plenty dark.” He closed his hand on her arm, tightening his fingers, leaving a bruised imprint. He turned her and held the harpoon at his side while he watched Webb. “Get at it, Millar. Let’s get this job done.”
Fran brought seaweed for the next half hour. She tried once or twice to talk to Webb again, but he didn’t answer. He had only to look at the bruises on her arm, the clear imprint of her husband’s fingers.
Krayer’s shouting from the jungle made them run across the beach a moment after the last letter was completed in the distress signal.
It was slow going through the matted jungle. Fran stayed close against Webb’s side. When he paused to clear away vines, he could feel the warm thrust of her body against his arm. He felt suddenly warmed as though he’d gulped down two fingers of raw whisky. He wanted to heel around, grab her in his arms, but he kept moving. He had the strange feeling that Krayer watched them even in the thickest part of the forest.
Krayer called out again. He was only a few feet ahead of them, but they were almost upon him before they saw him.
He was kneeling beside a small bubbling spring. He looked up at them. “Water,” he said. “Flowing water. I found it. First I found this stream. It was so slow I was afraid it was stagnant. I followed it. We’ve got fresh water — all the water we’ll need to drink.” He stood up. His gaze flicked against Webb’s. “You see now, Millar, how urgent it is to keep your mind on survival. Because I don’t waste time thinking about things that aren’t important, we’ve fresh water to drink.”
Webb looked from Krayer to the bubbling spring. Water was vital, he knew, but water wouldn’t even touch the thirst inside him….
That night the darkness was less awesome. Night came quickly, but the small fire in the clearing kept a wavering light against it.
Fire, Webb thought looking at Fran across it, what a wonderful thing that must have been for the first man and his woman.
The night pressed in on them and with it came the loneliness. All the silence of the universe seemed pressing down upon the small hollow of light made by the flickering fire. Krayer said, “Fran, come to sleep.”
Webb watched her grow tense, bite her lip. “In a little while.”
Krayer sat up on the tarp. “I can tell you this. You two aren’t going to sit there by that fire and hope I’ll sleep.”
Webb said, “Lay off it, Krayer. I haven’t touched her. I’m not going to.”
He said, his voice cold: “Oh, you’re being very careful. Very careful. But being careful won’t deceive me, either. If Fran is going to stay there, you get to your tarp.” He stood up, harpoon in his hand.
Webb glanced at Fran across the flickering blaze. Something in her eyes was begging him to do as Krayer ordered. He sighed, got up and went to his tarp. He lay down and after a moment he heard Krayer lie down again.
Webb couldn’t sleep. He watched the fire glittering in Fran’s dark blonde hair, and his heart set up an unsteady rhythm and never quieted.
Fran remained sitting beside the fire and staring into the darkness. Webb felt the urgent need for her mounting in him, flowing through his body. The very intensity of his desire tired him, his lids grew heavy and finally closed. Fran was still quietly there when he finally fell asleep….
Krayer was up at dawn. Webb didn’t know how many times the man had gotten up during the night, but the small fire was still blazing in the pit.
“Come on,” Krayer said. “This morning we’re going to gather pebbles. I want them the size of bird eggs. We ought to be able to get them while the tide is out.”
Still groggy, Webb followed him down to the edge of the water. Krayer began gathering the smooth pebbles and filling his pockets and hat with them.
“Mind telling me what we’re going to use these for?” Webb said.
Krayer spoke over his shoulder. “Believe me, I’ve got a use for them or I’d never bother getting them.”
Webb moved along behind him, gathering the stones. He said, “Has it ever occurred to you, Krayer, that you could get ulcers, even in a place like this?”
Krayer stopped walking. “I’m staying alive, Millar. I’m keeping you alive. Never forget that.”
“You’re running, fella — just as though you were back in the states. If we eat, if we stay alive until a ship finds us, there’s no need this hectic career you’re making of this thing.”
“Nothing exists very long without order,” Krayer said. “I mean to have that order — in everything. Bring those pebbles and let’s get back to the clearing.”
After a breakfast of coconut meat and turtle eggs, Krayer started to work with the pebbles. He had them all agree on the date the plane had crashed and then checked with them the number of days they’d been on the water and on the island. When that was established, he made a square of branches on the ground. Within this large square he made seven divisions. These blocks he filled with a pebble to mark the days remaining in the month.
“Very clever,” Webb said. He was making a net of his undershirt on the end of a bamboo pole. Then he cut a length of fish line and knotted fish waste at the ends of it. “But what good will it do us to know what day it is?”
“For the last time I tell you, Millar, we’re going to live as orderly an existence on this island as possible — and that includes obeying laws — all the laws.”
“These laws,” Webb said. “You’ll make them?”
Krayer nodded. “I believe I’m most emotionally and educationally equipped. But don’t worry, Millar, you won’t have any trouble, as long as you obey those laws.”
Webb sighed. “That was true back home.”
• • •
Webb returned to the clearing with half a dozen crabs he’d taken in his undershirt net. Krayer was still at work with his pebbles.
Near the calendar, Krayer made a perfect circle of the pebbles. He worked all morning to assure its perfection. In the exact center he set an upright stick and then crouched as he watched that stick until its shadow almost completely disappeared.
“This is the instant of local noon,” he said. From this point, he made lines of pebbles marking twelve, three, six and nine.
That afternoon Webb killed a bird with a stone.
By nightfall, under Krayer’s constant supervision, Fran had plaited a palm-strip rug about three feet square. Krayer cut four equal-length limbs and set them up around the fire pit. “Even during a rain,” he said, “we won’t lose this fire. Not as long as we can keep it covered.”
After they’d eaten the bird and some of the crab meat for supper, Krayer ordered Fran to the tarp. Webb had no desire to sit around the campfire with Krayer. He got up, yawned and stretched and moved over to his place near the palm.
He sat down, aware that Krayer was watching him warily. He frowned, wondering what was the matter. He supposed Krayer mistrusted him because he had not fought back all day. But he refused to worry about Alfred Krayer.
He stretched out on his back and tried to think pleasant things: the way Fran’s eyes went soft when she looked at him, the gentle silence and the warm languor of the island at this moment. He fell asleep.
He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when he heard someone speaking his name and shaking his shoulder. He sat up groggily.
“What in God’s name is the matter with you now?” he said.
The light from the fire flickered across Krayer’s face. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said. “I’ve figured out just about where we are.”
“Great,” Webb said sarcastically. “And does that prove anything?”
Krayer ignored that. “I waited until this late to get the stars at their brightest. Now, if you look across there you’ll see the true Southern Cross. I extend a line south and connect the two bright stars to the east of the Cross, bisect this line with one at right angles. With this imaginary line from the dark pocket over the South Pole — ”
“You’re wasting your time.”
Across the clearing Fran sat up sleepily. She said, “Webb, what’s the matter?”
His voice was taut. “Krayer knows where we are.”
“Are we near other islands, Alfred?” Fran said. “Is there any chance we might be found … soon?”
“According to my calculations — and I’ve been working on them for the past four hours — we’re on the southernmost of the Marshalls. Actually, I’m not sure. If so, we’d have been off course when we crashed. However, that’s entirely possible. This must be a small atoll too minor to be mapped. There are many of them. But I’m not satisfied. Not yet. I’m still working on it. I’m quite positive I’ve figured correctly, but something is wrong. Something about my calculations upsets me. It’s a wrong I can’t put my finger on. It keeps nagging at me. But I’ll keep working on it.”
Webb watched him stand up, stare at the bright stars of the Cross and frown. Webb lay back again. Fran was already asleep again.