My Last Continent: A Novel(68)

I catch a glimpse of orange in the water and stop the boat. Bracing my legs against the deck of the Zodiac, I reach over and grab the parka by the collar, hauling the body toward me. I’m getting a little help—the body below me is kicking, moving forward and upward—and I manage to get the head and shoulders draped over the rubber side of the Zodiac. I take a second to breathe and see that it’s a man, and that he’s not wearing a life jacket, but I can’t see his face.

“Come on, dammit,” I say. “Help me out.”

I brace my legs against the inside of the Zodiac and pull. A few more kicks, a little muscle from both of us, and he’s halfway in. I lean over, cringing as I feel the pressure on my belly, and drag his legs into the boat, swinging them over the side. He lands hard on the deck, then looks up.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Richard? How the hell did you get out here?”

“You wanted my binoculars,” he says, teeth chattering.

“I told Kate to give them to one of us. You have no business being out here. And why are you dressed like this?”

“I borrowed a jacket.”

I look around for the quickest route back to the Cormorant, dismayed that I have to take yet another detour, and furious with Richard, who is babbling about something and stealing away crucial moments when all I can think about is finding Keller.

“Once I had—the jacket on—with the hood—no one knew.” Richard’s teeth are clattering so hard he can hardly talk. But he continues.

“I went out—onto the ice—in a different direction. Saw two people—stranded—on a piece of ice.” He begins to cough, then recovers. “Tiny piece of ice. I threw them—the rope—and pulled them over. They jumped across—made it. I sent them back to—the boat—and then—looked for more. People—who need saving.”

I look over at Richard and see that he is so detached from reality he has no idea, despite his body’s convulsive shaking, how close he’d come to being a victim himself.

“I saved them,” he breathes. “Two people.”

“And you almost got yourself killed, Richard. You could’ve gotten me killed.”

“But I didn’t.” Then he looks at me, and suddenly he appears completely lucid. “What about the other one?”

“What other one?”

He rubs his eyes, his brief moment of clarity gone. “Wait,” he says, then he has to pause to breathe. “There was someone on the ice. Back there.” He tries to stand. His strength is surprising given he’d plunged into the water, and his manic energy alarms me.

“Sit down,” I snap. But I look over my shoulder, briefly, to where we’d been. I don’t see anyone.

Richard struggles to his knees, pointing. “He was over there.”

I look at him. “Are you sure?”

He nods, his body shaking.

“Fuck.” I’m not sure I believe him but can’t take the chance on leaving anyone behind—especially when this person could be Keller. I turn the Zodiac around, returning to the spot where I’d hauled Richard out. I don’t see anyone, or even the trace of someone having gone under, and when I look at Richard, he seems equally confused.

“He was right around here,” he says, swiveling his head.

“Was he passenger or crew?”

“He was right here.”

“What happened? Did you see him fall in?”

“No,” Richard says. “He was—lying—on the ice.”

Whether it’s the cold, an adverse reaction to the medication, or his own delusions, Richard isn’t making any sense. “You probably saw a seal. That’s all.” I turn the boat around yet again.

“No, no, it was a man—a blue jacket—”

I remember the binoculars and look at Richard, my eyes searching for a strap around his neck. “Where are your binoculars? Let’s have a look.”

His hand goes to his chest, as if he expects them to be there. “I—I don’t know.”

“For f*ck’s sake.”

“I saw him,” Richard insists.

“Well, I haven’t seen anyone but you out here. I’ve got to get you back to the Cormorant.”

“I have to get out,” Richard says and moves toward the side. “I have to look.”

“No,” I say, pushing him back down. I place my rubber boot on his chest to keep him there while I pilot the Zodiac. Ice scrapes against the sides as we cut through the slush, sometimes lifting us entirely as we crest on more slush than water.

“How’d—you find me?” he asks.

“I saw you fall in.”

“But I was—under—for so long.”

“No,” I say, looking at him. “It was only a few seconds.”

He shakes his head. “It was at least ten minutes,” he says.

I want to tell him he’d be dead if that were the case, but there’s no point. He babbles on. “The water—so green and clear,” he says. “Stalactites underwater. I saw birds flying—thought I was in the sky—so heavy down there. So heavy.”

“Try to relax, Richard,” I tell him, as gently as I can. “You’re in shock. Just sit tight. We’re almost there.”