The raft must have broken up, and neither Ashe nor McNeil could have
survived the ultimate disaster.
Ross Murdock was alone, marooned in a time which was not his own, with
little promise of escape. That one thought blanked out his mind with its
own darkness. What was the use of getting up again, of trying to find
food for his empty stomach, or warmth and shelter?
He had always prided himself on being able to go it alone, had thought
himself secure in that calculated loneliness. Now that belief had been
washed away in the river along with most of the will power which had
kept him going these past days. Before, there had always been some goal,
no matter how remote. Now, he had nothing. Even if he managed to reach
the mouth of the river, he had no idea of where or how to summon the sub
from the overseas post. All three of the time travelers might already
have been written off the rolls, since they had not reported in.
Ross pulled the rag free from the sapling and wreathed it in a tight
bracelet about his grimed wrist for some unexplainable reason.
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