Sal walked to where Cartley stood leaning against the partly closed door of the rotting warehouse. Jagged splinters of steel and wood angled out against the sky.
After a while, Sal said softly, "Well, what could we try to do, Doc?"
Cartley turned quickly. Some of the anguish in his eyes had gone away, and he gripped Sal's shoulders in hands surprisingly strong for so old a man. "You want to help me try?"
"Guess I do. Like you said, we only have a little time left anyway. And if we can't help the Children, what's the good of it?"
They stood there in the shadows a while, not saying anything.
"This way," Cartley said. He led Sal down away from the pier and along the water's edge. Dry reed rustled, and mud squished under their shoes.
"Here," Cartley said. There was a small flat-bottomed rowboat, and in it were several cartons of food supplies, all in cans. There were also several large tins of water.
"We'll need a little time," Cartley said. "We'll have to wait. I figure we'll row upstream maybe a few hundred yards, and hole up in one of those caves. We can watch, Sal. We can watch and wait and try to figure it out."
"Sure," Sal said. "That seems the only way to start."
Cartley sat down on the bank near the boat, and Sal sat down too.