"All right," she said, glancing from Wright to Spearman, silently begging to know: Who is leader? "Slightly slap-happy, Doc."
"Mm, sure." Wright hitched his rifle. "Going to look at that nearest smoke. You come, Paul—or you, Ed. One of you should stay here."
Spearman leaned against the lifeboat, still-faced. "Paul can go if he wants to. I think it's a risk and a waste of time."
Paul watched him a moment, frightened not by a man whom he had never quite been able to like, but by the withdrawal itself, the sense of a barrier to communication. We start with a division on this first morning of the world...? Paul hugged his own rifle and followed Wright into the long whisper of the grass.
4
Moist heat pressed down, but the air of the meadow was sweet. There were marks of trampling as well as the swath the boat had cut—trails, places where something might have crouched. Under his breath Wright asked, "Feel all right, Paul?"
Truth was more needed than a show of courage. "Not perfect, Doc. Am I flushed? You are, a little."
"Yes. Trace of fever; may wear off. Here's something——"