But VB did not think on this more than that instant. He found no comfort in the cessation of firing. For him, only one attainable object remained in life. He wanted to be with the thing of which he was certain, away from all else—to know a faith was justified; to sense once again stability!
His hand struck rough wood. He strained his eyes to make out the tumble-down structure rising above him.
"Captain!" he called, forcing his voice up from a whisper. "Come—boy, I'm—ready—to go—home!"
Clinging to the logs, he raised himself to his feet and swayed in through the door.
"Captain," he muttered, closing his eyes almost contentedly and waiting. "Captain?"
He started forward in alarm, a concern mounting through his torture and dimming his sensibilities.
"Captain—are you—here?"
He stumbled forward, arms outstretched in the darkness, feeling about the space. He ran into a wall; turned, met another.
"Captain!" he cried, his voice mounting to a ranting cry.
The Captain was gone!