“Come,” said Samatan, climbing gingerly down from his perch. “We go back.”
“Back to what?” Johnny’s lips framed the words he dared not speak.
Their trail back over the moonlit beach was strange beyond belief. They climbed over a huge old palm tree, lying on the ground, stumbled on a giant, loggerhead turtle, killed in the storm, and slipped on jellyfish left high on the ridge.
As they rounded a bend in the beach, a large object loomed before them, white and ghostly in the night.
“Boat,” said Samatan.
“Lifeboat,” the boy amended as they came closer.
Examining it closely he read the words: “S. S. Vulture”. Bashed in at the prow, the boat lay empty, upside down. What was its story? Had the Vulture been wrecked? Had part of her crew put to sea in this boat, only to perish?
With a shudder, Johnny pushed on behind his tireless guide.
“Our boat must be gone,” he ventured at last.
Samatan made no reply.