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He forced his unsteady legs to carry him back to Maeve, deeply afraid of finding her body in a burned out room. With great trepidation, he stepped over the threshold separating the salon from the wheelhouse. The main salon looked like it had been swept by a blowtorch, The thick, durable fiberglass skin had kept much of the heat from penetrating the bulkheads but the terrible heat had broken through the glass windows. Remarkably, the flammable material on the sofas and chairs, though badly scorched, had not ignited.
He shot a glance at Deirdre. Her once beautiful hair was singed into a blackened mass, her eyes milky and staring, her skin the color of a broiled lobster. Light wisps of smoke rose from her expensive clothes like a low mist. She had the appearance of a doll that had been cast into a furnace for a few seconds before being pulled out. Death had saved her from life within an immovable body.
Uncaring of his pain and injuries, he furiously threw aside the furniture he had heaped over Maeve. She had to be still alive, he thought desperately. She had to be waiting for him in all her pain and despair at once again losing her children. He pulled off the last cushion and stared down with mounting fear. Relief washed over him like a cascade as she lifted her head and smiled.
"Maeve," he rasped, falling forward and taking her in his arms. Only then did he see the large pool of blood that had seeped down between her legs and spread on the deck carpeting. He held her close, her head nestled against his shoulder, his lips brushing her cheeks.
"Your eyebrows," she whispered through a funny little smile.
"What about them?"
"They're all singed off, most of your hair too."
"I can't look dashing and handsome all the time."
"You always do to me." Then her eyes went moist with sadness and concern. "Are my boys safe?"
He nodded. "Al lifted off minutes before the firestorm struck. I should think they're well on their way to a safe shore."
Her face was as pale as moonlight. She looked like a fragile porcelain doll. "I never told you that I loved you."
"I knew," he murmured, fighting to keep from choking up.
"Do you love me too, if only a little bit?"
"I love you with all my soul."
She raised a hand and lightly touched his scorched face. "My huckleberry friend, always waitin' round the bend. Hold me tight. I want to die in your arms."
"You're not going to die," he said, unable to control the fabric of his heart as it tore in pieces. "We're going to live a long life together, cruising the sea while we raise a boatload of kids who swim like fish."
"Two drifters off to see the world," she said in a low whisper.
"There's such a lot of world to see," Pitt said, repeating the words to the song.
"Take me across Moon River, Dirk, carry me across . . ." Her expression almost seemed joyful.
Her eyes fluttered and closed. Her body seemed to wilt like a lovely flower under a frigid blast of cold.
Her face became serene like a peacefully sleeping child's. She was across and waiting on the other shore.
"No!" he cried, his voice like a wounded animal baying in the night.
All life seemed to flow out of Pitt too. He no longer clung to consciousness. He no longer fought the black mist closing in around him. He released his hold on reality and embraced the darkness.
Giordino's plan for a quick, turnaround flight to Gladiator Island was dashed almost from the beginning.
After using the Agusta's state-of-the-art satellite communications system to brief Sandecker on board the Glomar Explorer in Hawaii, he contacted air-and-sea rescue units in both Australia and New Zealand and became the first person to announce the disaster to the outside world. During the remainder of the flight to Hobart, he was continually besieged with requests from high-level government officials and reporters from the news media for accounts of the eruption and assessment of the damage.
Upon approaching the capital city of Tasmania, Giordino flew along the steep foothills bordering Hoban, whose commercial district was located on the west bank of the Derwent River. Locating the airport, he called the tower. The flight controllers directed him to set down in a military staging area half a kilometer from the main terminal. He was stunned to see a huge crowd of people milling about the area as he hovered over the landing site.
Once he shut down the engine and opened the passenger door, everything was accomplished in an orderly manner. Immigration officials came on board and arranged for his entry into Australia without a passport. Social services authorities took custody of Maeve's young sons, assuring Giordino that as soon as their father was located, they would be placed in his care.
Then as Giordino finally set foot on the ground, half starved and exhausted almost beyond redemption, he was attacked by an army of reporters shoving microphones under his nose, aiming TV cameras at his face and shouting questions about the eruption.
The only question he answered with a smile on his face was to confirm that Arthur Dorsett was one of the first casualties of the holocaust.
Finally, breaking free of the reporters and reaching the office of the airport's security police, Giordino called the head of the U.S. consulate, who reluctantly agreed to pay for the refueling of the helicopter, but only for humanitarian purposes. His return flight to Gladiator Island was again delayed when Australia's Director of Disaster Relief asked if Giordino would help out by airlifting food and medical supplies back to the island in the Agusta. Giordino graciously gave his consent and then impatiently paced the asphalt around the helicopter while it was refueled and passenger seats were removed to make more room before the needed provisions were loaded on board. He was thankful when one of the relief workers sent him a bag full of cheese sandwiches and several bottles of beer.
