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The bugs churning the darkness are appalling. I have to pull my mask back up over my mouth just to keep from choking. The soft microfiber stings my bludgeoned, nearly-broken nose.
Noah’s flaming compound is a brightness in the sky behind us, but the light doesn’t do anything to illuminate the river. I’m forced to fall back to Rob’s third-rate night vision goggles, which aren’t great for this kind of work. The riverbanks are only a little brighter than the water, and the drooping overgrown trees are nearly invisible shawls that trail down over us. The water glitters in infrared, tiny variations as the river skips over submerged logs and stones and who knows what.
Straddling the rear bench seat, with one hand on the outboard motor’s tiller, I’m forced to slow to only a few miles an hou
