My head ached, my neck and shoulders ached, the wound in my side ached. My entire body, in fact, ached. I swallowed dryly. My throat felt mummified. But I was too buggered to get up and refill Elizaveta’s bucket with rainwater. I glanced at my wristwatch through a film of gritty fatigue. It was 4:10 a.m., which meant another hour or so until dawn. Everyone had settled down, and for the last half hour they were either sleeping or pretending to sleep. I yawned silently and fought the urge to close my eyes myself, even for a moment, knowing I would be out as quickly as a man on an anesthesia drip. Whenever my eyelids began to droop, I pressed the tank top harder against the wound in my abdomen. The resulting pain functioned like an electric shock, zapping me awake.

I was getting worried about the gash. Aside from aching all over, I felt lightheaded and dizzy. I tried to recall what I’d learned about the human anatomy in high school biology, but back then filling my friends’ pencil cases with fish eyes or frog legs during dissection classes had been more important than listening to the teacher or studying the textbook. Nevertheless, I was pretty sure my liver was on my right side, which meant it was safe. Kidneys were on both sides, which scared me a bit. I had no idea where my pancreas was, but I believed my spleen was on my left side too. So had the knife blade punctured a kidney? My pancreas, my spleen? Maybe it nicked an important vein or artery. Like Elizaveta said, I could be bleeding internally. This could explain the lightheadedness…

My eyelids were drooping. I applied pressure to the wound.

I inhaled sharply—but the pain was good. It kept me alert.

I glanced again at my wristwatch. 4:16.

Christ, the minutes were slugging by.

Another hour—an hour and a half, tops.

Yeah, until first light maybe. But what about the boatman? When was he going to show up?

This was something I’d spent a fair bit of time thinking about. Not if the boatman would return. I was sure he would. He knew we were out here, stranded. He also knew we had money. I wasn’t sure whether Jesus paid him the full fee up front, but I didn’t think so. That would have been stupid, and Jesus wasn’t stupid. Which meant the guy would be back. So the question wasn’t if the boatman would return, but when.