“Well that’s a fine how do you do,” muttered Rubin.

“What you mean, Rubin?” Arnie’s voice always annoyed Rubin, but since the plane crash it had acquired a grating quality. It set Rubin’s teeth on edge, it really did.

“We’ve come to the edge,” said Rubin. “See? The crick just flows on over…”

Arnie came up beside him. “So it do, so it do.” He stared down into the darkness for a long moment, then looked up at Rubin. His eyes were round and vacant like the moon. A little thread of drool had escaped his lip and glistened on his chin. “What’s that mean?”

Rubin sighed. “It means we turn around. Head upstream, hope we can find help…”

“We’s been walkin’ for days, though,” Arnie whined.

“Dammit, Arnie, don’t you think I know that?” Arnie recoiled from his brother’s fury, and Rubin sighed inwardly. He relented. “Sorry, Arnie. There’s no choice.” He smiled. “Know any good songs?”

“Do I!” They turned away from the void, and Arnie began to sing some idiot song. After a couple moments, Rubin joined in.