After riding in the Chevy for nine hours, Cameron looked forward to the six-hour sleep ahead of him.  The ferry would not be crossing from Saint John to Digby until morning.  Now the ferry terminal, and most everything else in Saint John, was dark.  Nicole and Pepe had been sleeping since Pepe’s turn to drive three or four hours ago, though Pepe would grunt on occasion to let Cameron know he was alert enough if needed.

Cameron parked the Chevy near the ferry dock.  He rubbed his eyes and then opened the door to get some fresh air.  The smell of the Bay of Fundy was thick as the mist floated inland from the shore.  If there were stars or a moon in the sky was a mystery to Cameron.  The only light he could see was the misted glow of a white halogen on the eave of the terminal and in the rearview mirror, the brighter defined lights of the gas station.

Cameron thought about walking the block to the gas station to see if there was anything to eat or drink.  His coffee laden gut dissuaded him from getting out of the car.  The decision to buy the black tarry elixir at their last stop had come out of desperation and had begun to haunt him soon afterward.

If Cameron closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, the moisture in the mist alone would be enough to sedate him.  Still something about being near the ocean exhilarated him, even as tired as he was.

* * * * *

A marker for broke the tree line.  The sign was the first road marker other than the route eight signs that had intermittently popped up since turning off 101 in Clementine.

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