She hits upon the theory before he can begin to hint toward it. The corpses are so thick there is not really any water between them, now: they are crowded in among the ugly press of bodies. They do not drift so much as they cram together, interlocking with horrible pressure. He is ready at any moment for them to surge up in attack.

They don't. The tension merely builds, and builds, and builds.

"Responsible." He drums his fingers again along the wooden side of the boat, heedless of the dead crushing in closer and closer. He knows what the bodies in the River can do to a person; he knows how quickly the ravenous dead can move. "I could give you a very long answer to that, Willow, or a very short one."

John should not look down the riverbank, but it is truly in his head now. Worse, he knows it. He knows this pressure is external, and dangerous, and still he gives in to it.

There is another body pinned with spikes, up ahead. He knows it will be the body of a woman.

"Perhaps we'll save time," he murmurs, "and choose the short one: yes."