Cooper goes for a few more hours on the coast. Last night he had a dream. He was on the water, darkness was approaching, needed to get home. He hears what sounds like twenty, or so, airborne figures; his scanner indicates only one. "Sixty miles and closing." He can think of no other thing than that they would send someone if there were trouble. He wonders about Carter, a little ticked off, and yet, he thinks, Carter can take care of himself.
"I'm sure I don't need to know all about that right now."
He sits still for a while. It's somehow better this way, It is better that DNA and protein and DNA and protein have ended their cycle, that water, fresh water, had joined in the process and that it would never again.
Cooper says, "I should get to a higher altitude."
He was sure this was help on its way, but he still couldn't relax. He kept peering at his wrist. He hoped he had the wrong time. His watch felt like a time bomb ready to rip his hand off. He checked his scanner again. The object had closed to forty-one miles. He had a funny thought, and then it was gone. This was the kind of connection he couldn't lose, so why worry about it? Another odd thought came to his head.
"You can't just press a rewind button on this thing, or could you." He has waited, and now this, and for what?
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