A yell. Desperate.
Nimue’s eyes went wide. “That’s them.”
He broke into a sprint, pack hammering against his spine. Nimue’s footsteps pounded behind him as the wash curved around a bend and?—
There.
A lanky kid, maybe seventeen, straining against a frayed rope held by a couple teenagers onshore. It stretched into the churning water. Sweat and mud streaked his face as he fought the current’s pull, desperation radiating from every line of his body.
Why had they decided to cross here of all places? Liam scanned up the river, and his heart sank. The mass of the wash had been split into two channels by a sizable boulder, leadinghalf of the water to their left and the other half to their right. He’d led Nimue onto a stinking peninsula with no escape routes.
The only path was across the water. If they wanted to get to the bridge, they needed to cross the river on their right. But with the raging confluence there, it was clear why the teens had chosen the other.
He could get Nimue and himself across to where they needed to go, but that meant abandoning the teens who shouted directions to their friends from the far bank. In the middle of their river, four more kids clung to a shrinking sand island, ground eroding beneath their feet with each passing second.
Time seemed to slow down. But his choice was made, wasn’t it? His mission had shifted from escape to rescue.
He’d never been able to walk away from someone who needed help.
Even if it killed him.
They were all going to die.
The thought slammed through Nimue’s head as her boots sank into canyon mud that grabbed at her like quicksand, each step a battle against earth determined to swallow her whole.
A miracle. That’s what it would take for any of them to survive this.
Liam moved as if he’d done water rescues a thousand times. He waded right out into the river, seized the rope from the panicked teenager, and pulled him to safety onshore. “Stay put.”
Then he looped their lifeline around a mesquite tree.
Theirpatheticlifeline.
The rope looked ancient. Frayed hemp that probably hadn’t been used since the last century. Nimue’s stomach clenched asshe watched fibers unraveling in real time. She wouldn’t trust that thing to hold her laundry, let alone human lives.
What she wouldn’t give for one of Liam’s climbing ropes right now. The good stuff they’d left behind in their desperate flight.
Then, of course, he did something crazy. He waded right into the water, fighting the current, dragging the rope all the way out to the island. But he didn’t stop there. He kept going, to the other side, took the end from the burly teen trying to save his friend, found a place in the rock, and secured the rope with one of his climbing anchors.
The rope made a bridge, of sorts.
He headed back, his hand on the rope.
Please hold. Please.
Nimue’s hands fisted at her sides, every nerve focused on that thin line. Waiting for the inevitable snap.
It held.
Barely.
Liam landed on the sandbar. “Okay, grab the rope and start crossing. I’ll lead the way!” His voice carried over the frothing river.
The kids on the sandbar reached for the rope.
Liam stepped out into the water.
One of the girls on the shrinking island lost her footing. Sand crumbled, sending her sliding toward the torrent. Nimue’s breath locked in her throat, hand flying to her mouth as disaster unfolded in slow motion.
