“Just a little more.”
He looked back toward the Lodge. “Only another few minutes. I don’t want to die out here.”
We walked on as the rain relented into a mist and then stopped. “Seems to be clearing up.” We’d been walking about twenty minutes. My muscles were working, blood flowed. I felt better already. So I flew across the States to see a girl who only wanted to be friends. That was fine. I was fine. Eventually, she’d come around and see that our connection was more than just fleeting.
“Just me and my best mate out in nature. What else do I need?” I stopped and held out my arms wide. Just then lightning flashed and thunder cracked. We both ducked instinctually.
“Shit,” Skip swore.
“Okay. You may have been right. Let’s head back.”
Without any more discussion, we began a slow jog back toward the Lodge. We were used to bad summer storms in Denver. One second it’d be perfectly sunny, the next a torrential downpour was washing out the ditches. I guess I’d been expecting more of a soft misting rain all day.
We made it to the little bridge that had marked the start of the trail only to find the trickling stream transformed into a full river, almost completely submerging the bridge. It was barely passable.
“We’re gonna just have to go for it,” Skip shouted over the raindrops pelting our ponchos.
He leapt onto the bridge. Skip was about my height, tall, lean, athletic. He smashed five steps and made it across despite the torrential downpour. To be honest, he made it look stupid easy and my fragile male ego felt challenged. Before I could overthink it, I launched myself forward.
I copied him exactly, but after my first three steps, I hit a snag. Literally. A large stick, some might say a log, came rushing down the stream, some might say river. The heavy log smashed into my ankle just as my poncho caught the edge of the railing.
The moment happened fast but I processed it in slow motion. Like how the world spins out of control only to slow back down to a narrow focus in a car wreck. My upper body was tugged back and my legs slipped forward. I slammed onto my back. Unable to catch my breath. Vaguely, distantly, I was aware that this may have been a good thing because I was completely submerged.
My lungs burned to take in a breath. Icy water gushed over my entire body, into my ears and mouth. Instinct had me remembering my training, reminding me that I needed to get up. I needed to move. But I couldn’t fight the current. My foot felt pinned down. Something was weighing me down besides the rushing water. Panic threatened to force me to gulp in air.
It occurred to me in a soft warmth settling over my body that this may be how I died. How silly. Of all the adventurous things I’d done in my life, crossing a flooded bridge was what finally did me in. But I had always suspected it would be this way. Only the good die young, as they say. I’d had a good run.
At least I’d seen her face one last time.
* * *
Roxy
“Some idiots went downthe Little Creek Trail,” the front desk clerk called out to me as I came into the lobby from my lunch break.
“Sh—” I started to say, then remembered myself. “Just now?” I asked instead.
“Little bit ago.”
I blinked at him. He flinched.
Did it occur to him to stop them from going? Knowing the rain was pouring down? Apparently not. But I learned long ago not to expect other people to behave like I would in a situation. That way led to disappointment.
“I assume you’re telling me because they haven’t come back. Where’s John?”
“Who’s John?” The kid looked at me blankly.
“Our security guy.”
“Oh. No idea. This Lodge has security?”
I blinked at him. He blinked back.
It never failed. Despite at least three different signs warning about the trail during rainstorms, almost monthly, someone would head down there.
I frowned down at my clothes and heels. “You seen Vincent? A manager?”
The kid shook his head, he was already over this conversation and moved on to help the waiting guest.
