“Deborah and Allie, row left!” I demand, taking charge. There isn’t time for discussion. We have to get out of here. “Me and Pam will stay right. Everybody, row together now!”
For a heartbeat, I’m not sure if Deborah is going to comply. But after one last anguished moan, she lets go of the lapels of Beth’s life jacket and grabs onto a paddle. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cries.
“All forward, dig hard, stay together,” I bark, parroting what I heard Macy and Josh say the day before. “Let’s catch that center current line, so we can really get moving.”
I don’t dare turn around. All that matters is staying ahead of Bryan.
We cruise forward, gaining speed, skirting past the ghost raft that carried twelve women only minutes before. “Good, we’re doing good, just keep going.” As I speak, I dart my eyes back and forth across the canyon. It’s widened considerably since Anvil—there’s no way Bryan would’ve been able to string more razor wire here. Then again, I can’t even begin to understand how he strung it over Anvil. Even so, my head moves on a swivel, searching for any sign of glinting metal overhead. The memory of what that wire did—the ripped flesh, the dismembered bodies, the blood—loops in my mind like a broken record.
I remember what Macy said—some of her final words, I realize—that there are five of us and one of him. Four of us, now. He might be a better guide than he pretended—after all, he made it down Anvil just fine. But we have the power—even if wearemissing our guide oars. If we can stay ahead of him, we might make it out of here somehow.
The raft picks up speed with the current, slapping across the surface of the choppy water.
I can already see the start of the next rapid ahead, maybe fifty yards downriver, its frothing-white threshold a stark contrast to the black current.
Fear and adrenaline make me row even harder toward it, despite the fact that it might very well capsize us.
That’s when I hear a sound that sends a fresh jolt of adrenaline surging through me.
Erratic splashing, coming from the other side of the river.
I whip my head right, searching. At first, I think it’s coming from an enormous tree trunk that juts out of the water, its branches waving like thick fingers as they quiver in the current.
Then I hear a voice. Faint, so quiet I almost miss it, but unmistakably clear. “Help.”
“There’s someone holding onto that branch,” Pam says with a sharp exhale. “Come on, we have to get to them.”
I wonder if we can even get close enough—if we even have time.
As I stare at the horizontal tree trunk, I make out the shape of a woman in the water, clinging to one of the partially submerged branches. Every few seconds, the current fishtails her body under, then sideways, like it’s trying to flick her away. Is she holding on, or is she trapped there, her clothing caught on the tree? The current funnels us forcibly toward the next rapid. It’ll be impossible to hold the raft in one place for very long.
“We can’t stop,” Allie says, her voice rising in panic. “There’s no time. He’ll kill all of us!”
“We have to try,” Deborah insists.
“What if the raft gets stuck on one of those branches?” Allie demands. “Then we’re all dead.”
We need a decision, and we need it now.
In that moment, I know I need Parker. Whether it’sneurons firing or a figment of my subconscious or traumatic stress, I don’t care. I need him.Help me,I beg.
But all it takes is thinking of my husband’s solemn face to find my answer.
We can’t leave her behind. We just can’t.
She’s somebody’s Parker.
“Come on, all left! We can get her in the boat in time,” I say with far more confidence than I feel.
“He’s right behind us, though,” Allie chokes, but she’s rowing left like I said, driving her paddle hard into the water.
I risk a glance behind me in a desperate attempt to calculate how many seconds we have to spare.
To my surprise, Bryan actually hasn’t closed the gap between us by that much. He isn’t really rushing. Isn’t bent over at the waist, digging into the water frantically like we are.
He’s whistling. While moving steadily toward us, unrelenting and unhurried like some kind of Michael Myers on the water.
Like he’s … enjoying this.
