“No, she’s right,” Deborah insists, her voice hoarse and thick with grief. “We’re screwed if we go down the wrong line. If we flip, we’re dead. At least this way we have a chance.” She points to Imani, who hunches with her head against her knees, clinging to a tie strap with her good arm. “Hang on, hon.”
Just then, it becomes difficult to hear anyone’s voice. The roar of the looming rapid is getting louder, vibrating through the raft. I study the river ahead, my grip on the paddle slick with sweat. All I can see through the dark is where the water plumes bright white. But as we near the right side and I get a look at the “easier” path, my stomach drops. Those three-foot waves are plenty menacing, and I can only imagine whatcomes next: Churning holes big enough to swallow us, jagged rocks jutting through the troughs like teeth.
Behind us, Bryan’s gear boat continues following us to the right side of the canyon, closing the distance behind us. In a few seconds, we’ll both be committed to our line of travel, locked into a choice. After that, the current will yank us forward and take control.
Parker?I beg, trying to find that calm, reassuring voice that’s been reeling me into clarity.
“He’s right behind us,” Pam cries in a small voice.
I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder.
His face, like his body, is pointing the same direction we’re moving. Nothing about his stance indicates that he’s about to veer left and change course. He’s committing to this path, same as we are. And he’s closed the gap between us so that he’s almost on our bumper, maybe wanting a close-up view of what’s about to happen. Or maybe he’s using this as his chance to catch up.
“Do it now,”Parker whispers.
“Now!” I hissed at the other women. “Get us turned around!”
We spin the raft around with quick, frantic strokes. It works better than I’d hoped, and suddenly the bow of our raft is lurching upstream as we row forward as hard as possible toward the nose of Bryan’s raft.
When I glance up, I see an expression of utter shock on his face. But we’re so close, so coordinated in our movements, he can’t do a thing about it.
The current fights us, but we fight harder.
For a split second as we row, we come directly alongside the gear boat, so close I can see water dripping from the patchy hair on Bryan’s jaw—and the rage flickering in his eyes.
A second later, our hull rams straight into the side of his raft, launching him off-center—and dangerously close to the canyon wall—then spitting him back into the current.
“Keep rowing!” I cry.
Bryan fights hard to stabilize his raft, managing to get it under control and straighten the angle just before he hits the rapids.
He’s stronger than I gave him credit for. He’s clearly been downplaying his athleticism and guiding skills. And those long wooden guide oars are far more powerful than our yellow-and-black plastic paddles.
But at this moment, the river is stronger than any of us.
The current surges, the first roiling wave grabbing his raft in its fist.
“All back, row back hard!” I scream. We’re following way too close to his raft now, and the last thing we want is a collision.
I snap into focus, following every move Bryan makes. He’s regained full control, slicing through the churn and steering slightly left. He leans hard on the right oar, skirting a path through a less violent stretch of whitewater.
“All left two strokes, then dig right!” I call, just loud enough for Pam, Deborah, and Allie to hear me, repeating everything Bryan does.
The river boils around us as we hit the first wave in the same spot Bryan did—and we barely avoid an enormous boulder lurking beneath the surface of the smooth black water to our left.
This is working.
Sheets of water rain down on us as the raft pitches through the waves, faster and faster, so close behind the gear boat that I’m terrified we’ll crash.
Each time a deep trough sends us hurtling skyward, I think of the razor-sharp wire that sliced through Nikki’s mouth, Imani’s arm, the heads and necks of the women we leftbehind in the river. Women we’d shared coffee and a campfire with, only the night before.
This is the end,I think over and over, even as I fight to keep rowing, keep blinking away the constant spray of water, and keep pushing hard to follow Bryan’s movements while he navigates the river ahead.
But somehow, despite each terrifying buck of the raft that threatens to send us all overboard, we continue hurtling forward.
It’s almost like Bryan is our guide again, leading us to safety.
For now.
