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But we've gotten through it. The river has returned to its normal state.
"That was fun," Ashley says. "When will we hit more rapids?"
"Easy, lass," Munro says. "That was a class seven, but we will run into worse rapids."
"Whitewater rapids?"
"Please don't wish for whitewater," I say. "You're a novice, and I donnae want anything to happen to you."
Munro throws me a smirk, but only for a second because he knows we need to focus on what might lie ahead for us. The Colorado is known for its rapids, after all. Munro is the expert, the one who knows where all the toughest sections are, so Ashley and I both need to listen to him and do what he says. Staying alert is key.
Why Munro smirked at me, I have no idea. He might often be grumpy, but he seems entertained by my interactions with Ashley. The man is strange.
As we float down a calm stretch of the river, I let myself experience the scenery. The steep cliffs almost make me feel like I've landed on Mars, thanks to the starkness of the landscape with very little vegetation and seemingly none anywhere except along the river. The Colorado doesn't offer any beaches, either, just the occasional patch of rocky shoreline or grassy beach. Nothing anyone would want to sunbathe on, though it wouldn't surprise me if Ashley tried that. I don't see any obvious caves, certainly nothing large enough to qualify as Kincaid's cavern. But we haven't gone forty-two miles from where that bloke said he started his journey, which means we might yet find the mysterious network of caverns.
Birds fly past high overhead, but I can't tell what species they are. When I glance back, I see Ashley has moved back to the side of the raft so she can lean over a wee bit to get a better view. The sun on her face makes the lass look even bonnier, and her sweet smile triggers a pang in my chest.
But I don't have time to think about what that means. Another gauntlet lies ahead of us.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ashley
As we float down the river, Errol suggests I should switch places with him so I can get a better view of the cliffs. Munro can paddle by himself since we're on a calm stretch. I crawl to the front and slide onto the seat beside Munro. Yeah, I can see things a little better from up here. I get out my binoculars and start searching for any sign of…anything. But I don't notice any unusual features. After a few minutes, my eyes need a break from staring through the binoculars. What can I do to pass the time?
Harass Munro, of course. It's called conversation, but I suspect he won't agree with my definition. "Munro, mind if I ask you a personal question?"
The Scot grunts. "Does it matter if I mind? Lasses always do what they want no matter what I say."
Okay, I'll take that as permission. "Why did you stop being a river guide?"
"Because I died."
His bald statement stuns me for a moment. He obviously isn't dead, so he must've meant something else. Right? "But you're still alive."
"Aye. But I was clinically dead for three minutes and five seconds."
"My God. I had no idea."
He throws me a scowl. "Of course ye didn't, because I never told anyone."
"Donnae be a grump," Errol says. "Tell us what happened. This is the first I've heard of you dying."
Munro shuts his eyes briefly, then tells us, "I took newlyweds on a whitewater rafting trip through the roughest part of the Grand Canyon. When we hit Lava Falls Rapid, something went wrong. Still donnae know what it was. But the raft nearly flipped. I managed to stop it just in time, and the couple were fine. But then another wave slammed us, and I got thrown out of the raft. The last thing I remember hearing was the wife screaming. I passed out. When I woke up on the shore, I found out a mate of mine who was also shooting the rapid that day saw what happened and fished me out of the river. He performed CPR."
"Wow, that's an incredible story," I say. "Will we be going through Lava Falls Rapid?"
"No." He glares at the river ahead of us. "Under no circumstances will we go that far down the river."
I open my mouth to ask another question.
"Time to switch places," Munro says. "Get your erse up here, Errol."
He doesn't want to talk about his near-death experience anymore. I can understand that. So I climb to the back of the raft and take my seat like a good girl.
We go through two more rapids, and the last one takes us past Zoroaster Canyon to a spot about a mile further down the river where that "blob" we had discussed earlier lies. It's a boulder, like I thought. Munro and Errol manage to maneuver our raft onto a flat rocky area near the boulder so we can consider our next move. The boys want to hike up the creek bed to check out the area, but I have a hunch we don't need to go that far.
"A hunch?" Errol says. "About what?"
