boulder, mid-river, split the stream, collecting debris. A cottonwood bole bobbed in the water, trapped against it, it’s leaf-covered limbs pushing back the current. Water boiled.
Maynard, his head nested in orange, floated toward it.
“Swim, Maynard!” Lizzy screamed. “To shore. Swim.” She stepped forward, onto the tube.
“Don’t!” Jack shouted. “Let me get . . . ”
She dove.
Surfacing, she plunged her arms in and out of the water, swimming toward the orange vest.
A swell hit the raft, floating it over her. She disappeared.
Pushed by the swell, Jack paddled toward the man, closing the distance. “Maynard, look at me!” Jack shouted. “Look at me!”
The man’s head turned.
Jack reached under the splash skirt, found his throw bag, and hurled it toward him. Line fed out. The bag splashed down behind the man, rope splatting on the surface. “Grab hold!”
The man flailed, fumbling for line, managing a grasp. Jack clipped the end to his vest and made a quick right, paddling toward shore. “Kick!” he ordered, feeling the drag of the man.
A swell hit the kayak, broadside, capsizing him. A thrust on the paddle and Jack kept it rolling, losing his sunglasses but uprighting the kayak, keeping it pointed to shore. The man, still kicking, came aground. Grasping willow branches, he pulled himself out of the water.
Jack spun around, catching sight of Lizzy upstream of the raft. It slammed into the cottonwood pinned to the boulder.
The next swell hit, pushing the raft into the crown of the tree. Limbs held the bow, as the force of the water stood the raft on end, flipping it onto the shattered mass. Lizzy, bobbing in the water, rose with the swell, hefting herself onto the log. A wave carried her up the bole, dragging her over splintered branches. Her movement stopped. She reached down, tugged, then stood, leg bleeding, dress in shreds. She stumbled up the log, working her way toward the raft. As she approached, the raft broke free, spinning in the current, scraping past the boulder. Stunned, she watched it float away. A wave washed over her. She scooted toward the boulder, holding onto branches as the next surge hit.
Jack pulled in the line, stuffing the throw bag. Upstream or down? Current’s too fast. Has to be up.
He paddled upstream along the bank, then kicked into the current. Floating toward her, he took hold of the bag. “Be ready to swim!” he shouted. He tossed it. Line fed out.
She caught it one-handed.
The log shifted. He tried a hard turn. A limb cut him off. A swell picked up the kayak, floating it over the log, dropping it against the boulder. The bole shifted, pinning the kayak. Jack ripped off the splash skirt and squirmed out of the cockpit, crawling onto rock. The kayak shattered.
He scrambled up the boulder.
Lizzy stood watching, blood dripping from a gash on one thigh, her dress in tatters, a spaghetti strap gone, long rips exposing her thighs and side. She gathered the tears in one hand, and held out the rope with the other. “So, now,” she muttered, “what am I to do with this?”
Chapter
3
The river rolled and rumbled, red and soupy, the current shoving debris. Gusts bit their faces, the air thick with the smell of dirt.
Water inched up the rock.
Jack turned, looking for options, saw none, and caught sight of the raft, river bags and pieces of kayak floating into a wide reach of the river, settling into an eddy on river-right. Maynard, eyes wide, stared, everything passing him by.
“River’s getting higher,” Jack muttered, fighting the urge to run with nowhere to go. He cleared his throat. “When’s payday?”
“Huh?” Lizzy forced her eyes from the torrents. “Why?”
He knelt. “Let me see that.” He reached for her leg and wiped the blood from her thigh. He ran a finger along the wound. Not deep. Good.
She grimaced. “What about payday?” she shouted, fighting the roar of the river.
“Your dress has seen better days.” He ripped a strip of fabric from along the hem.
Shivering, she gathered shreds of cloth. “Stop.”
He tore off another strip. “Hold still.”
“Hey, it’s all I’ve got on.”
He squeezed out the water and began wrapping her leg. “Imagine that.”
“Keep going, you won’t need to. Don’t you have something else to think about?”
He glanced at the river. “Yes, I do, but can’t do a thing about it.” He knotted the bandage. “I’m done. That’ll protect the wound, help stop the bleeding. If the river keeps rising, it might not matter . . . but if it doesn’t kill us, we’ll need a first aid kit. Need to clean and put something on that. So . . . why a dress?”
She took her eyes off the river and glared. “Now why is that any of your damned business?”
“It’s not.” Jack eyed the surge lapping the rock, only feet below, sloshing through cottonwood branches. “Sorry.”
Lizzy sighed. “Simple. Comfort. It’s cool in the heat.” She gave a rub to her thigh. “We’re gonna die.” She let out a sad little laugh. “All I’ve been thinking about lately . . . a big purchase I want to make . . . seems rather petty when facing the prospect of dying.”
“We might make it to shore.”
“You don’t sound confident, and the water keeps rising, getting worse.” Eyes on the river, her shoulders dropped. “If we’re swept to our deaths, Jack Chastain, what are you going to regret? . . . If that’s possible . . . regretting something when you’re dead.”
“Pain, for those who’ll miss me.”
She nodded.
“And . . . the work I didn’t finish. This time, I thought . . .”
She gave him another glance. “This time?”
“You don’t want to know about the other . . . but this time, I hoped to protect folks . . . from those who play games with their lives, confuse ’em, make ’em go to war with each other.”
She cocked her head. “I just realized why I’ve heard your name. You’re the guy . . . that made people listen to each other.”
Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s what . . .”
She cut him off. “No, you’re the guy.” She crossed her arms and glared at the river. “That settles it.
