Killer Summer

77

As the sky passed from faintly maroon to sapphire, the forest interior remained dark as night. Kevin and John were being led down the log steps to the airstrip and river beyond. Kevin had never known such darkness, his heart heavy with regret, his limbs jangled with frustration. He and the cowboy walked along in silence, the rush of the river constant and growing louder like ringing in his ears.

He assumed the plan was to lock the two of them in the Learjet. He didn’t know what they had in mind for Summer, but just the thought of that made him angry at the cowboy. They should have put up more of a fight than they had.

They reached the flat, graveled plain of the riverbed. Kevin spotted the pilot on the riverbank with a raft and some gear. As they walked closer, he could see it was an established put-in.

Upstream and down, towering cliffs formed a gorge through which the river churned, opening only briefly here at the ranch. Kevin saw it for what it was without an explanation from John, whose body language was becoming increasingly agitated.

“You’d better provision us well,” John said. “The first take-out is four days downriver.”

“We’re well aware of that,” said the pilot. He was holding John’s handgun.

“And a snakebite kit and a water filter-”

“Enough! You’ll have what we give you. Be happy we’re not leaving you tied up here to starve. That option was seriously considered.”

“Without sunblock and a tarp, what you’re offering will be worse than starving-”

“I said shut up.”

The two hijackers exchanged a look that, even in the dark, Kevin understood.

“They don’t care,” Kevin said. “They just want us out of here. They’d rather the river kill us. That way, maybe it won’t be called murder.”

“Shut your trap.”

“Y’all plan to scale the face of ol’ Shady,” the cowboy said. “I saw the climbing gear all laid out.”

“None of your business,” the copilot said.

“Taking the girl?” the cowboy said.

“You’re not getting the point,” the copilot snarled.

He struck with lightning-quick speed, a single blow with the gun to the back of the cowboy’s head. He was shorter than the cowboy, and the blow connected just above the neck.

The cowboy lurched forward but remained conscious and retained his balance.

“What I was trying to tell you,” the cowboy struggled to say, “is that you want to take the north route if you’re going with the girl.” He caught a breath. “There are two routes up that face, and although the south route appears easier from the ground it’s far more difficult at the top. The girl won’t make it unless she’s an experienced climber. In fact, none of you would. And watch out for the hawk nest on the north route. Half the time, those damned birds are in that nest and will come after you like they mean business. The other half of the time, they’re in the air and will attack from behind. This time of day, they’re in the nest. And you ain’t seen nothing angrier than a hawk when its nest is disturbed.”

The copilot clearly wanted to stop him from speaking but was too taken by what was being said.

“Okay, then,” the copilot said, “get into the raft.”

“Our hands? We won’t make it around the first bend with our hands tied. We’ll come up against the Widow Maker, and that’ll be all she wrote.”

“You’ll have your hands free.”

The raft was eased out into the current. The copilot motioned the two into it and they waded out and climbed in awkwardly. The pilot waded out with them and untied their hands while the copilot kept the gun on them. Kevin wondered if the copilot had the nerve to shoot them, if he could aim well enough to hit them at fifteen feet. The cowboy was probably thinking the same thing.

And then, with a push, they were off, into the churning current, into cooler air and a slight breeze not felt on shore.

They moved downstream quickly, coming up even with the camouflaged jet sitting at the end of the airstrip. The pilot and copilot watched them.

“Have you ever rafted?” the cowboy asked, climbing past Kevin, immediately all business.

“Couple of times.”

“I’ll take the stern and steer. You do as I say the minute I say it. You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay on the right for now. They’ll be two commands: paddle forward, paddle back. I’ll do the rest. There’s a number four ahead. Won’t be so bad this time of year with the low water and all, but it’s no picnic… especially in this light.”

“We can’t leave her,” Kevin said.

“Well, we have. First real chance at getting out is two days downriver, and that would mean a forty-mile hike. They were smart. We’re stuck on this river for the next couple of days.”

“There’s got to be a way back to the ranch.”

Then the cowboy barked some paddling instructions, and Kevin responded. The last glimpse of the jet slipped past, the rock wall rising quickly.

“I’ll jump,” Kevin said. “I’m not leaving her.”

“Settle down, kid. This river is nothing to mess with.”

“What if I climb the wall?”

As he said this, he saw how quickly and steeply the wall rose.

“We’re not doing anything with them watching us. Now, paddle forward!”

“And when they’re not watching…?” he said over his shoulder.

“There is one possibility. It’s called Mitchum’s Eddy, but we call it the Widow Maker. The river swings left up ahead. Mitchum’s Creek dumps into it there at the Maker. There’s a waterfall made by the spring creek running off the ranch. But the eddy, even in slack water, is nothing to mess with. You get a raft in there and you’ll get thrown into the wall, as it makes that bend, and the raft’ll wrap, be pinned to the wall. And that’s that. We’d have to swim for it or drown.”

“So, I can swim,” Kevin said.

“The currents, boy, are wicked. A couple died there about ten years back. It’s nothing to mess with.”

“But if we made it, if we could do it, we could follow them. Catch them.”

“They won’t leave any climbing gear behind, count on it.”

He barked more instructions.

Kevin saw the bend in the river looming before them, maybe half a mile downstream. White water foamed at the base of the rock wall where the eddy pounded into it.

“What those fellas apparently don’t know, or didn’t think about, is that there’s a zip line-a chair-that crosses the river about three-quarters of a mile upstream. It’s how we provision the ranch. We keep an ATV hid on the east side to cover the twelve miles to the nearest road. We could cross at the chair, head upriver, and cut back across at a similar line three miles up. We’d be back on their side of the river then. We’d have a shot at them. At the girl.”

“We’ve got to do it.”

The sheer rock face at the turn grew closer. Kevin realized there would be little time for more discussion or planning. The river was dictating their moves.

“We have the one chance,” the cowboy said, “and the currents are mean. Once we’re out of this raft, that’s it. We make the shore or we’re thrown back into the river without the raft.”

“Then we can’t let it wrap,” Kevin said. “If we miss the shore, we have to have at least a chance of catching back up to the raft.”

“Dump the cooler,” the cowboy said.

Kevin did as he was told. The cowboy maneuvered the raft expertly, holding to the center of the river. He simultaneously tied a line to the cooler’s handle and knotted it tightly.

“The cooler floats,” the cowboy explained. “But it can also fill up with water and act as a kind of anchor, maybe slowing the raft down and giving us a chance to catch it. But I gotta tell you, with no vests, no helmets, this is not to be taken lightly.”

“We can’t leave her,” Kevin said.

“There’s a fine line between nobility and insanity, son. Don’t let your balls speak for your brain. This is no video game. If the eddy wins, we lose. And that eddy has won more often than not.”

“I get it.”

“Water’s cold enough to steal your breath. You gotta be ready for that. You gotta swim harder than you know how. Got that? The eddy curls counterclockwise toward the rock, then back upstream. You fight it, you lose. The trick is for us to start high, to make it to the far current and let it carry us to the base of the falls. You fight that current, you’ll tire out. You’ve got to work with it, not against it. Understand?”

He threw the cooler overboard. The raft lurched, and Kevin nearly went over the side.

“If we’re doing this, it’s now or never,” said the cowboy, pulling off his boots and slipping out of his jacket. “Strip down, boy. You want to be as light as you can get.”

Kevin pulled off his sweatshirt but left his sneakers on.

“If you end up in the river,” John said, “you’ll want your feet aiming downstream-”

“And your hands covering your head,” Kevin completed.

In the glow coming from the sky, he saw fear in the old guy’s face for the first time.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kevin added, “I can do this by myself.”

“I’m in no mood for four days on the river,” John said, working the paddle to steer the raft closer to a current. “Okay… You first… Go!”

Kevin hesitated, judging the distance, marking the location of the small waterfall in his mind’s eye.

“GO!” the cowboy repeated.

Kevin swung his feet over the side of the raft and slid down the rubbery fabric into the cold river water.