by Bella Blake
I leave Megan to finish soaking her ankle, and turn to help Chase secure the packs in the canoe. We set them near the two bench seats, one at each end, and strap them securely in place with paracord.
“You got everything?” I ask my twin.
He nods. “Yep. The hut’s completely empty—just the way we found it.”
There really isn’t any reason to stick around, so we slide the canoe over the rocks and into the water at the river’s edge. We hunch over it, holding on to the sides to prevent the river from stealing it from us, waiting to see if any leaks will appear.
Fortunately, none do, so I plant my feet against the riverbed while Chase scoops Megan up and settles her in the middle of the shallow boat.
Chase gets in next and takes hold of one of the long paddles. He looks at Megan over his shoulder. “Ready?”
She draws in a breath and claps her hands together. “Yep, let’s do this.”
I groan as I push against the strong river current to shove the canoe away from the bank, the cold water seeping up to my waist. Once we’re a few feet away from the shore, I haul myself into the boat behind Megan.
Taking the paddle she holds up to me, I sit down on the stern seat, Megan’s shoulders between my legs. Chase and I guide us toward the center of the river. Megan’s not complaining about her cramped position in the middle, and at least her ankle is elevated, with her foot planted safely on top of the pack right behind Chase’s bench seat.
“I have half an inclination to start singing Old Man River,” Megan says.
“Please don’t,” I say with a laugh as I use my paddle as a rudder to steer us. “Chase will feel obligated to join in, and he’s a terrible singer.”
The man in question slaps his paddle towards me, the spray of water incandescent in the sunlight. But as beautiful as it is, it’s still bitterly cold and Megan shrieks, covering her face as a shower of drops rain down on her.
“Hey!” she yells with a laugh. “I’m just an innocent bystander—I didn’t say anything about your singing!”
“He’s also terribly immature,” I say, lowering my voice as if confiding a secret to her. “Mom never knew what to do with this one.”
“That’s only because you passed yourself off as me around town, making me take the heat for all of your shit.” Chase is grumbling, but his humor is evident in his expression when he glances back at me.
“Did you seriously?” Megan asks, tilting her head to look up at me.
I try not to think about how much I love having her nestled between my legs, how her head is nearly resting on my package as she smiles up at me. Now’s not the time for salacious thoughts—we definitely don’t want to rock the boat. Especially this one, since it’s our only hope of getting out of here.
Switching my paddle to the other side, I correct our course slightly.
We aren’t speeding down the river, but the shallow canoe is gliding along smoothly, and if we can keep this pace going, a hotel bed and hot showers will be ours before long.
“He’s only telling a half-truth,” I answer Megan, “because Chase pulled the same shit as me. Don’t let him fool you. He dragged my name through the mud plenty of times when he’d get in trouble for something.”
She clicks her tongue, grinning at me. “I can picture that. I bet you two were a handful growing up.” She adjusts against me, resting her cheek against my thigh.
I want to run my hands through her hair, wrap an arm around her, and pull her into my lap—to do something more than brace her with my legs, but I have to keep both hands on the paddle.
The warm sunshine lulls us into a relaxed silence, the river lapping quietly against the canoe, with the soothing swish of our paddles through the water adding to the peaceful rhythm. If we had a picnic basket and some wine, it’d be damn near romantic.
Morning passes into afternoon, and our time on the river is sprinkled with pleasant conversation and long stretches of comfortable silence as we bask in the sun and enjoy the view. The weather is still holding, and there’s even a breeze clinging to the river, keeping us cool.
Megan’s got an arm over the side, her fingertips dragging through the water, and when I lean over to get a better peek at her, her eyes are closed as if she’s dozing.
The surface of the water is as calm as we could ask for, but there’s a strong undercurrent, and we only need to paddle gently to keep our speed up. The river widens and grows deeper as more tributaries join its forward march, and the banks continue to offer a vista of a rocky shoreline for miles.
All we need is some beer and music and we’d be having ourselves one of those fun day-trip river floats that are so popular with tourists.
I could get behind that.
Megan is sexy in hiking clothes, and she’d be downright sinful in a bikini with a beer bottle against those delicious lips of hers.
“Oh, damn.” Chase’s voice is soft, a melancholy exhalation more than anything.
The boat creaks as Megan shifts, straightening her body into full alert mode as she looks downriver. The water’s current tugs at the paddle in my hands, but I’ve been hypnotized by the sight before us.
The left bank has risen upward into a short cliff of exposed limestone, but the right bank... we’ve caught up with the fire.
The wind must be pulling the smoke away from us, because the sky above us is still the bright azure color it was when we set off.
The riverbank on the right has gone from rocky sand to grass, well—charred earth now. Skeletons of thin trees stand precariously on the banks, their roots straining to stay upright. Each tree is a black scar in the air, but the bigger trees are ominous. The thick trunks of ancient evergreens glow an angry red within their scorched bark; ash and sparks fall from decimated boughs, littering the air with the forest’s death.
Even with the scent of smoke floating above the river, I can still smell the forest—the spruce and pines, the balsam—the scent is the only thing that reminds me of the forest I spent years in as a teenager and young adult.
It hits me like a punch to the solar plexus and I struggle to draw a deep breath as I’m overcome with an unexpected grief.
Wildfires are a familiar enemy—too familiar.
As a smokejumper, they’re literally my job.
I held it together when the fire broke out, and even as it spread and swept across the ridges and valleys I’ve known my whole life. But now, to see how far its reach has grown in this forest that sits so close to my home—it’s like losing an old friend.
The beautiful jade forest is now a cacophony of seething cinders, as wholly foreboding as it had once been welcoming. The air shivers between the blackened pillars of giant evergreens, the heat dense and rippling. Ash is piling at their bases, the cruel remains of the flames which devoured the forest so hungrily.
“Wow,” Megan whispers. “I’d hoped we were way past the fire by now.”
“Me, too,” I murmur.
Without any way to communicate with my crew or the base, all I’ve been able to do is just hope and pray the fire had been contained. Now, it’s like coals have been shoved in my throat as I struggle to say something useful.
But what can any of us say?
Jumping from a plane, I’m above it all. It’s a target, a job, a mission.
Contain. Control. Conserve.
Even during our perilous hike to safety, the wildfire was still localized, small enough that it offered the hope that it could be tamed.
But this scene before us, miles and miles from where the flames first broke out… it’s evidence that the situation is fully out of human hands. It’s Mother Nature on an insurmountable scale of destruction.
I’m thankful, more than ever, that we’d made it to the river and Chase found this canoe. Now that I have an idea of the scope of the blaze, it’s clear that staying at the fire watch tower would have been a death sentence.
Crews have no doubt been pulled away from our original location, sent off to battle the fire line as i
t raced through the mountains, leaving us little chance of getting rescued if we’d hunkered down there.
Megan’s hand clenches down on my leg suddenly, her body tensing against my thighs.
“Uh, guys,” she says, the alarm in her voice drowning out the eerie sounds of wood popping and snapping from the heat.
“Oh, fuck,” Chase exclaims, his back and shoulders going rigid as he looks down the river.
Leaning to the side for a better view, my stomach twists as I spot a massive tree braced across the water.
It’s large enough to have been growing since long before the first pilgrims crossed the Atlantic, and now that it’s been toppled by the fire, it’s creating an impenetrable fortress across the river.
Smoke is rising from its masticated trunk and bright flames are dancing through the thick tangle of blackened branches that reach skyward, while the rest dig into the water—the same water that is steadily and determinedly carrying us toward it.
18
MEGAN
“Shit!” Hugh mutters behind me, moving fast to dig his oar into the water to slow us down.
Ahead of us, Chase is doing the same thing while I stare at the enormous, burning tree that we’re getting closer and closer to.
“Should we…” I start to ask if we should paddle toward land, but I answer my own question before the rest of the words even leave my mouth.
On one side is a towering rock cliff, on the other is the fire, burning hot all the way down into the tall grass at the river’s edge. There’s no where to go.
“Yeah, we’re fucked,” Chase’s voice is grim. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to his brother. “Let’s head toward the trunk and stay clear of the branches.”
As Chase and Hugh maneuver the canoe to the right side of the river, my heart seizes in my chest before exploding to beat against my ribs in panic. I don’t see a way past the tree, and we can’t escape by land, either.
I look to the left side, hope rising inside me that maybe there’s enough of a foothold to climb the cliff. That thought is dashed immediately as I survey the limestone face—it’s smooth and only grows higher and higher further down river. There’s no way anything other than a mountain goat can climb that thing, let alone me with a useless ankle.
“Look!” Chase shouts, pointing at the tree. “There’s a short clearance just there.”
I lean to the side as far as I dare to see what he’s talking about. The thick roots have clung to the edge of the bank where the mighty tree once stood, providing a narrow void between the burning trunk and the river’s surface.
“The canoe can make it under, but not with us in the boat,” Chase says.
I sweep my eyes over the cramped space the three of us share. He’s right—this canoe is far too shallow for us to lay down in and still pass safely under the tree.
“Then we get out.” Hugh’s tone is resolute, the timbre of his voice vibrating through this body into my shoulders where I’m nestled against him.
I twist back to look at him. We don’t have long to decide, and we all know it.
“Do you mean get out and stay in the river? Or swim toward the bank?” I ask, my thoughts racing. “We don’t have life vests, and I’m not exactly fit for a long swim.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay, just let the river carry you under it and we’ll get back in the canoe on the other side.”
“Okay,” I say, even though every instinct in my body is screaming hell no.
“Chase,” Hugh calls out, “help Megan into the water. I’ll make sure the canoe is lined up right to go under the tree.”
Hugh dunks his oar in the river with a forceful sweep against the water, steering us towards the narrow gap.
There’s no time to debate.
Chase is already turning around to give me a hand up. I’m not graceful as I balance on one foot and climb over the edge, but seconds later, I’m plunging into the water.
It’s so cold, the air rushes from my lungs as the river swarms over my head. I grasp at the smooth sides of the boat, kicking frantically with my one good leg to try to get back to the surface.
Panic robs my mind of anything else, the primal fear of drowning in the frigid waters blackening my vision even as I strain upwards.
My fingers curl around the top of the canoe and I haul myself upwards with renewed strength, breaking the surface of the water, heaving in lungfuls of air.
Chase crests beside me, his own grip on the boat as white knuckled as mine.
“Steady,” Hugh calls from above us.
I furiously blink the water out of my eyes and look at him. He’s stalwart in his resolve, his forearms straining with the paddle against the might of the river, his muscles tensed and his jaw set into a hard line as he concentrates.
The river’s water had been pleasant to trail my fingers through as I lounged in the gentle warmth of the sun, but now that I’m immersed in its icy clutches, it’s brutal and unforgiving. It’s leeching strength from me, and I shiver all over uncontrollably.
All I focus on is the downed tree, growing bigger and bigger as we’re swept toward it, smoke billowing from its glowing red bark, like a surreal monster from the underworld.
“Okay, almost time to let go. Ready?” Chase asks, his voice is strong and determined, but concern is etched in his expression as he meets my gaze.
I give him a firm nod, clenching my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering.
The current tugs at my clothes, and my limbs are heavy and numb, threatening to drag me down into the dark depths. The sprawling trunk is almost upon us and Hugh nudges the nose of the canoe under the tree, then throws himself overboard with both oars in hand.
Chase takes a deep breath and releases his grip on the boat, then disappears under the water. My fingers are frozen stiff, but I let go, too. The river current sucks me under immediately, and a small gasp of air is the only breath I get.
My lungs burn as my mind screams at me to fight upwards, to open my mouth and inhale. All I can see is a grey, murky haze as the water burns my eyes.
The light disappears and I know I’m passing under the tree.
I push my arms through the water in broad strokes, desperate to emerge from the darkness, but the moment stretches out, slowing until I’m certain I’ve somehow been sucked into an underwater cavern.
A shot of adrenaline rips through me at the thought of being trapped, just as a thunderous boom reverberates through the water, filling my chest with foreboding.
But then I feel Chase or Hugh against me, our bodies churning together in the chaotic undercurrent beneath the water’s surface. A hand grips the back of my shirt and then I’m being propelled upwards, and finally blue sky replaces the dim, murky water as I break the surface.
The canoe slaps against my shoulder as I gasp for air.
I manage to grab hold of it and scramble over the shallow side, my strength and speed fueled by adrenaline screaming through my veins, overriding any sense of pain from my ankle.
Hugh throws the oars into the canoe and hauls himself back in on the other side. The river’s surface is littered with smoking debris and chunks of burning bark, and I realize the loud sound was the canoe launching out from under the tree trunk like it was being shot from a canon.
“I don’t see Chase!” I call out to Hugh, trying unsuccessfully to stem the panic rising in my throat.
I send a quick glance Hugh’s direction and see that he’s scanning the water on his side, too, and coming up just as empty as I am.
Then Hugh lets out a loud fuck and I draw in a quiet breath of surprise, my heart dropping like a stone as I take in the view ahead of us.
The river, once peaceful, is now tumultuous—white waves launch skyward, the water churning with a relentless fury against large rocks.
Rapids.
Whipping my head back and forth, I quickly survey the surface of the water beside us, praying that Chase will appear. Finally, I spot him coming to the surface, just a few yards away, a
nd my heart jumps into my throat with both joy and fear.
“Hurry!” I yell, instinctively reaching for him.
He’s swimming hard, the muscles of his arms bunching and straining as he fights to pull himself through the water to us.
Hugh balances the boat to keep us from tipping as I lean further over the side. Chase’s mouth twists with effort as he wraps his large hand around my arm. I pull him toward the boat, pain once again radiating from my ankle as I brace myself against his weight.
Just as Chase latches onto the boat with his other hand, an ashen length of tree barrels into his side like a battering ram.
“Chase!” I cry out, my voice breaking.
I cling to him with both hands as he’s shoved under the water, and then his hand goes limp in mine.
The weight of him almost drags me back in but Hugh is suddenly beside me, stretched out, head nearly submerged in the water as he grabs for his brother. The boat rocks precariously, threatening to tip and dump us both out, but a moment later, a roar rips from Hugh’s throat as he nearly throws himself backwards, Chase rising from the water with him.
They both fall into the boat with a shower of frigid water. The canoe lists from side to side sharply, water sloshing in, so I throw myself to the other side, balancing us out.
“Get me an oar.” Hugh’s voice is raw and urgent.
I snatch up one of the paddles, throwing it to him without hesitation.
In the middle of the boat, I lean my back against the bench seat at the bow and tug Chase against me. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it might take flight. I can’t think about the rapids we’re heading into, not when Chase is limp in my arms.
Hugh sits down at on the bench at the stern, facing downriver, and his eyes flicker from the rough water ahead to his brother’s face, over and over.
I quickly run through the steps of CPR in my head, but there’s precious little time to do anything before we hit the rapids. The best I can do is brace the two of us and hope we make it back to calm waters as fast as possible.