I back-paddled hard, slowing my forward momentum. I wanted out. I wanted dry land. But there wasn’t even a place to eddy up to give myself a moment to prepare.
I’d done plenty of falls like this before the accident, and the memory was etched in my core. That final moment of balance at the top. The backward lean as the bow dropped forward. The kayak tipping, becoming vertical, time slowing as I kept my paddle poised and ready. A freefall, then an impact at the base, the boat spiking deep into the water. Every muscle had to work in synchrony to keep balanced. I had to flatten the kayak out at the bottom, dig my paddle in hard, keep my head in the game.
I knew that adrenaline rush. The buoyancy of success. The addictive feeling of being ultra-alive, victorious over a powerful opponent.
But that was then.
I also knew what could happen when the river won the fight—boats overturned, paddlers dumped, broken bones, bodies smashed against rocks.
My fingers dug like claws into the paddle, my pulse pounded my head like a battering ram, my stomach knotted so hard it made it difficult to draw a full breath.
Despite my backward strokes, the river pushed me forward. If Josh or Sawyer were in trouble directly below, my arrival could make things worse, but it was too late to change course now.
Enough. I stopped backpaddling. Angled left to line up with the falls. With my heart lodged tight in the back of my throat and an absolute conviction I was facing catastrophe, I let the river sweep me toward the edge of the drop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bryn
There was a moment at the top of the waterfall when the kayak’s bow embraced only air, not yet tipping downward. A moment when I could glimpse what lay ahead.
Below the falls, a huge flat-topped boulder on the left. It created a narrow channel, forcing the current through a passage on the right.
Beyond, Josh’s red kayak. And a dark head in the water, unmoving.
Josh was here, I’d found him—but the instant’s relief that let me breathe was swamped at once by the horrified recognition of the danger he was in. He wasn’t moving. He must be trapped.
The next instant my kayak slipped forward, dropping down the cascade.
Some dim scrap of muscle memory took over, and I leaned backward to balance, part of my brain screaming in terror, the rest analyzing what I’d seen from the top.
I suffered a few wild seconds of additional panic during free fall, then my kayak plunged underwater at the waterfall’s base. My paddle thrusts and backward lean finally brought the bow back to the surface. Abysmal form, but at least I didn’t flip.
I muscled the boat forward and shot through the narrow channel between the boulder on the left and the canyon wall on the right. Then I pivoted hard left, spinning my kayak into the calm eddy that lay tucked on the downriver side of the massive granite boulder, a space protected from the current. I was shaking, but maybe I wasn’t going to die quite yet.
Sawyer stood there on the slab, his kayak pulled onto the rock beside him, his throw bag in his hand. “Hang on.” He hurried toward me, seized the grab loop on my kayak’s bow, and hauled the boat up by brute force, dragging it beside his kayak on the huge rock.
I scrambled out.
“Rope bag!” He didn’t even look at me, never doubting I’d brought the right supplies. His attention was focused on his hands—tying a carabiner to the end of his rope with a guaranteed-to-hold bowline.
“Couldn’t find it.”
He whirled toward me, his frustration instantaneous, but then he shivered. “We’ll have to make do with this one.” He ripped the bag away from the long coil of rope it enclosed.
I stepped to the edge of the boulder to see Josh.
The waterfall had ratcheted my level of fear up to what I’d foolishly believed was a maximum level, but all the moisture in my mouth disappeared when I understood the details of his situation. Josh was trapped mid-current, facing upstream. He must have flipped at the base of the falls, fallen out of his boat. He’d smashed into the rock, and the boat had slammed into him. His capsized kayak was in front of him, pinning him in place against the tall thin rock at his back.
It was one of the worst kinds of entrapments. One of the easiest ways to drown.
“Josh! We’re coming!”
The waterfall pounded so loud it made my head throb, but he heard and looked my way. He nodded. No attempt to cry out or yell, but at least he was conscious. The water was frigid, and hypothermia would hit fast. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but he’d had sense enough to put on a flotation vest before taking the kayak.
The speed of the water as it shot through this narrow canyon was incredible. The kayak was on its side, its cockpit facing upriver, and the water’s force bent the fiberglass boat into a curve, wrapping it around the trapped boy. The boat’s pillars kept it from collapsing flat, but the pressure on his chest had to be enormous. Josh’s arms were pinned to his sides, trapped by the boat, so there wasn’t even a way for him to grab a rescue line.
All of this took only seconds to comprehend. Sawyer clipped his rope to a D-ring on his own vest. “Can’t snag his boat from this angle and current’s too fast to do anything from my kayak. I’ll have to swim for it. I should be able to get enough leverage to shift the boat off him.”
Wrestling a boat in this torrent was crazy, but it was the only chance Josh had.
“What can I do?” I had to shout over the noise of the waterfall.
“Belay me.” He gestured toward a small fir tree that was anchored in the crack between our boulder and the left-hand canyon wall, and we shifted that way. “Once I’ve freed Josh, you’ll need to swing us back into this eddy.”
I nodded like that was no big deal, but desperation weighted my arms.
I tugged on the tree. Not all that big, but it felt solid. I sat down on the spray-soaked boulder and wedged my back against its trunk. Sawyer passed the rope around me and the tree trunk. The tree would keep me from being dragged into the water, and it would act as a rough pulley, letting me use both hands to manage the rope.
“Okay.” My mouth was lined with sandpaper. I couldn’t even swallow. Cold spray soaked my hair and face.
Sawyer dropped the long coils of rope at my side, ripped his gloves off, and handed them to me. “Give me plenty of slack to start.”
“Okay.” I slipped the gloves onto my shaking hands. Too big and saggy, but without them I’d never be able to hang on.
These preparations took less than a minute, our motions quick, each decision urgent. Sawyer and I were working together in the same seamless rhythm we’d developed so many years ago, as if the decade apart had never happened.
Now, my job was to simply sit still. Sit still, belay the rope, don’t let anyone wash downriver, don’t let anyone drown. Sitting still was the hard part. I wanted to fling myself into action. Do something, anything, to save Josh. I couldn’t just sit here and watch him die.
My hands double-checked the coil of rope, the necessary movements coming without thought. Untangled with plenty of slack. Ready.
Sawyer stepped to the edge of the slab. “Josh, I’m coming!” One last look at the current, then he gave a springing leap into the water. He landed in the center of the chute and was swept downstream, the rope playing out smoothly, floating loose behind him.
But he hadn’t jumped far enough. He needed to head straight toward Josh and the wedged kayak, but instead I watched, horrified, as the current pushed him sharply to the left. Sawyer swam hard, trying to correct his course, but the river was too strong, and it forced him downriver and toward the left-hand wall of the canyon.
I tightened the rope, stopping his progress, the cord burning my hands through the gloves, my muscles screaming from the strain.
Behind me, the tree creaked but held.
There was no way for Sawyer to swim across that current to reach Josh. The force of the water was too strong, and my safety rope was at an angle that would swing him toward me and away from his son. Saw
yer came to the same conclusion, and he kicked hard to the side to reach the rock wall.
The current wasn’t as fast there, and he could grip an occasional outcropping to pull himself toward me, his bare fingers scrabbling for purchase on the rough rock. I hauled the rope in with all my strength, inching him upstream.
When he reached the eddy, he was strong enough to make progress on his own. He swam to the slab I was sitting on and pulled himself up.
“That current is fierce. I’ve got to line up exactly, because once I’m downriver from Josh, I can’t get back up.” His words came in quick gasps, his fight with the water taking a toll. His lips were blue. He was shivering. His fingers were scraped and bloody from clinging to the rock wall.
I flexed my aching hands. Coiled the wet, heavy rope, ready for the next attempt. I glanced toward Josh. His eyes looked unfocused. His head drooped forward. If Sawyer wasn’t successful this time …
I swallowed hard. “Sawyer, you can do this. You have to.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. He struggled to his feet. “I’ll try again.”
“Sawyer.” I raised my voice this time, and he turned. “Be careful.”
For a flashing instant, he gave me a wry grin that acknowledged the ridiculous. Me telling him to be careful, after all we’d been through. Then his look of concentration returned, and he turned away.
He walked to the edge of the slab and gave Josh a nod and a thumbs-up that belied the risks. This time he gave a galvanic leap, landing in the water on the far right-hand edge of the chute. Once again, the current caught him and tossed him downstream, but this time the angled flow pushed him directly toward Josh.
I couldn’t put tension on the rope to slow him down because it would drag him off course, so Sawyer was going full speed when he slammed into Josh’s kayak. The hard thud echoed off the rock walls, and Josh threw his head back, his mouth open as if yelling in pain, but his voice was too weak to carry.
Sawyer clung to the edge of the open cockpit. It looked like he was saying something to Josh, but I couldn’t hear, and Josh’s head sagged to the side.
Sawyer swung his legs over the submerged bow of the boat, which put him on the downstream side of the curved kayak, and I tightened the safety rope. He braced his back against the narrow rock, brought both feet up against the boat with his legs bent, and pushed. Pushed hard. His muscles bulged, and I could see the strain on his face.
If he could shift the boat even a few inches, the force of the water would no longer be balanced on bow and stern. The boat should break free, and Sawyer could grab Josh.
Nothing happened. The boat didn’t budge.
Sawyer stopped trying, and he grabbed the cockpit again to keep himself stable. He lifted one hand in a give-me-slack gesture.
I let out a few feet of line.
Sawyer unclipped the rope from his vest and attached it to the grab handle on the bow, the end of the boat farthest from me. This gave me leverage against the bow, but it left Sawyer without a safety line. If he lost his grip, he’d be swept away. I bit down so hard on my lip I tasted blood. If that happened, Josh was doomed.
Sawyer maneuvered himself to the downstream side of the rock that trapped Josh, wrapped one arm around its narrow top, and seized the stern grab handle of the boat with his other hand. He looked my way, his face desperate. “Pull!”
I pulled with every ounce of strength I had.
If I could haul the bow toward me, while Sawyer dragged the stern toward him, we could dislodge the boat.
If Sawyer could hang on to the boat and grab Josh fast enough to keep him from being swept away, I would have Sawyer, Josh, and the boat, all three, on the end of my single safety line.
Two very big ifs. Impossible odds, but there was no other option.
The wet line hummed, taut and vibrating above the water. Sawyer pulled on the stern. No effect. No change. Then suddenly, without warning, the boat shifted an inch. Another inch. Almost. We almost had it.
Loud cracking sounds echoed off the canyon walls as the fiberglass splintered under the strain. A third inch, and suddenly, too quickly to be believed, the balance of pressure shifted. The water’s force on the boat was no longer evenly distributed, and the river now helped instead of fighting us. The kayak sprang free. It whipped across the current, its stern pivoting straight toward Sawyer.
I screamed.
The kayak jerked to a halt; its bow still clipped to the end of my safety line, Sawyer still clinging to the stern.
The sudden stop broke Sawyer’s hold. A heartbeat later, the current caught him. He was gone.
Shit, shit, shit. I dropped my rope, Josh’s battered kayak spun away, and I lunged for my kayak, my eyes never leaving Josh. He remained where he was for a long moment, unmoving, the pressure of the water holding him pinned against his rock.
Too cold. Too little air. Too much time in the water.
I couldn’t tell if he was even still breathing.
I launched my kayak, but I was too late. Josh’s slack body tipped sideways, and the current caught him at once. He disappeared downriver, his vest keeping him barely on the surface.
I dug in hard with my paddle, and the river surged beneath my boat. Sawyer had said a stretch of flatwater lay ahead before the river got worse, and I forced myself to focus. Watching for rocks and unexpected holes. Watching for Sawyer and Josh, floating or struggling in the water. Watching for bodies, swept onto shore.
I was on autopilot, fueled by fear and paddling harder than I’d ever paddled in my life. My arms ached. My chest struggled for air. My heart pounded hard in my ears, drowning the sound of the water.
One more set of Class III chop, and I was out of the canyon. Thankfully, the river fanned out to triple its former width here, calming its violent course as it hit more gentle slopes. Dense forests lined both banks again, replacing the vertical rock walls.
Where the hell were Josh and Sawyer? My shoulders and arms screamed in protest, but I kept up my frantic pace, far outstripping the water’s more sedate flow.
A gentle turn to the right had built up a sandy spit on the left-hand bank, a spot where debris had washed to the side. A weather-beaten log lay half in, half out of the water and pressed tight against the log was a small patch of red. I drew closer. It was Josh’s life vest. Hope propelled me forward. The vest was still on him. I could see his hair. An arm. “Josh! I’m coming!”
I strained to hear an answer and looked for at least a raised hand in response.
I heard nothing. Josh didn’t move.
I angled toward shore, beached the kayak, leaped out. The current was slow enough here that I could stand, and I forced my way through the icy flow to where Josh floated. He was face up, but he was frighteningly still.
With my last bit of strength, I dragged him onto the edge of the sand spit. I pressed my cold fingers to his wrist. His neck. No pulse. Bent my ear to his mouth. No breath.
I dropped to my knees. Unzipped his vest and shoved it out of the way, rehearsing the steps in my head. Tip his head. Give two rescue breaths. Heel of my left hand two fingers above the end of his breastbone. Right hand on top. Shoulders aligned. Elbows locked. Go.
Thirty compressions. Two rescue breaths. At least two inches of movement needed in each compression. I chanted the cadence in my head, working hard, sweat warming my face. Thirty again. Another two.
Even this, I owed to Sawyer, who had demanded I take advanced first aid classes before spending time on whitewater. His insistence back then might be what saved his son now.
Josh’s chest was thin and fragile. It felt as if my hands would crush him like an eggshell, drive straight into the sand below him. But I kept going. My arms ached. Every breathe burned.
Nothing got better.
Come on, Josh, Come on.
Still nothing.
Damn it, Josh, come on. Breathe.
“Josh. Don’t die. You can’t die. You can’t.” My voice choked, swamped by tears. My insides shriveled into a shaking m
ass.
Maybe the CPR made a difference. Maybe it was my voice. Maybe his own determination pulled him back toward life. Whatever the cause, after I made that desperate plea, Josh gave a gasping heave. I rolled him onto his side, and he vomited a froth of river water, his abdomen spasming hard. His eyes opened, but I’m not sure he saw me.
“You’re all right, Josh. You’re okay.”
I felt for a pulse and found it now, pounding away in a reassuring rhythm. I pulled his shirt aside. His chest was a horrible network of bruises, already purple and swollen from the boat’s pressure when he was trapped. The pummeling I’d just given him was only going to make things worse.
I ran my hands down his arms and legs. His left wrist was swollen to double normal size, at least sprained, possibly broken. I worked my fingers through his hair to check his skull. There was a sizable lump on the back of his head, but he was in better shape than I’d expected.
“What happened?” His voice was a feeble croak, but his eyes were more alert and focused now. He struggled to lift his head but gave up fast.
“Just rest. Don’t try to move. You’ll be all right in a bit.” Not the full truth, but that sounded more reassuring than saying you drowned and then came back to life. We were both shivering, and Josh’s skin was ice, but I didn’t have anything dry to use to warm him.
“You came.” He sounded astonished.
“Of course, I came. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Whitewater.” Josh croaked out the word.
The promise I’d given—No whitewater. Ever. I squeezed his hand. There was more to be said, but my voice wouldn’t work right. Josh was family. And Sawyer had been right all those years ago—life was not a spectator sport.
I sat back on my heels, my wet clothes heavy and clammy. Sawyer was still out there somewhere. I stood up and looked downstream, but I couldn’t see him.
Over the Falls Page 21