Wild River

by P. J. Petersen

At the top of the chute, I looked around. I needed a tree to tie my rope to. The closest tree was on the other side of the river, so I’d have to go upstream and cross over. But then I looked at the boulder beside me. It was two feet across. Who needed a tree?

  I uncoiled the rope and dragged one end around the boulder. I had learned some knots in Cub Scouts, but the only one I remembered was the granny knot. I did three of them, then yanked on the rope to be sure it would hold. And it did.

  I grabbed the rope and stepped into the river. From there, the chute didn’t look that steep. And the yellow kayak didn’t look that far away.

  Just in time I remembered the pliers. I had to get the knife ready now. Before I was in the chute.

  I pried out the blade and tucked the pliers back into my shoe. The blade was sticking out, close to my ankle.

  I hurried into the river. The water seemed even colder than before. Grabbing the rope with both hands, I dropped onto my stomach. The current carried me for a second. Then the rope went tight. I banged to a stop, with my arms stretched out. I used my legs to slide myself to the side of the chute. The current wasn’t so strong there.

  I worked my way down the rope, hanging on with one hand and reaching below for a new hold with the other. My stomach and knees scraped on rocks. That cold water swirled over me. I had to raise my head to get a breath.

  I stopped just above the kayak. Then I grabbed the rope with both hands and kicked myself to the middle of the chute. The current pulled at me. And water poured over my head.

  For a minute I hung there. Not moving. Holding tight with both hands.

  Finally I let go with my upper hand and grabbed the rope just below the other hand. I lowered myself that way, inches at a time, until my shoes banged against the kayak. I got my feet steady and slowly squatted down. The water was pulling at me the whole time.

  Under my feet was that big yellow balloon, just waiting to be popped. I gripped the rope with one hand and dug the pliers out of my shoe with the other. I reached down with the knife blade and jabbed at the pumped-up section of the kayak. My knife slipped off to one side, and I almost dropped it.

  I worked the knife into place again, then shoved hard. I moved my hand up and down, sawing at the spot. The plastic gave way, and the knife sank in.

  I thought it would be like popping a balloon. But the air didn’t come out that quickly. I worked the knife back and forth, making the hole bigger. Those yellow lips slowly flattened.

  I dropped the pliers and grabbed the rope again. I lowered myself slowly and jammed my foot between the lips. The dry bag was still in there. I could feel it. Holding the rope with both hands, I used my leg to raise the upper section of the kayak. It was almost flat by then. Water came rushing in.

  The dry bag popped free and floated downstream. I let go of the rope and swam after it.

  It wasn’t fair. I had worked so hard to get the bag free. And I had done it. But now the bag was being carried along by the current. It wasn’t floating on top of the water. It was bouncing along on the bottom.

  I dove down and made a grab for the bag but couldn’t hold it. I swam with the current for a second, then reached down again. This time I didn’t try to grab it. I just scooped it toward the shore.

  Once the bag was out of the current, things were easier. I dragged the bag into shallow water, then picked it up.

  “Hang on, Tanner,” I yelled. “I’ll have you out of there in no time.”

  I set the bag on the shore and undid the buckles. My hands were shaking, so everything was hard. And slow. Drive-you-crazy slow.

  When I pulled out a sleeping bag, a rolled-up green thing came with it. I looked at it for a second before I figured out what it was: an old air mattress. I’d seen lots of plastic ones, but this was different. Green canvas, like a tent.

  Right away I changed my plan. I didn’t need a sleeping bag. Not when I had an air mattress.

  I didn’t see the pump. I thought maybe Tanner had left it in the van. But I didn’t need it. My friend Kenny and I had used air mattresses before. They were just big balloons. You put your mouth on the stem and started blowing. Kenny and I had hot-air races to see who could fill his mattress first.

  I flipped the cap off the stem and started in. Five breaths. Ten breaths. I got so dizzy that I had to stop for a minute and let my head clear. After about a hundred breaths, the air mattress was full enough. Finally. Five green tubes that looked like giant hot dogs.

  I put the mattress in the water next to Tanner and went to work. It took me a long time to slide him onto that mattress. He was dead weight, and the mattress kept slipping away.

  Once Tanner was on the mattress, I grabbed hold of the front and pulled. The mattress slid forward about three inches. I almost laughed. I could make it now. That slick mattress made the difference. It would be hard and slow, but I could make it.

  It took forever. I pulled on the front. Then I moved to one side and scooted the mattress forward. Then to the other side. Then I pulled on the front again. And I kept shoving Tanner back to the middle of the mattress.

  I didn’t stop until Tanner’s feet were out of the water. Then I unrolled a sleeping bag and covered him with it. His face was ghost white, but his breathing was steady.

  “All right, Tanner,” I said. “Soft bed. Nice and warm. You gotta love it.”

  And I loved it too. I had done it. The whole thing had seemed impossible, but I had done it.

  By then I was exhausted. My knees were shaking, and my head seemed too heavy for my neck. I hauled out the other sleeping bag and spread it on the ground next to Tanner. I flopped down on it and didn’t move.

  I wasn’t as comfortable as I expected. I could still feel the rocks underneath me. I’d seen another green air mattress in the dry bag, and I thought about getting it. But right then it was too much trouble.

  The warm sun felt good on my back. I closed my eyes and let myself drift.

  Before long, one of my stupid songs started bouncing around in my brain:

  Kenny’s lazy, William’s worse,

  But I’m the laziest guy in the universe.

  Always before, that song had been a joke. But it wasn’t funny now.

  I tried not to listen. That song wasn’t fair. I’d been working hard. Harder than I had in my whole life. And I’d gotten Tanner safely out of the water.

  But the song wouldn’t go away. I kept hearing it over and over. In some part of my brain, I knew the song was right: I was lazy. Tanner needed help, and I was loafing in the warm sun.

  I rolled onto my side and looked at Tanner. I couldn’t just lie there. I had to do something.

  But what? That was the question. What could Ido?

  Tanner hadn’t moved. His forehead had stopped bleeding, and he had a little more color in his face. But he still looked bad.

  I didn’t know what to do. I knew boxers and football players got knocked out sometimes. But how did you get them to wake up?

  I wondered if we’d studied this in Cub Scouts. If we had, I couldn’t remember it now. I moved over and put my mouth close to Tanner’s ear. “Tanner,” I whispered. “Tanner?” His face didn’t change.

  Then I tried speaking louder. “Tanner. Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “Tanner!” I yelled. “Tanner! Smiley! Tanner Harrison!”

  No change.

  I sat back and watched him. Here was my big brother. He looked terrible. I wanted to help him. More than anything in the world. But I couldn’t think of anything to do.

  If I’d been the one lying there, things would have been different. Tanner would have known what to do. But all I could do was sit there and look at him.

  Now and then he snorted, and he groaned once. Whenever he made a sound, I yelled at him again.

  It didn’t help.

  All we could do now was wait. Sooner or later we’d be rescued.

  But it wouldn’t be sooner. Dad wasn’t supposed to meet us until tomorrow. Two o’clock at some bridge.


  I knew that when we didn’t show up, he’d get somebody to look for us. But that was tomorrow. Late afternoon. If we were lucky. If Dad got worried soon enough. Otherwise, it would be dark, and they wouldn’t be able to start looking until Monday.

  So we were stuck. We might as well have been on a desert island.

  Suddenly I realized how much this was like some of the desert island video games. First a shipwreck. Then getting everybody to shore. Then getting warm.

  And finding food. In some of the games, you had to keep eating or your strength dropped.

  At least the food part was easy for me. I went to the dry bag and got some peanut butter and crackers. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite. Then I couldn’t get enough.

  Looking over at Tanner, I felt a little funny about stuffing myself with crackers. That didn’t make any sense—starving myself wouldn’t help him. But I felt funny anyway.

  The crackers made me thirsty, so I dug into the dry bag and found the water bottle. I drank the whole bottle. Then I dug around and found the filter pump. At least I knew how to use that. I stepped into the river and pumped the bottle full of clean water.

  I nibbled on crackers and tried to think. In the video games, after you got food and water and shelter, what did you do? Besides fight off dangerous animals and bad guys and pull somebody out of quicksand.

  Easy. You set up signals for the rescue party.

  That got me thinking about our rescue party. How would they find us? There was only one way: a helicopter. Nothing else would work.

  I looked around. Twenty feet behind us were brush and trees. No helicopter could land here.

  But across the river, things looked better. Down stream there was an open area. Rocky but flat. Big enough for a helicopter to land—I hoped.

  But that would be tomorrow. Or maybe Monday.

  I wondered if helicopters ever flew over this area. Maybe a pilot would spot us from the air. Still, even if somebody did fly over, what would they see? We’d just look like campers resting in the sun.

  In one video game, you tramped big letters in the sand. A message big enough for airplane pilots to read.

  I liked that idea. But it was impossible. What was I going to use to write a message?

  I wished I had a can of spray paint. Bright green or bright red. I’d make letters six feet high. Big enough for any helicopter pilot to see.

  It was silly to waste time wishing, and I knew it. I had no spray paint. No way to make a big bright sign.

  But then I thought of that bright yellow kayak.

  “What do you think, Tanner?” I said out loud. “Is that a dumb idea or what?”

  Right then it seemed possible. I’d get the kayak free from that log. Then I’d haul it over to the far side. I’d cut it into pieces and use the pieces to write a message. A gigantic HELP.

  A crazy idea, maybe. But it was better than sitting there looking at Tanner. And it just might work.

  First I needed a knife. I had dropped the pliers when the dry bag came loose. But Tanner had another knife.

  I lifted the sleeping bag and reached into his pocket. “Tanner,” I shouted, “wake up! Somebody’s stealing your stuff.”

  He didn’t move.

  Tanner’s baggy shorts were cold and wet. I felt bad about that. I should have taken them off him right away.

  Tanner groaned when I slid off his shorts. “Tanner,” I shouted, “can you hear me?” But he just groaned once more.

  Before I did anything else, I dug his jeans out of the dry bag. It wasn’t easy getting them on him, but I thought they might help warm him. I got out his sweatshirt too and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  I picked up the wet shorts and started digging. I found a knife in the third pocket. A regular old knife with two blades. Light enough to hold in my teeth. Right away I pried out the bigger blade.

  I stood and looked at the kayak. Both sides were flat now, and it seemed to be bouncing a little. Maybe, with my help, it could float out of there.

  I looked around for a stick and saw my paddle. Perfect. I picked up the paddle and stepped into the water. It seemed even colder than before.

  Right then I realized what a dumb thing I’d done earlier. If I’d used my head, I could have made things much easier on myself. Instead of coming down the chute on a rope, I should have stayed down below and used the paddle to knock the dry bag loose. It would have saved me a lot of cold work.

  I tried not to think about it. I’d done things the hard way. But at least Tanner was out of the water.

  I stayed next to the rocks and waded out as far as I could. The spray from the chute spattered my face. I reached out with the paddle and jabbed at the kayak. It didn’t move. Then I shoved the paddle underneath the kayak and tried to pry it loose. That didn’t work either.

  I shoved and jabbed for a long time, but the kayak stayed where it was. I started thinking about video games again. And about wasting time doing something that didn’t work.

  Finally I gave up and stepped back to rest. Standing there, I watched the bear rope bob up and down on the water.

  Right away, I thought of another way to get the kayak loose. It meant getting soaked again. But I wasn’t getting anywhere with the paddle.

  First I went back to shore and put on my life vest. Then I waded out and used the paddle to bring the rope over. Keeping hold of the rope, I threw the paddle toward shore. “Here goes nothing,” I mumbled, and put the knife handle in my mouth.

  I held on to the rope and waded into the water. When I was chest deep, the life vest lifted me off the rocks. I squeezed the rope and kicked toward the log. Water beat down on my head and shoulders. I got one leg over the log, then worked my way higher. I kept scooting up until my head bumped the kayak.

  I wrapped my legs around the log and held tight to the rope with one hand. With the other, I took the knife and started slicing. First I cut around the spot where the log had gone through. I made the hole bigger and bigger. Then I sliced up the side.

  It was slow work. The icy water was pulling at me, and I couldn’t see what I was doing. But I kept reaching out and slicing. And slicing some more.

  Then, all at once, the kayak gave way and smashed into me. I flopped backward and went underwater. The kayak was on top of me, holding me down.

  It was like something out of a nightmare. I tried to dive down to get free, but the life vest held me up. I pushed and yanked at the plastic on top of me. My lungs ached for air, but I was trapped.

  A thought flashed through my mind: This is the goofiest thing I’ve ever done. I’m going to be drowned by a flat kayak.

  Then my brain started working again. I’d been flopping around like a fish out of water. I knew better than that.

  I reached up with both hands and shoved the kayak to one side. Then I shoved it again. On the third shove, my head finally popped above the water. I sucked in tons of air.

  My foot banged against rocks. I put both feet down and stood up. I was waist deep in the water. The kayak was off to my right, hardly moving.

  I stood for a minute and caught my breath. Now that I was safe, the whole thing was almost funny Almost.

  I dragged the kayak toward the far shore. It was heavy—flat now but partly full of water. Once I hauled it onto dry land, most of the water drained out.

  I was ready to cut the kayak into strips to make my HELP sign. Except for one thing: the knife was gone.

  I turned and looked at the pool below the chute. Somewhere in there was the knife. The pliers too.

  I flopped down on the rocks. I was too tired to do anything else.

  After a few minutes, I jumped up. Then I caught myself. This was like playing video games. When I got in a hurry, I made mistakes. And I didn’t need any more of those. So I stood there on the bank until I had a plan.

  First I checked to be sure the rope was still there. It was bobbing on top of the water, just like before. I went downstream and crossed where the water was shallower
. Moving upstream, I stopped to check on Tanner. No change.

  Then I went on and got my paddle again. I took off my life vest, waded in, and used the paddle to snag the rope. I kept trying to see into the pool. All I could see was bubbles, caused by the crashing water. But the knife had to be there somewhere.

  After a minute I spotted something shiny about ten feet downstream. Those silver pliers.

  I held on to the rope and slid into the water. The rope kept me from being swept downstream while I kicked out to the middle of the pool. When I was about five feet upstream from the shiny pliers, I made a quick dive and grabbed them.

  For once, everything worked the way it was supposed to.

  For the kayak, I had another simple plan. I’d cut strips to spell out HELP. I wrote the word in the sand and saw that I’d need thirteen strips—five long and eight shorter.

  It wasn’t a bad plan. It just didn’t work. The plastic was too hard to cut. And I couldn’t cut in a straight line.

  Besides that, I didn’t have enough plastic. Even if I could cut the kayak into thirteen strips, they would be too small. Nobody could see them from the sky.

  All that work for nothing.

  It would have been neat. A big yellow HELP sign.

  I plopped down on the rocks and looked at the kayak. I found myself thinking about video games again. If something didn’t work—

  I sat up straight. I couldn’t make a HELP sign. But maybe I could do something else. Maybe a big yellow X.

  I grabbed the pliers and went to work. It took me a long time, but I managed to cut the kayak into two pieces. I dragged those pieces to the middle of the open area and made my X. A little crooked. But an X all the same.

  If somebody flew over, maybe they’d see that yellow X. Maybe they’d wonder what it was and fly lower. Then maybe we could wave them down.

  It wasn’t a giant HELP sign. But it was the best I could do.

  When I got back, Tanner looked the same. His breathing was loud but steady. I knelt down by him and shouted his name. He didn’t move.

  I sat in the sun and ate some more crackers and peanut butter. I kept looking up at the sky. No planes. No helicopters. Not even a cloud.