Wild River

by P. J. Petersen

  I wondered what time it was. Then I remembered that Tanner had a watch. He wasn’t wearing it, so it had to be in one of his pockets.

  I picked up the wet shorts and started digging. “Tanner, wake up,” I shouted. “You’re being robbed again.”

  I found the watch in a side pocket. It said twelve-thirty.

  That couldn’t be right. It had to be later than that. I figured the watch was broken. But I watched the seconds tick off.

  So it was only twelve-thirty. In twenty-eight or thirty hours, somebody might start looking for us. If we were lucky. And so far our luck had been rotten.

  I glanced over at Tanner’s white face. He needed help soon. Not thirty hours from now. I had to do something. Something besides sitting there wishing for a helicopter to rescue us.

  “Hey, Tanner,” I shouted, “wake up and I’ll sing you an awesome song.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Okay, wake up and I promise not to sing. For a whole day. For a week. For a month!”

  I hated just sitting there. I wanted to do something, but I couldn’t think of anything. Except to hang around and watch my brother. I wondered if I was watching him die. I tried not to think that way, but I couldn’t help it. He’d been out cold for a long time. That was bad. Really bad. I didn’t need first-aid training to know that.

  No matter how I tried, I couldn’t get rid of the terrible thoughts. Along with other horrible things, I started thinking about the night ahead. Somehow that scared me most of all.

  I had the feeling that Tanner would die that night. I’d be sitting around, doing nothing, and Tanner would die.

  “No!” I shouted, and stood up. I had to go for help now.

  I was at the bottom of a steep canyon. I couldn’t go up the river. And I couldn’t go down. So I’d have to climb out.

  I looked across the river, past the open area where I’d put the yellow X. I could see brush and trees and big rocky cliffs. I had to tilt my head back just to see where the cliffs met the sky.

  But somewhere up there was a road. This morning we had been on that road. We’d looked down from there and seen the river. If I could get up to that road, I could get help.

  I kept looking up at those cliffs. Wondering if I could find a way up. I had to try. It was the only chance I had.

  I worried about Tanner waking up while I was gone. I wished I had a pencil and paper so I could leave him a note. Just in case.

  If he did wake up, he’d be thirsty. Maybe even hungry. I pumped the bottle full of clean water again and set it beside his head. I put the box of crackers next to it. And his watch. Maybe he’d wake up and wonder how long he’d been out. I hoped so.

  At the last minute I dragged the whole dry bag over next to him. That way he could reach anything he wanted. And I fixed it so that it kept the sun off his face.

  When everything was ready, I stood there and looked down at Tanner. “Hang on, Tanner,” I told him. Then my throat got really tight. “You better not die on me.”

  I grabbed the sweatshirt and jeans Tanner had packed for me. I carried them across the river, then put them on. The dry jeans felt good on my cold legs.

  I passed my X and started looking for a trail. Ahead of me were thickets of willows. Above them, the hillside was covered with bushes and trees. It looked like a jungle.

  I kept having horrible thoughts. Like telling Mom that Tanner was dead. And wondering where he’d be buried. Those thoughts were like nightmares. Worse, because I was awake.

  Trying to get those things out of my mind, I started talking to myself, even singing:

  “I’m going up. I will not stop

  Until I reach the mountaintop.”

  I found a break in the willows and headed uphill. Soon I was in brush higher than my head. I tried to hurry, but it was slow going. I zigzagged, looking for openings, and ended up crawling most of the time.

  Somewhere along the way, I started thinking of the climb as a game. I was headed up the mountain, taking on the Mountain Demon. To keep away the bad thoughts, I kept singing about what I was doing:

  “Crawl on my belly to an open space,

  Spiderwebs all over my face.

  Crawl under bushes, around that tree,

  Mountain Demon can’t stop me.”

  I was breathing too hard to really sing. But I kept it up, even when I had to whisper.

  The game and the singing worked for a while. But pretty soon I’d catch myself thinking about Tanner in the dark. And I’d break out singing again. Louder. Trying to chase away the nightmare thoughts.

  After a long time, I came to an open area. No bushes, no trees. Just a gigantic pile of rocks. I was happy until I looked up—and saw where the rocks had come from.

  Above me were rocky cliffs. The same dark color as the rocks I was standing on.

  I could almost hear the Mountain Demon laugh.

  I tried to find a way around the cliffs. I stayed on the piles of rock and moved sideways for a while.

  Nothing. Just more cliffs.

  I stopped and looked up again. The cliffs weren’t straight up and down. There were cracks and humps and ledges.

  Maybe I could work my way up. Maybe.

  I had two choices. Either I went up the cliffs, or I gave up and went back down the hill. To sit by Tanner and wait for dark.

  So really there was only one choice.

  I scooted across the rocks until I found a good place to climb. Where I started, the going was steep but not straight up and down. Above that was a split in the cliffs, a crack that seemed to go all the way to the top.

  I felt better. I had found a way out.

  For a few minutes I had forgotten about the game. But I began to sing again when I started climbing:

  “Mountain Demon, I’m not through.

  This is level number two.”

  I liked that idea. Same game. Different location. And I was still moving up.

  I had climbed a few walls at the YMCA gym. (Tanner thought I’d enjoy it. Even when I told him I didn’t.) I knew how you were supposed to do it: you hold on with three—two feet and one hand or two hands and one foot—and reach with the fourth. But that’s easier on the gym wall. There are lots of handholds. And you’re wearing a safety harness.

  I moved up quickly. I kept my eyes steady. No looking down.

  For a while I counted. Then I started singing to myself as I climbed:

  “Hand is one. Foot is two.

  Three is hand, and four is shoe.”

  The same dumb song over and over. I was too busy to come up with anything else.

  In no time I was at the bottom of the crack. The crack was bigger than I expected. And it was rough enough along one edge to give me good handholds.

  I moved up at a slow, steady pace, singing that same song. I tried to keep my mind fixed on each move. But I still thought about Tanner now and then.

  The crack started getting smaller. And my song got much slower.

  Then I looked up but couldn’t see anything to grab. I glanced to the left. Then to the right. Finally I held on with both hands and leaned back for a better look.

  Nothing above me but slick, solid rock. Straight up and down for at least ten feet.

  I couldn’t go any farther. Dead end. The Mountain Demon had struck again.

  I had to go back down.

  Just thinking about it scared me. It had been hard enough going up, when I’d been able to look at each handhold before I grabbed it. Now I wouldn’t be able to see where I was going. And I was way up high.

  I could almost feel myself falling. I held tight to the rock with both hands, listening to my heart beating loud.

  I stayed like that for a minute or two. My stomach hurt, and I kept tasting peanut butter.

  Then I thought about Tanner lying by the river. I had to settle down. He was depending on me. Even if he didn’t know it.

  I took a slow, deep breath, then reached down with my left hand. Once I had a good grip on a rock, I reached down with my r
ight foot until it hit something solid. Then I held on tight with both hands and slowly shifted my weight onto that foot.

  That was the way it went. No more singing. No more game. Just one careful move. Then another. Then another. Always with two hands gripping hard before I reached down with my foot.

  Finally the crack got wider and wider. I knew I was getting close to the bottom. I wanted to hurry. But I stayed with the same steady movements. And I didn’t look down.

  Then both feet were on solid rock at the bottom of the crack. I closed my eyes and leaned against the rock. I had made it.

  After resting for a minute, I started looking for another way to go up. I was still about forty feet up from the rock pile at the bottom. I hated the idea of climbing down there and starting over.

  I was looking off to the side, and stepped that way. Whatever I stepped on crumbled under my foot. I stumbled in that direction and lost my handhold. I reached back, but my hand touched nothing but air. My stomach smacked the rock, and I went sliding down.

  I tried to grab on to something. Anything. But I kept sliding. And sliding. Down, down. My chin banged on something, and my head bounced back. And I kept sliding and sliding. All the way down to the rock pile at the bottom.

  When my feet hit something solid, I crumpled into a ball. Little rocks, sliding with me, bounced off my back.

  I was lucky. Instead of sliding, I could have tumbled backward and taken a fall. But right then I didn’t feel lucky at all. I just lay there on the rocks. I didn’t know how bad I was hurt. My whole body was shaking.

  After a minute or two, my breathing slowed down. I started by moving my fingers. Then my hands. Then my feet. Everything still worked.

  I was scratched-up and sore. My chin stung like crazy, and blood was dripping down onto my sweatshirt. But I was still in one piece.

  I was through climbing. Maybe somebody, like Tanner, could have climbed out of there. But I couldn’t. I didn’t even look at the cliffs again. The game was over.

  I turned around and started back toward the river. I tried not to think about anything. But I was sure the Mountain Demon was laughing his head off.

  I couldn’t even go back the way I’d come. I lost the trail right away. So I crawled through brush again. And fought my way through the willows.

  By the time I got to the river, sweat was pouring off me. I thought about diving into the water, clothes and all. But I caught myself just in time. My jeans and sweatshirt were dirty and bloody, but they were dry. Later, when it got cold, I’d need dry, warm clothes. I pulled them off, then waded in.

  The water was too cold to feel good. Especially when it hit all my scratches and scrapes. My whole body was stinging and burning. Instead of swimming, I washed off quickly and waded across the river.

  “Tanner,” I shouted, “wake up! I’m back.”

  He didn’t move.

  I flopped down beside him. “I’m sorry, Tanner. I tried. I did the only thing I could think of. But I couldn’t make it. And I just about got killed.”

  Tanner groaned quietly. He almost seemed to be answering me. But his eyes were still closed, and his face had that same empty look.

  I drank the water I’d left for him. “Now what?” I said.

  What else could I do but sit there and watch Tanner die?

  I reached over and checked Tanner’s watch. Almost one-thirty. I was amazed. I was beat up and beat out. But the whole trip up the mountain had taken less than an hour.

  And now we were stuck. There was nothing to do but wait. And wait. And wait.

  All of a sudden I was mad. Plain old ticked-off mad. “Tanner,” I yelled, “this is all your fault! Every bit of it! I didn’t want to come on this stupid trip. And you knew it. But you always have to get your way.”

  Tanner just lay there with his mouth hanging open. It was like yelling at a rock.

  I used the pump to filter some more water. Then I sat down and munched on crackers. I kept my eyes on the river. I didn’t want to look at those cliffs.

  Tanner had said that guys hiked in to fish on Grey Pine Creek. But the land had to be different down there. I couldn’t believe anybody could hike in to where we were.

  I looked across the river at my yellow X. I wished I hadn’t cut up the kayak. I should have tried to get it off that log and patch it. Then maybe I could have gone down the river to the mouth of that creek.

  I might have found fishermen there. Guys who could go for help.

  Even if nobody was there, I could take their trail and hike out myself.

  But the kayak was cut in two. Like Humpty Dumpty, it couldn’t be put back together again.

  Tanner moaned and shifted one leg. “Tanner!” I shouted. “Tanner! Can you hear me?”

  His face had the same dead-man look. But at least he’d moved. That seemed like a good sign.

  I looked up at the empty sky. No helicopters. No miracles in sight.

  Then I looked back at Tanner, stretched out on that green mattress. Seeing him like that reminded me of something. Last summer my friend Kenny and I had blown up air mattresses and used them in his swimming pool. Most of the time we just lay on them and soaked up the sun. But sometimes we played battleship and tried to knock each other into the water.

  I ran over to the dry bag. Who needed a kayak? I had an air-mattress battleship.

  I unrolled the other mattress and started blowing. Five breaths, then rest a second. Then five more.

  Everything seemed possible now. I’d head down the river and get help at Grey Pine Creek.

  I felt good about the new plan. But I also felt a little stupid. I should have thought of this plan first. That way I could have skipped that whole rotten climb. And that slide down the mountain that had scraped off half my skin.

  And I wouldn’t have wasted all that time. If I’d been smarter, I might have been at Grey Pine Creek already.

  Once the mattress was full, I put water and crackers next to Tanner’s head and put the dry bag back in place.

  “Hang in there, Tanner,” I said. “This time I won’t be back without help.” As soon as I said that, I started to get scared. If I went down the river, Tanner was stuck here by himself. What if he woke up and needed my help?

  But Tanner needed a doctor now. Today. Not tomorrow or Monday. I still had the feeling that he wouldn’t make it through the night unless I got help.

  I grabbed the mattress. I was going down the river. It might be another mistake. I’d made plenty of them already. But I had to try. I wasn’t going to sit there and watch him die.

  I decided to wear my sweatshirt and jeans. They were filthy and bloody, but I thought they might protect my arms and legs. Mainly, though, the jeans had pockets, so I could carry the pliers. I probably didn’t need them, but I liked having them. Mostly for the knife.

  I shoved two granola bars into other pockets. Their foil wrappers would keep them dry.

  Finally, I strapped on the life vest. It was still wet. And cold.

  I checked Tanner once more. His face was shaded, and he could reach everything. “Okay, Tanner,” I said. “Take it easy.” My throat was so tight I could hardly talk.

  At the last minute I grabbed his watch and slipped it on my wrist. I wanted to keep track of the time.

  I pushed the mattress into the water, then flopped onto it. All my scrapes and scratches stung when the water hit them. Lying on my stomach, I used my hands to paddle into the current, then grabbed the sides of the mattress. I was on my way.

  The mattress held me up, but water sloshed over it. My chest and stomach were never dry. Somehow it was colder to have only part of me wet. Soon my teeth were chattering.

  As I headed downriver, I started thinking about Tanner. Wondering if I should have left him. It was too late to change my mind, but I kept thinking about him up there alone. What if some animal—like a bear—came along?

  I didn’t need nightmare thoughts like that. I had trouble enough. My mattress was a rotten boat. It kept trying to turn sideways.
And it kept drifting out of the current. A few times I got spun around and ended up floating down backwards.

  To keep from thinking, I started singing again. That got me remembering my last game. Being wiped out by the Mountain Demon.

  But I wasn’t going to get wiped out this time. I was handling the mattress a little better, and I was moving along pretty well. I figured I could beat the River Demon:

  “Moving fast and floating free.

  River Demon can’t stop me.”

  I didn’t sing loud, but I kept making noise. Sometimes it was the same verse over and over. Once in a while, I made up a new one:

  “Watch that boulder on the right.

  I have just begun to fight.”

  Sometimes I had to use my hands to paddle. And I had to be careful not to move quickly. If I did, I’d get off balance and end up sliding into the water.

  I checked the watch every few minutes. And I kept looking ahead for Grey Pine Creek. It couldn’t be that far. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

  Floating along, I heard something. I stopped singing and listened. That sickening roar. No way to mistake it. I jammed down my hand to turn the mattress and paddled into shallow water.

  When I stood up, the roaring was louder. And I could see the place where the river narrowed. Another chute.

  I was taking no chances. No more chutes for me. I hurried to shore, dragging the mattress behind me.

  Right away I had to decide. I was going around the chute. No question about that. But should I let the air out of the mattress?

  It was already two-fifteen. I hated to take the time—and the energy—to blow up the mattress again.

  I tried carrying it. But that wasn’t easy. For a while I held it against my side with one hand. Then I bent forward and walked with it on my back, using both hands to hold it in place. That worked until I needed a hand for climbing.

  I finally gave in and let out the air and rolled it up. That way I could carry it under one arm and use both hands if I needed to. And I did need to in a few spots.