I climbed over boulders, then down through brush. I didn’t get a good look at the chute until I was below it. It was a little steep but not very long. I figured I could have handled the trip down. And I would have saved fifteen minutes.
But I had made it past a bad spot. I felt good about that. The River Demon wasn’t going to stop me.
I blew up the mattress again and waded back into the river. My clothes had dried a little by then. So the water froze me all over again. Right away I started to sing:
“Water’s freezing. So am I.
Wish I had some cherry pie.”
A stupid song. Especially when I sang it over and over. But it kept me from thinking—most of the time.
I was learning to handle the mattress. Slow movements. Short strokes. I stayed in the current and floated along.
After a while I relaxed a little. Laid my head sideways on the mattress to rest my neck. I even quit singing. I started thinking about the campground up ahead. And the guys who would go for help.
By the time I heard the roar, it was too late. I shoved a cupped hand into the water, and the mattress turned sideways. I felt it sliding across my stomach. I tried to grab on, but I was off balance by then. The far side of the mattress rose into the air, and I was dumped into the water.
I must have been yelling, because my mouth was wide open when I went under. Water filled my mouth and nose, choking me. In just a second, the life vest popped me up to the surface, coughing and spitting.
I was moving fast by then, swept along by the current. I reached down with my feet but couldn’t touch bottom.
I looked ahead and saw the mattress disappear into the chute. I was about a second behind it.
I leaned back and got my feet in front of me. If I banged into a rock, I wanted to do it with my shoes. Not my head.
Then I was in the chute. It was all noise and splashing water. I was thrown one way, then the other. My shoulder bounced off a rock. All I could do was clench my teeth and wait for it to be over.
The first thing I noticed was the quiet. Suddenly the roar was behind me. I looked up and saw the mattress off to the side. I swam over to it and hauled it into knee-deep water. Then I flopped down onto it and eased into the current.
I didn’t look back at the chute. I had no idea how long it was or how steep. And I didn’t want to know.
I’d been lucky. But I wasn’t going to try my luck again. After that, I kept listening for any change of sound. And I kept my eyes fixed on the river in front of me.
Ten minutes later, I spotted something green up ahead. Not a natural green, though. It was the green you see on tents.
I smiled for the first time. This time I had won the game, beaten the River Demon. I’d made it to the campground.
I just hoped there was a good strong camper there. Somebody who could go for help in a hurry.
I paddled into shallow water, then slid off the mattress. I dragged it onto the shore, then ran for the campground.
I thought about yelling, but I didn’t see anybody. I saved my breath and headed straight for that green tent.
Going closer, I saw how small the campground was. Just a flat, open spot with two or three fire pits. I didn’t slow down, but I kept looking in all directions.
And saw nothing. The place was empty except for that green tent back in the trees.
About twenty feet away from it, I stopped and stared. The green tent wasn’t a tent at all. It was just an old tarp. Somebody had draped it over logs to make a shelter, the sort of thing you’d get under in a rainstorm. It looked like it had been there for months. Maybe years.
Nobody there. Nobody at all.
I could almost hear the River Demon laughing.
I looked around the empty campground and yelled. No words. Just noise. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I yelled and yelled.
It didn’t help much. I was still mad. At everything and everybody. Mostly at myself.
I’d left Tanner alone so that I could come here. All the way down the river, I’d been picturing some supercamper He’d go racing up the mountain for help while I lay in the sun.
I’d been playing my game, fighting the river all the way. And I’d made it. I thought I’d won. But there was nobody here. No supercamper. Nobody at all.
I should have known better.
I staggered over to a log and flopped down on it. The sun was warm on my face, but my wet jeans kept me shivering. I thought about taking them off but didn’t. Too much trouble.
I sat there for a few minutes. I thought about getting out a granola bar but didn’t.
Finally I pulled myself to my feet. It was time to get real. No supercampers here. The only person who could climb out of there was me. Tanner’s little brother. Tanner’s freezing, exhausted, mad little brother.
I headed past the fire pits, looking for the trail. My wet sneakers squished and squirted with each step.
I spotted one trail and started to follow it. But it split into two trails, and I could see another a few yards away.
I stopped and tried to think. Just below me was Grey Pine Creek. I could see where it flowed into the river. But the road we’d come in on that morning was on the other side of the river.
Was the trail over there? Or was the trail on this side, leading up to a different road?
Tanner had probably told me, when he was talking about guys hiking in to fish. But I hadn’t really listened. I had figured Tanner would take care of everything.
I moved into an open area and looked across the river at black cliffs. They seemed even higher than the ones upstream. I decided the trail had to be on this side.
I picked out the biggest trail and hurried along it. Other trails split off every fifty steps or so, but they all led down to the creek.
My trail got smaller and smaller. I was afraid it was just a trail for fishermen. I looked at my watch and decided to give it five more minutes.
A little farther on, the trail split. One fork headed uphill. I stopped and studied it. It zigzagged back and forth, moving higher, until it disappeared into the trees. It seemed to be heading in the right direction. But it seemed too small to be the trail out of there.
I hated to start climbing unless I was sure.
I stood at the fork and tried to decide. Somewhere around there was a trail that led to a road. Maybe this was it. If I was lucky, maybe I could follow it and get help.
But, so far, my luck had been terrible. Why would it change now? I might follow that trail for hours and get nowhere. I pictured myself walking on and on while the sun was going down.
I couldn’t take a chance. There was only one sure way out: down the river. It might take a long time, but sooner or later I’d get to a bridge.
A bridge. Somewhere downstream. A mile? Ten miles? I had no idea. Just somewhere downstream. I hadn’t bothered to listen to Tanner, so that was all I knew.
But what else did I need to know?
I looked at my watch: three-thirty. Almost half an hour since I’d left the river. Too much time wasted already.
I turned and ran back toward the campground.
It probably sounds funny, but right then I felt better than I had since I left Tanner. Everything was decided now. I was going down the river. I didn’t know how long it would take, but it didn’t matter. There was no other choice.
Before I went into the water, I added some air to the mattress. It wasn’t easy, because I was already out of breath. The mattress took lots of air. I wondered if it had sprung a leak. But I didn’t worry about it for long. Leak or not, I was headed downstream.
The running had warmed me, so the first steps into the cold river were hard. I ended up yelling again. It didn’t help much.
I carried the mattress into knee-deep water, then flopped down on it. I paddled for a minute, then let the current take me away.
Next stop: the bridge. All I had to do was hang on and wait.
After Grey Pine Creek, the river seemed a little wider and a little deeper. The
current was strong. I kept the mattress steady and watched out for rocks.
I hummed a little, but I didn’t feel like singing. I looked at my watch every two or three minutes. It was like one of the video games where you have to finish all the jobs before the time runs out. You have to hurry, but you try not to think about time. But you can’t help it.
I could almost hear the clock ticking away: Three-fifty. Three-fifty-two. What if I couldn’t make it to the bridge before dark? What if it was so dark that I couldn’t see the bridge? I might go right past it. The River Demon would love that.
That kind of worrying was dumb, and I knew it.
All I could do was stay in the current and keep moving. There was no way to speed up. Still, I couldn’t help thinking about floating along in the dark.
I heard noise up ahead. I looked up, expecting some kind of chute. But I could see the river far in front of me.
Closer, though, were boulders and rough water. I could see little waves rising in front of me. I paddled to the right to stay clear of a big black rock.
The waves rocked my mattress enough to make me grab on with both hands. I bounced through the water for a minute, spun sideways, then bounced a little more. A little action from the River Demon. But it couldn’t dump me off my boat.
If things had been different, it might have been fun. But right then nothing was fun.
After that, the river got wider and shallow. Not even a foot deep. And the current slowed. I had to look at the shore to be sure I was still moving. I felt like yelling again.
I was almost sorry I’d brought Tanner’s watch. In some ways, it made things worse. I ground my teeth when it showed four o’clock.
I took a deep breath and looked ahead. No bridge. But there was something black on the shore. At first, I thought it was a boulder. But then I realized that the black thing was moving.
A bear. That was all I needed. A bear.
The River Demon was not playing fair.
The bear was on my right. So I shoved my left hand into the water. The mattress turned that way, and I eased out of the current. I caught hold of a boulder and held the mattress in place. I lay there, without moving, and watched.
The bear was about fifty yards downstream from me. It was on the shore, a few feet from the river. It seemed to be eating something. I didn’t know what to do. I thought about paddling over to the bank and waiting for it to leave. At least there would be the river between us.
Maybe I’d be safer onshore. I could run if the bear started across the river.
The bear kept its nose to the ground. What was it eating? What did bears eat, anyway?
I didn’t know much about bears. I’d read a book about them a long time back. Maybe third grade. I sort of remembered that they had bad eyesight but great noses. And they were fast runners. Much faster than you’d think.
That didn’t make me feel any better.
That spring, mountain lions had been seen close to our town. So we’d been told over and over how to scare them away: you were supposed to yell and hold your arms high to make yourself look bigger. I wondered if that would work with a bear.
I held on to the boulder and watched the bear eat. And took quick glances at my watch. Four-oh-five. Four-oh-eight. Four-ten.
The bear raised its head and walked a few steps. “Keep going,” I whispered. “Keep going.” But then it lowered its head and started eating again. It seemed to be in no hurry at all.
But I was. Four-fifteen came and went. I kept thinking about Tanner. And wondering what time the sun went down.
At four-twenty, I couldn’t stand to wait any longer. The bear had its back to the river. And it was busy eating. I had to try slipping past.
I let go of the rock and eased the mattress back into the current.
The mattress started moving downstream. I couldn’t change my mind now. All I could do was keep floating. And watching the bear. It seemed to get bigger and bigger.
The bear raised its head again and started walking. Moving in the same direction I was. It had a kind of rolling walk. Its head swung back and forth with each step.
The current was moving faster than the bear. So I was getting closer and closer. I used one hand to steer the mattress toward the other shore. I wanted to be as far away as possible. But I had to stay in the current.
Then I was even with the bear. Close enough to see leaves and bits of brown grass stuck in its fur.
For a minute, I forgot about everything but that fantastic animal. I was scared, I guess. But mostly I was amazed. A bear right there, moving along with me.
The bear stopped and raised its head high. Maybe it was wondering what that weird thing in the river was. I probably didn’t look good to eat. The bear kept smelling the air and turning its head from side to side.
I wonder what kind of smell the bear got from me and my dirty, wet clothes and the mattress. What did it think I was?
Finally the bear lowered its head and walked away from the water.
By that time, I was looking back over my shoulder. I glanced ahead for a second to check for rocks. When I looked back again, the bear was gone.
I was still excited. My first thought was Wait till I tell Tanner. But that brought everything back. I bit down hard and tried to keep my teeth from chattering.
I started to sing again to keep from thinking. I was too tired and cold to make anything up, so I sang a song from last summer. I’d used it to tease my mother:
“What a bummer!
Mom thinks I get dumber
During the summer.
Wants me to read, wants me to write.
Wants me to study French at night.
‘Paint some pictures, build some frames.
And do not play those video games!’”
Last summer. I wanted to be back there. Back when my biggest problem was Mom fussing at me for wasting time.
So I sang that song. Over and over. Trying to keep my mind on last year. Trying not to think about Tanner. Or the hour I’d wasted on the mountain. Or the time I’d wasted at Grey Pine Creek.
I went through a few stretches of choppy water without any problems. Every minute or two I looked ahead, hoping. No bridge.
I never stopped singing. After a while my song got quieter. In fact, sometimes I don’t think I said the words out loud. But I kept singing.
And I kept floating downstream. Too slow, of course. But I was staying in the current and doing all I could.
Then, on a stretch of easy water, my hands started shaking worse than usual. And my legs did the same.
I had to stop.
I hated the idea. Time was running out. It was already four-forty-five. I only had a few hours of daylight left. But I had to get warm.
I spotted a flat area up ahead. Except for some shadows along the edge, it was still in the sun. I steered my mattress into shallow water and slid off. I fell twice trying to get to shore. My legs just didn’t work right.
Out of the water, I worked and worked to get my life vest unbuckled. Then I dragged myself across rocks to a stretch of sand. I wanted to flop down on that sand and never move again.
I sat down hard but didn’t lie down. Instead, I began pulling up my soaking sweatshirt. Once the sweatshirt was off, I kicked off my shoes and started squirming out of my soggy jeans.
It took forever to pull off those jeans. When I was finally free, I threw them aside and collapsed on the sand. I still had on a wet swimsuit, but I didn’t care.
I lay on the warm sand for a long time. With the sun on my back, I soon quit shivering. My body felt heavier and heavier. I could feel myself drifting off to sleep.
“No!” I shouted. I dragged myself to my knees and looked at the watch. Five-oh-five. I grabbed my sweatshirt. It was still sopping wet. I wrung out some of the water. But I couldn’t stand to put it on.
I ended up tying the sweatshirt around my waist. I gritted my teeth when the wet sleeves touched my bare stomach. My jeans were right by my foot. “No way,” I said
out loud. I pulled on my wet tennis shoes and shivered when my feet hit the cold. I stood up and hurried back toward the river.
I strapped on my life vest again and dragged the mattress into the water. I felt funny about leaving my jeans behind. That probably sounds silly. But it felt strange to go off and leave my good jeans.
Before I shoved off, I remembered the granola bars and pliers. Back there in my jeans pockets. But I didn’t even look that way. I was running out of time.
I was already shivering when I flopped down on the mattress. I decided right then that I wouldn’t stop again until the bridge.
But I was wrong.
A few minutes later I hit a patch of rough water. I wasn’t worried at all. I’d been through lots worse.
But then the mattress rose up and dumped me into the river.
I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was a wave. Or a rock I didn’t see. Or the River Demon playing a little joke.
I didn’t have time to think about it. Suddenly I was underwater and freezing all over again. The life vest popped me up. I sucked in a breath and realized I was floating along downstream.
The mattress was about six feet ahead of me. I tried to swim toward it, but I couldn’t gain much ground. Both the mattress and I drifted along, six feet apart.
Then I hit shallower water. My feet dragged on the bottom. I lifted them high, but soon one foot scraped again. That spun me around.
By then the mattress was fifteen feet ahead. I wanted to scream. I could see it, but I couldn’t catch up to it.
All afternoon that mattress had been drifting out of the current. Not now, when I wanted that to happen. Now it sailed along midstream. Getting farther and farther away.
It was terrible to watch the mattress getting smaller and smaller. I floated along, hoping it would slip out of the current. No such luck.
There was only one thing to do. Obviously. But my brain wasn’t working very well. It took me a long time to think of it. Then I paddled and kicked into shallow water. I waded to the shore and started running. I raced along the water’s edge. Up ahead I could see boulders. If I got that far, I’d have to swim again.
Wild River Page 5