Wicked River

by Jenny Milchman

  Natalie turned to him, aghast, in the lingering dark. “We covered more than twenty-five miles?”

  The specific cant of Doug’s features was impossible to make out, his face like marble in the last vestiges of the moonlight. “That’s what I would estimate. Yes.”

  Natalie kept silent.

  “But we were headed the right way back, judging by the sun. Due east, I think.”

  “You think?” Natalie said carefully.

  “The sun isn’t a compass, Nat,” Doug replied. “I did my best.”

  Natalie stared up at the sky, now beginning to lighten. Day two had arrived.

  “We weren’t just going in circles,” Doug said. “We followed the same rough direction as the trail. But assuming we were walking parallel, I have no way of knowing whether we would’ve been north or south of it.” He licked his lips as if the act of talking had parched him.

  “Don’t do that,” Natalie said tonelessly. “You’re wasting saliva.”

  Doug’s head dipped. “Speaking of. I think we should look for a stream.”

  “To follow out, you mean?” Surely not to drink from. “I thought that was a myth. An old wives’ tale.”

  “Not a myth,” Doug corrected, getting to his feet and brushing dirt and grit from the backs of his legs. “It can take a while. It’s not as foolproof as some think. But I don’t see that we have any better option.”

  Natalie matched the faint sense of resolve her husband had mustered. “First, we need to figure out a way to cross this monster.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  During the two years he had eked out a living in these woods, Kurt had never gotten a glimpse of what he’d just seen from his high-up perch, although in retrospect it seemed impossible to have overlooked or missed. A canyon so wide and deep and gaping, it looked as if Mother Nature herself had taken a bite out of the ground. Kurt, who had some experience digging holes of late, had to admire what nature had wrought. A geological calamity so massive that no one for miles around could hope to avoid it.

  The sun began its sharp ascent in the sky, boding temperatures seldom seen in these woods, as Kurt descended from the Goliath of a tree and set out walking. Despite his stampeding hunt the day before to try to locate the camper, then the rigors of tree climbing, his muscles felt lithe, supple with optimism and hope.

  The brush and undergrowth were too dense to take the most direct route, cover the distance as the proverbial crow would’ve flown. Kurt had to twist and turn quite a bit, navigating around impediments. Still, after a few short miles he came to the sight he had spied from the treetop. He wiped a slick of sweat from his forehead.

  Swinging his arms, Kurt began walking up and down along the edge of the canyon, looking for a place where a hiker might cross. Even Kurt would’ve been hard pressed to traverse such a beast, although at last the gap in the earth began to narrow, presenting an opportunity for passage. He’d had to stray some ways from its rim due to the roughness of the terrain, and as Kurt pushed past trees to observe from up close again, he suddenly stopped short.

  Kurt felt his hand extend, seemingly of its own accord, disembodied. With a feeling of wonder, he studied the surface of the tree in front of him.

  Deep in the creviced runnels of bark was a faded trail marker.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  By daylight, the gully looked more challenging, not less. Its downside was too sharply tilted, and slippery with dry husks of leaves, to offer any means of a controlled descent, while the angle of the uphill would have prohibited scaling even if they made it to the other side.

  “Walk alongside it till it ends?” Natalie questioned. “At least we’ll know we’re staying true to a route.”

  Doug shook his head. “That could take us miles out of the way. We can’t spend energy like that.”

  “We’ll waste a lot more on an impossible climb,” Natalie replied. “And since we’re not 100 percent positive which way we were walking, it might not even be out of the way.” She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, each one a dry, hard pellet of accusation that even she knew undermined the skill Doug had applied.

  But Doug didn’t get angry—perhaps he lacked the energy for a quarrel—and instead began looking around, scouring the banks of the gulf. “What if we used that?”

  Natalie let her gaze travel in the same direction. The part of the gap to their right narrowed significantly. Although no less steep, a mossy tree had fallen over that section, bracing the sharpest incline of the vee. If they could make it a few feet down the slope, the trunk would prevent them from sliding any farther, and then they could—

  “You want us to walk across that log?” Natalie asked. Her heart started to scurry in her chest. “Use it as a balance beam?”

  Doug stared at the rift in the earth, like a sailor looking out to sea. “You weren’t as bad at gymnastics as a kid as you were at reading maps, were you?”

  Natalie almost smiled, the movement unfamiliar on her mouth. “I never took gymnastics,” she said. “But, Doug…that fall has to be—”

  “Don’t think about the fall,” he told her. “And don’t look down.”

  He reached for her hand, and they started toward the pitch.

  “Want me to go first?” Doug offered. “Or should I trail you?”

  The question sparked tears, which Natalie knew she didn’t have to lose. But she couldn’t help it. This crisis wasn’t Doug’s fault—he’d been trying to err on the side of caution when events had spiraled completely out of control—and yet here he was, still trying to make things as easy as possible on her. Doug always took the harder task, the lesser piece; it was the flip side of his tendency to steer things and chart their course. Maybe this was what marriage was really all about—learning the upside to every down in your spouse, and vice versa.

  She swallowed, aware that no liquid went down her throat. “Let’s get to the log together. I might need your help climbing onto it.”

  Doug nodded.

  “And then I’ll cross first. But I think I’m going to go on my butt.”

  Doug gave her a wan smile. “Lucky tree.”

  Natalie’s fist felt weak, but she managed to punch him.

  They positioned themselves horizontally with the rim of the chasm, wedging the sides of their Norlanders into the earth and using their hands to keep from sliding. If they’d had to descend any deeper in the gully, they would’ve slipped, tumbling into the spiked valley below. But the fallen tree met them a few feet down, and they let their bodies sag against its girth, unable to wrest their gazes from the perilous drop over which they hovered.

  “I told you not to look,” Doug said. He was white-faced as he spanned a cross section of log with his hands and chinned himself up. When his knees were level with the trunk, he swung one leg over. Then he leaned down to help Natalie.

  She wouldn’t have had enough strength without Doug. The rutted bark dug into her elbows and knees. She was panting by the time she’d gotten herself situated atop the log, the whole of the gully falling away beneath her. The air rising up felt thick and humid; sweat plastered her body, making a slip feel dangerously imminent. She wiped her hands back and forth across the fabric of her shorts so roughly that they rasped.

  “Twenty feet,” Doug said, his tone reassuring, bolstering her. “You won’t be up high for much longer than that. And then if you had to drop, you could climb to the top on the other side same way as we came down over here.”

  If Natalie’s mouth had felt dry before, now it was a crinkle of old newspaper, an attic cloaked with dust. She was afraid that she would start coughing with such force that she’d pitch right off the log.

  “You go before me,” she got out. “I need to see how it’s done.”

  Doug hesitated for the barest of seconds. Then he sprang to his feet atop the tree trunk, paused to get his balance, and
strode forward. He stopped only once in the middle—his strong, lean body seeming to float a hundred feet in the air, above a million treetops—before thrusting one arm out to each side like a tightrope walker. A few more steps and he was across, standing on the end of the log above where the ground began to level off. The whole maneuver had taken only seconds.

  Her turn now. Natalie’s heart was thrumming.

  “It was a cinch,” Doug called across the space separating them. “Even easier than I thought. Come on, Nat. You can do it.”

  Her legs hung over opposite sides of the log. If she had stretched one down, lowered herself just a bit, her toes would’ve scraped the steep side of the gully. But as soon as she moved forward a few feet, she wouldn’t be able to do the same thing. And another foot or two after that, the ground would fall away altogether.

  Natalie remained seated. She couldn’t bring herself to stand up, knowing that drop was coming. She began pulling herself forward with her hands, then scooting on her butt to catch up, inchworm-style. Once. Then again. And again. Her legs now dangled freely, over thin air and an endless assemblage of trees, the spears of an infinite army.

  “Nat!” Doug shouted. “That isn’t going to—”

  “Shut up!” Natalie hissed, so fiercely that she did start coughing, and had to lean over, gasping and retching and hugging the log till the spasm passed.

  She opened her eyes.

  The swath of trees Doug had crossed so glibly, seeming to float upon their tips, looked different from this vantage point. They were tall creatures, reaching hungrily for her, hoping she would fall into their clutches.

  She stifled a scream; she didn’t want to start coughing again.

  “That isn’t going to work, Nat!” Doug called, and this time she saw what he did.

  Or felt it.

  The width of the tree had been increasing while she’d pulled herself out over open space. Her thighs were spread at a sharper angle now, their muscles stretched to aching. This tree grew so broad at its center that her legs wouldn’t be able to span it.

  She started scooching backward, planting the flats of her hands behind her, then pushing up and reseating herself. Bent over, breathing hard, she reached the spot where the tips of her shoes could scrape solid ground again, and stopped.

  “Natalie!” Doug called hoarsely, enunciating each word, though they were hard to make out from here. “You’re. Going. To. Have. To. Stand. Up!”

  Natalie stared out at the breach, and understanding settled dizzily over her.

  If she didn’t do this, then Doug was going to come back and try to help her.

  She could see him poised to set out, his body readying itself as he lifted one foot. That would make three trips for him total, and he’d be faltering, weakening with each one. Doug was as thirsty and hungry as she; he might not have the strength to make it.

  “Stop!” she screamed with the deepest breath she could drag in. She fought to suppress another coughing fit. “I’m coming! I’ll come!”

  She waited until the heaving of her chest had quieted before she got up unsteadily, first kneeling, then standing, the insides of her thighs quivering.

  Then she raised one foot and took a step out over the open maw of trees.

  Natalie shuffled at first until she saw that was only slowing things down, plus making her wobble. The space along which she had to walk was no narrower than the area demarcated by the yellow line in the subway. If not for the gaping chasm on either side, she could’ve gone at top speed, even shouldered someone standing in her way aside.

  Natalie inched forward, focusing on what lay ahead, and keeping her face lifted to make sure that sky, versus the militia of trees below, filled her peripheral vision.

  Doug loomed before her; she was close to him. Her stride leveled out, grew more sure. She was walking now, nearly strolling along. Her heart planed evenly.

  And then the log shifted on its mount in the earth.

  Just a slight movement—but enough to cause Natalie to teeter, and have to throw out her arms to get situated again. A skitter of rocks and dirt cascaded into the gully, their sound like cymbals clanging in her ears.

  Natalie and Doug’s combined weight on this end of the trunk had changed something. The tree couldn’t remain planted where it had come to settle after whichever cataclysmic event—a lightning strike, an earthquake, the shove of some mythical beast—had caused it to topple.

  Natalie was still several feet from where the slope became gradual enough to scale; if she fell now, she would land all the way at the bottom of the chasm, or be skewered on the way down by a tree.

  The log was still slipping, groaning as if waking up after a long quiescence.

  “Doug!” Natalie said, a helpless, useless plea. There was nothing he could do for her from there. If he tried to reach her hand, he would miss; walking forward would only hasten both their fates when the trunk let go.

  Doug looked at Natalie, his gaze strong, reassuring as always, but filled with something new, a deepening born of this trip.

  Love.

  Then he jumped.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Natalie’s scream was so sharp and sudden that her body wavered on the log. She didn’t take time to steady herself, just broke into a run, as if she hadn’t been fifteen feet off the ground. She was hardly aware of crossing the remaining section of trunk, nor of feeling any fear, except for her husband’s fate. Natalie reached the place where the earth rose up to meet the tree. Holding on to the trunk, pull-up bar style, she dropped as close as she could to the place where Doug had come to a rest.

  He had dug the fingers of one hand into the ground when he landed, but that move wouldn’t have been sufficient to hold him. What was keeping Doug aloft was a slim root, over which his arm had hooked itself. Doug’s body dangled, a large portion of its weight dependent on the crook of his elbow.

  “My arm,” he grunted when Natalie reached him. “I think I broke it.” His face had gone waxy with pain; the words were barely audible.

  Natalie bit back a shriek of pure rage. How much more could they stand? A broken arm out here meant that if they’d had any chance at all before, they wouldn’t for much longer.

  “I’ll pull you up,” she told Doug. “Let go when you feel my hand.”

  After a second, he nodded.

  Natalie locked her fingers around Doug’s good wrist, using both her arms to pull. Doug worked his hand free from the ground, holding on to Natalie so tightly that she feared he might drag her over. She dug her heels into the soil, bracing herself, and yanked with all her might. Heaving and gasping, she managed to get Doug up to more level earth. When his arm slid free of the root, he let out a roar of pain.

  They fell backward, lying at a slant, their bodies coated in sweat, unable to climb any higher. When she had breath enough to speak, Natalie sat up and faced Doug.

  “Let me see your arm,” she said.

  Doug pressed his lips together.

  Natalie made her fingers as light as possible, but when she reached the bend in Doug’s arm, his whole body bucked.

  Natalie frowned. “I don’t think you broke anything,” she said. “You must’ve wrenched it awfully hard. But that spot where I just touched—there’s not even any bone there.”

  Doug was breathing in hitches, uneven gasps that dampened his face with perspiration.

  “We need to make you a sling,” Natalie said. As a little girl, she’d wanted to be a nurse. She had never pursued the career, perhaps because it was her sister’s, and the prospect of allowing Claudia to lead Natalie through life any more than she already had was unwelcome. “It will hurt less if your arm isn’t dangling free.” Natalie raised her arms over her head and took off her T-shirt.

  “No,” Doug got out. “Use mine.”

  “We can trade later,” Natalie said, turning the fabric inside
out so that no dirt and grime would lie against Doug’s injury. “I don’t want you to have to lift your arm.” She twisted the cloth into the proper shape. “Let’s get to where we can stand.” She cast her gaze upward. “Ten feet. Do you think you can climb one-handed?”

  The maneuver must’ve been agonizing to judge by Doug’s face and suppressed grunts, and they didn’t make it all the way to level ground, stopping once the incline grew gradual enough not to have to fear sliding.

  Natalie stood behind Doug, a little higher up, and helped him ease his arm into a resting position before supporting it with the sling. Then she sat down on the slight slope, patting the ground beside her.

  The lines of pain on Doug’s face finally began to fade. “Thanks, Nat,” he said. “That feels better.”

  She looked up at him.

  “What’s wrong?” Doug asked. He gestured with his good hand. “Besides the obvious.”

  The reply emerged with the force of something sicked up. “You would’ve left me!” Natalie cried. “Out here alone! Without you!”

  Before they set out walking yesterday, Natalie had doubted her decision to marry Doug. Just for a fleet second, but still, in the moment that he’d leapt from the log, she’d realized how unfeeling that was of her, careless of the love she had been given. You didn’t question a bond like theirs just because things had gone horribly wrong. Look at what Doug had been willing to do for her when it came down to it. She didn’t want to be out here without him. She didn’t want to be anywhere without him.

  Doug lowered himself onto the forest floor, gingerly positioning his arm. “I was trying to save you,” he said mildly.

  “Oh, Doug,” Natalie said. Tears stung her eyes, though there didn’t seem to be enough of them to fall. “If you had died, I don’t think I could have gone on without you.” She said the words with more certainty than she’d spoken her vows just six days ago.

  “Shh,” Doug said. He touched the fingers of his good hand to her face. “Don’t use up any bodily fluids. I’m here. I’m all right. My arm barely even hurts anymore.”