by Spencer Hyde
“A stroke away from death,” I said. “We were swimming. Or trying to. And we would have hit that rapid either way.”
“A stroke away from death. Sounds like a diagnosis for someone way too into smoking.”
“He lied about that phone. By not being prepared, he put us in this situation. Like my mom’s accident taught him nothing,” I said.
“You’re right. He keeps writing the same tale. But it’s in your hands now. You have the power to change the story.”
“It’s already written. She’s in the ground. Nash is above it. I’m here.”
I imagined Skye staring out into the improbable terrain that had almost swallowed us whole, rows of white clouds frozen in the sky like the insides of a trout.
“Leslie Marmon Silko once said that stories never really end.”
I heard him move closer to the tent. I could see the outline of his body as he bent over, looking at the rocks by his feet.
“And she doesn’t distinguish between history or fiction, fact or rumor. Stories bring people together, keep people together. Words are never alone. They are always encompassed by other words. Words have neighbors, always. Think about your crosswords, Indie. Think about your neighbors. Not the horses. Get it? Neighbors.”
“You’re worse than my grandpa.”
“Worth a shot.”
I did think about the crosswords, though. I’d lost those to the water as well. Listening to Skye detail the ways words moved in and out of lives, I realized I’d been quite parsimonious with my ideas of what the future could be without Mom. The water outside rolled over his words. The water was words.
“Stories aren’t some line we follow—A to B to C,” he said. “Life isn’t like that. It’s more like a web, Indie. It forms as it is told, and you get to decide what it means. You get to decide how to change the story.”
“A story of being stuck,” I said.
“Nobody knows rivers like you do. You don’t have to forgive him right now, but we need you on that river.”
I was silent. I didn’t know how to respond. I grabbed the necklace at my throat. I wondered in that moment if what had seemed accidental was actually essential. Like, some cosmic joke on me: Nash had to be the guide because I had to figure out how to forgive. But that sounded too easy and had nothing to do with my abilities on the water.
But at least it was an idea I could keep separate from the fact that I was thirsty and hungry and injured, just like the rest of our group, and I was being stubborn and staying in the tent instead of moving forward to safety or hope or whatever there was to be had from our situation.
“You know,” Skye said, “when people go mountain climbing, they have to be careful to avoid crevasses.”
“You just like saying that word.”
“Maybe.”
I was silent again.
“There are crevasses that are more than a hundred and fifty feet deep. If you fall, you’re a goner.”
“This is very uplifting,” I said.
Skye ignored my comment. “If you fall into a crevasse and survive, what are your options?”
“You have to climb out,” I said. “Obviously.”
“True. But with some crevasses, if you follow them down as far as you can, they can lead to another opening at a different spot on the mountain. Going down into the darkness can sometimes lead to the only light you’re going to find.”
“So you’re saying I need to think darker thoughts and swim to the river bottom?”
“I’m saying you need to go through this. Not over it, not under, not around. And it might also be true that you need to go deeper with Nash, and maybe then you’ll find an out. You keep thinking you can avoid it, but you’re already in the crevasse. Maybe it’s time you rappel down into the darkness.”
I listened to him breathe outside the tent and shift his weight. I put my head between my knees and tried to clear my mind. The only thing I kept thinking of was that line Mom always said: “Knowledge. Everything and everyone deserves to be sought after and known.” I stepped from the tent a few minutes later and helped Skye stand up.
“You ready to forgive?”
“I don’t know. But I do know we need to get moving if we are going to make it to that stupid cabin and help the moron who put us in this situation without any way to call for help.”
“Mercy is only mercy when it’s given to the people we don’t want to have it, who we don’t think are deserving of such a thing.”
Skye was working his way into my life, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be the same. I felt like I had giant canyons forming in my chest. With enough time, a river can carve through anything. With enough time, so can a person.
NINE
Curious. I watched the clouds in the distance slide slowly our way on their silvery bellies. It was late in the afternoon, and the tents were packed and the raft was functional and our plan was to continue on to the Sheep Creek Cabin and wait for help. I think we were all hoping that there might already be some help there from other outfits.
Nash said that there were numerous cabins in the area owned by other crews and that we were bound to find help. Surprisingly, aside from the outfits Skye had seen, we’d seen no one on the water for almost two days. No satellite phone, no radio, no cell phones, and no other way out. We had the climbing gear and two water bottles and two tents. And each other.
Nash was asleep, and Wyatt said that the longer he slept, the better. We managed to carry him to the raft without waking him and even secured him using the climbing gear. Wyatt said the trauma to Nash’s body was enough to knock most people out, which is why our jostling hadn’t woken him.
We were all breathing heavily by the time we got Nash in the raft, our feet squeaking against the urethane.
“When a person dies, their sense of hearing is the last thing to go,” I said.
“I’ll take ‘Weirdest Thing Ever Said’ for $200, Alex,” said Skye.
“It’s true. Grandpa told me that one day when I was helping him at the mortuary.”
“So cool,” said Wyatt.
“Can we just get moving?” Shelby said.
“I can still hear you, Shelbs. Good news—I’m not dead,” said Wyatt.
I could tell she was tense, and not excited to talk about, well, anything. She held one of the water bottles, and Wyatt told her to take it easy. She passed it around so we could all have a sip.
Wyatt told us the human body could go for more than three weeks without food, but only a week without water—and only a few days if we wanted to stay sharp mentally. With the heat, Wyatt gave us two days without water before we’d be in serious trouble.
Shelby looked at the nearly empty water bottle in her hand, then at us.
I watched the river and thought of the trout in the cool pockets beneath the water. I imagined sending out a fly-line with Hoppers and Chernobyl Ants on the end and snagging something beautiful. Catch and release. We’d almost lost Nash that afternoon, released into the water like Mom. All of us had, in fact.
Curiously, what little heat weighed down the air was washed away almost immediately on a breeze that rushed through the canyon like a destroying angel. Those large, silver clouds hovered over the canyon walls, and then their silver bellies turned to black and that blackness gathered weight and that weight gathered sound and that sound rumbled in our chests when the first boom echoed out over the water. A storm was upon us.
I pushed us into the slow waters and stood in the middle of the boat. I was afraid to sit and get comfortable for even a moment, knowing two sets of rapids stood between us and safety and rescue.
We watched the sun dip behind the canyon wall and felt a collective shiver run through us, knowing that we might be facing more water. This time from above.
“Maybe we should have kept the tents set up and waited? Surely someone would find us,” s
aid Shelby.
“Can’t take that chance,” said Wyatt. “Nash is too banged up.”
Water from above, water from below, and not a drop to drink. Earlier, I’d considered it a race against the sun, but without the sun, I wasn’t sure how far we could make it. I knew we’d have to move quickly.
Rain began to fall in earnest as we approached the first set of rapids. Nash started to shift in his slouched, roped-in position, the rain pelting his face. Were he awake, he could tell us what the rapids were called. I called them a hellish nuisance, but he might have had a more precise term for them.
I tried to forget about the wreck, about my arm that Wyatt had bandaged up after tending to Nash, about the water pouring down on top of us, and I focused on the line.
I watched as the water split in several places at once, all circling the same boulder garden we were about to fall into. The water gathered and slipped away, like a logic that defied understanding, like chaos. I recognized the green in the water directly before us, a dark fan of shadow below the first lip of water, the storm already shifting the colors of the river.
“Hold on tight. We can’t afford another spill,” I said, almost shouting because of the thunderstorm on top of us. I eased us into the first tongue of water.
The raft rose with the white-tipped waves and crashed, water spraying our faces. I imagine it’s what buckshot would feel like from a distance, those hard pellets of water.
I braced against the features with a paddle and felt my arm start to give, the mounting pressure pushing back. I was on high alert and was not about to let more carnage happen. At one point, Shelby slipped as we got caught between two merging swells, but Wyatt grabbed her PFD and pulled her back into the raft.
The line I picked was relatively calm, but the water was rising with the storm, and I was losing sight of the currents and their distinct patterns in the river.
It was a bony section of water, but the line kept us straight and true until we shot out into relatively calm waters on the other end. Calm, but still moving at a good clip. It looked like it was raining upward, the water hitting the river and the river rising to meet it. We rose over a small boil before descending again into a softer flow. But the rain was so heavy I couldn’t see my line anymore.
Nash woke coughing, and wiped the water from his eyes. “Are we out yet?”
“We’re out of that set, but I can’t see any lines anymore,” I said.
“We need to run the Rush Creek Rapids to get to the cabin,” said Nash.
“Did you not hear me?” I shouted. “I can’t see anything.”
I wasn’t about to argue with the man half-out of his mind with pain as we neared the next set of rapids without any visual. The water was churning and shooting up in spikes, and I wasn’t going to put our lives in another set of rapids without a sight line. I’d been on this river before, but not like this.
I used the paddle to control the raft, sending us into a shoreline eddy and up onto the rocky beach. There were not a lot of trees for shelter, at least not many I could see close by, but I thought there was a small copse twenty yards from the raft. The rate of rainfall on my face made it hard to decipher much with any amount of clarity.
“This is outrageous,” said Shelby. “I can’t see anything.”
I wiped at my eyes as everyone quickly hopped out of the raft. Wyatt grabbed one tent, and Skye grabbed the other.
We retreated to the nearest pine trees. Wyatt dropped the tent and ran back to help me untie Nash. Standing in the raft, I realized the water had already risen to my ankles. I wondered if we had not pulled in far enough, or if the storm had merely increased in intensity. I had a hard time keeping my footing while helping Nash out of the raft. Shelby hurried to my side and helped with Nash as we waddled awkwardly to the trees.
Wyatt immediately set up the tent poles, and we hurried to create our shelter. Skye was attempting to set up one of the rain-flies over the ground next to the trees. The trees provided enough protection from the storm that we could see what we were doing. Wyatt dragged the bottom tarps closer to a large tree with a small ring of dry ground near the base, and we were able to set up one tent in minutes. We all helped Nash into the tent and zipped it up.
“Hang the fly on that branch,” Wyatt said. “It’s too muddy. I’m not going to worry about stakes. Help Skye. If we can get enough space, we can start a fire.”
Lightning flashed in the distance. It beaded and forked in the sky, and I saw it shoot one solitary bolt straight into the canyon, miles beyond our position. A field south of us was pooling water in small pockets in the sagebrush and bunchgrass. We stood near the front door of the tent, dripping.
“What are we going to do?” I said.
“Die, probably,” said Shelby.
“C’mon, Shelby, we’ll be okay. It’s just a little rain,” said Skye.
“We have to secure the raft with the climbing rope first,” said Wyatt. “I can use the guide rope as well, with the carabiners on there. While I’m doing that, I need you guys to take whatever can hold water and place it at the sloped end of this tent-fly. We can collect drinking water. Skye, get to work on a fire.”
“With what?”
“I usually start with wood,” said Wyatt.
“Ha,” said Skye. “No dry wood. No flint. No lighter.”
“Crap,” said Wyatt, grumbling as he ran from the trees to check on the raft.
I was so happy Wyatt was there. I wanted to hug him when he returned from securing the raft, and then realized that without his shirt on it might seem a little, well, much. Plus, he had his PFD on, so hugging him would be like trying to keep a massive ball between us and not letting it drop or get in the way of our faces. Hint: impossible.
Skye stood in the opening of the trees and let water fall on his head and roll down his face before watching it drop to the ground or trail down his limbs. He stared at his leg, and then lowered his head.
I walked to him and grabbed his hand and led him back to the tent. “We have no fire. We need to get dry and stay dry,” I said.
He sat in the tent and removed his PFD and his shirt, and I had to admit he was giving Wyatt a run for the Adonis title. Skye sat next to Nash, who had again passed out.
Shelby ducked down into the tent and took off her PFD and shirt, leaving her with her bikini top and board shorts. I did the same.
Wyatt joined us and checked on Nash. He helped him remove his shirt—more by ripping it off than taking it off because of his arm—and get as dry as possible.
“We need to get warm,” he said, ditching his PFD. “I gave Nash most of the pain meds, so I hope he’ll be feeling better soon. At least for a bit. We can’t stay like this for long, though. We need to warm each other up. Hypothermia can set in pretty fast.”
Shelby looked at me. I stared back at her, then at Skye.
“You know if our body temperature falls below 95, we’re done for,” said Wyatt. “We’ll go from shivering to reduced circulation to slow-breathing, followed by irritability, lack of coordination, sleepy behavior, confusion, and a weak pulse. Let’s not let it get past stage one.”
“That’s why we’re in here,” said Skye.
“Stay close. Stay warm,” said Wyatt.
“Right,” said Shelby, scooting closer to me.
“Actually, guys, it’d be better if you spoon and share body heat that way. I know it sounds super awkward or whatever, but it’ll help you stop shivering. We’re not going to get warmer without any dry clothes or a fire.”
We looked at one another. Paused.
“C’mon, guys. It’s how birds stay alive when it’s cold. Just do it,” said Wyatt.
The water was still dripping onto the mesh above us, as our fly was being used to cover what we had hoped would have been a firepit. With that option out, we didn’t move the fly and were left with more water getting
in. I stepped out and quickly adjusted the fly to allow for some cover from the raindrops coming from the pine needles above, and I saw Wyatt kneeling near the door. I could barely see out to the river at that point.
Shelby was spooning Skye, shivering, her lips a darker color than they’d been earlier and her eyes sunken into her wet face, and said, “It’s not what it looks like, Indie.”
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” said Skye, opening his right arm up for me to join them.
I slid in front of Skye, and his body heat felt so wonderful, like the rising sun cracking ice in the early morning. I felt the heat spread through my chest as his body slowly warmed me. Wyatt still knelt near the tent door.
“Get over here, Wyatt,” said Skye.
“I’m good. I’m warm enough.”
“Dude. We want to live. Get in here, please. We’re only thinking of survival. You of all people should get that.”
Everything took a back seat to heat, to warmth, to living one more day, one more hour, one more minute.
Wyatt went over to Skye and scooted up next to him. “It’s just to stay warm.”
“No problems here, man,” said Skye.
We rotated who was in the middle, so Wyatt eventually slid between me and Skye, and Shelby moved in front of me. Skye said he would stay on the outside, where the water was slowly dripping, because he was warm enough. I told him not to be a hero, but he said he was being honest. We always kept Nash at the very center.
Skye gave a small laugh. “You know, this may be the oddest human-interest piece Mrs. Wixom has ever seen. I’m going to write about this moment only. No context. No background or foreground or any ground but the tarp we’re on and the dirt beneath.”
“Edit for content,” I said.
“Seems like everyone has stopped shivering,” said Wyatt. “I’ll go check on the raft in a second.”
“We’re trying some meditation to get our minds right,” I said.
“We’re warming up,” said Skye, “but I wouldn’t want to rush it. Best to stay like this for a few more hours.”