There were so many things I wanted to say to her, so many things I wanted to do to her, but now making up for lost time is the last thing on my mind.
Someone behind me yells. Wes comes from the barn, arms waving. I can't hear what he's saying. He’s too far away, and the thunderous sound is all around us now.
When it appears, it's not what I'm expecting to see. A river of black bears down on us, just a hundred yards out. It looks thick, like sludge, brown and black and full of earth. Sticks, tree branches, and whatever else it picks up as it rolls through. It looks as if it will flow down one side of the house. It will leave a bitch of a mess, but everyone should be fine as long as they get up the stairs and onto the porch.
Jessie is running and pointing, but she's going the wrong way. She's heading toward the flash flood.
I run after her and hear Wes screaming behind me. He's yelling for Dakota and Colt.
I look around, trying to understand, and then I do.
On the other side of the rapidly approaching flood are Dakota and Colt. She lies on the ground on her side, her belly huge, and she's half crawling, half dragging herself. Colt runs in front of her. I look at his little legs, running like hell, but he's smiling. He has no idea the danger in front of him. I don't understand what has happened to Dakota, but I know if she could be running right now, she would be.
There is no way Colt will make it across the yard before the mud and sticks knock him down and very possibly sweep him away. I've seen videos of flash floods and I know this is the beginning. The water is coming.
Dakota, on the ground behind Colt, screams for him.
Wes, sprinting all the way from the barn, screams for him.
He.
Can't.
Hear.
The mud has reached us now, and I sink down to my knees, waving to get Colt's attention. I use my hands to tell him to stay. I sign formommy. He turns around to look at Dakota, who is still crawling on her forearms, using only one leg to propel herself forward.
A sound like a train fills the air again. The ground rumbles. The mud thins, and the water comes, tumbling down from the higher elevation, a river appearing out of nowhere. It branches out, unencumbered by nothing. There aren't any ditches or embankments, no sandbags. The water is free to do to the land what it pleases.
And Colt is swept away.
Over the rush of water, Dakota's wail pierces the air.
My body kicks into gear. I sprint parallel to the flow, my chest burning with exertion. Colt, miraculously, is on his back, but he is spun around and there may only be seconds before the water turns him over. There's a spot up ahead where I can maybe get in front of the water as it surges forward.
I push harder, run like I never have before, and charge into the rushing water. It's more than six inches deep, enough to knock over a grown man. But there's something to be said for adrenaline, and I feel it pulsing through me now. I move quickly, never giving the water enough time to bring its full force against me. I dive in front of Colt, so that he will be stopped by my body, and I wrap my arms around him, pushing his face to the sky. The water rises rapidly, higher and higher, and it takes me and Colt away. I drape him over my chest, and my back takes the scrape of sharp rocks, the stabs of tree branches.
Colt's entire body is shaking, and mine is too.
There's a tree ahead, dead center of the rushing water. I hold Colt tightly with one arm, tucking him into me like an oversized football. I reach out, stretching, and my fingers only brush it as we go by.
I want to sob, but instead of coming from my mouth, it feels like my entire body is sobbing.
Colt deserves to live. That's what I keep telling myself, over and over, repeating it like a mantra. It spurs me on to look ahead, planning for the next tree. And when I see it, I'm better prepared. I cannot control the way the water pushes us, but I can use it. I lean to one side, guiding myself, and when we're close, I grab onto it.
Everything inside me rejoices. With my legs tucked around the skinny cottonwood trunk, I keep Colt to my chest and hold on for dear life.
I take deep breaths in an attempt to slow Colt's heart rate. I want him to feel that we are okay, even if he cannot hear my whispered assurance.
"Sawyer," a voice yells. The sound of water is loud in my ears, but frantically I search the land. An HCC truck, two men on the newly formed bank.Beau and Wes. Someone else gets out. Gramps.
The tree was a life preserver, but seeing these men? It's my first taste of hope since I retrieved Colt.
Beau ties two ropes to a tree. He looks down at them, and back to us. Wes takes the ropes from his dad's hands and starts to wind one around his midsection, but Beau shakes his head. I can't hear anything they’re saying, but they're in disagreement. Wes points at us, and Beau shakes his head vehemently. Gramps takes the ropes from Wes and loops one around his waist. Beau and Wes tell him no, I can read it on their lips. He ignores them. Gramps ties himself into one length of rope, coils the second, and holds fast to it. He steps into the water.
Beau and Wes's hands press together in prayer position at their mouths. Wes's lips move as he whispers his prayer. If Beau is praying, he's doing so silently.
Gramps widens his stance. He walks slowly, taking each step with great care and purpose. He reaches us, and doesn't say a word. He wraps the rope around my waist and ties a knot. "Do not let go of that boy," he growls, then gives a thumbs-up to Beau and Wes.
