Chapter Twenty-Four
Derek
“SeewhereFarahis?That’s where you want to go. Move a little farther left.”
I push on the oars to do as Donovan directs, ignoring the shake in my hands just like I did for the last two rapids. By some miracle, I made it through the first two Big Drops and kept my head while scouting the third, but if ever there’s a time for me to panic, it’s now.
We’re in the river, heading straight for Big Drop 3, and there’s no turning back now.
Though the waves beneath the boat are small right now, up ahead, the tan water roars as the rocks underneath make the river churn. The whitewater doesn’t look too bad from here, but I saw the size of the rapid from the shore. It’s mean and isn’t going to forgiveany large mistakes. Even small ones could cause some problems, which means Big Drop 3 is about to become my worst nightmare.
I can’t mess this up.
Desperate to get a better sense of where we are, I rise to my feet, still gripping the oars as I scan the quickly approaching rapid. “That’s Big Mossy up ahead on the left?” I ask to orient myself. Water cascades over the giant boulder, and I can barely see the rock itself. The mountains of whitewater below it, on the other hand…
Donovan puts her hand on my shoulder as she stands to look with me. She’s taller than I am, standing on bags instead of the bottom of the boat like me, and I’m almost glad I can’t see as much as she can. “Yep. Avoid that at all costs, or we’re going to get an up-close look at why they call the hole below it Satan’s Gut.”
That’s going to be a no from me.
The plan is for me to keep right of the giant boulder on the left side of the rapid but not go too far right, where another hole could swallow our boat whole as the water pours over a massive rock and curls back on itself. Ahead of us, it looks like Farah has set herself up for a run exactly where Donovan said we should go, so as long as I don’t overcompensate and pull too hard in either direction, the current should take me down left of center and help me avoid some of the chunkier waves farther downstream.
With my luck, the current is going to change and drag me into disaster.
“You aced the last two,” Donovan says in my ear and squeezes my shoulder. “Just keep pushing through this one, and we’ll make it through.”
I’m going to be sick. The edges of my vision are hazy. My mouth is so dry that I’m desperate for water, but in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to be in the thick of the beast before me, so I force a swallow and take as deep a breath as I can manage. It’s not enough.
“Tell me what to do,” I beg, even though Donovan was great at directing me through Drops 1 and 2 and would never abandon me now.
With one final squeeze, Donovan sits on the bags behind me, hopefully grabbing on tight because this is going to be a bumpy ride. “Pull back,” she directs as I sit. “We’re getting too close to Mossy. But not too hard.” The boat is currently sideways so I can make sure I’m lined up correctly, though I’m itching to turn it straight. Going through a rapid sideways is a good way to flip the boat. But I have to trust Donovan on this.
I grip the oars tighter, hating how weak I feel as my arms shake from nerves. The river seems to be pulling me closer to Big Mossy again, so I pull back a little more.
“There she goes!” Donovan says.
I hold my breath as Farah straightens out then spins in her seat, facing backward as the boat drops into the rapid, disappearing for half a second before the boat comes back up, crashing into a wave. “Why did she—”
“There’s more power in pulling than pushing, and she knows she’s stronger that way, even if she loses her line of sight.”
Farah glances behind her and pulls hard, bashing through another wave.
“She’s good,” Donovan declares. “Your turn.”
Swearing, I grip the oars as the water roars louder. My heartbeat in my ears is even louder. I don’t trust myself to do this blind, so I’m going to have to rely on my arm strength to push through the waves instead of pulling like Farah did. Am I strong enough? Those waves are huge. Ihaveto be strong enough.
Ten more seconds.
“Strong oars,” Donovan instructs, and I adjust my grip. The water is deceptively smooth here, glassy in the sunlight but moving faster than ever. “Pull your right oar. Straighten up. That’s it. Pull back on your right a little. Ready?”
The river is deafening now, and I pray that I’ll still be able to hear Donovan. We pick up speed, passing Big Mossy on our left and the monstrous mass of whitewater in the hole beneath it. My eyes dart over the waves in front of us as I try to remember the path Donovan pointed out to me from the shore.
Everything looks wrong.
There’s nowhere to go.
“Push!” she shouts as we slide down into the rapid.
I push, but the oars barely catch any water and fly forward. Swearing, I try again, this time digging deeper.
