“You know the Awatapu is a grade six? Messy rapids, waterfalls, boulder gardens, sieves that’ll suck you under and keep you forever, snags to lose a battleship in...”
Tremendo.“Yes, ma’am.”
“You know no one does it solo?”
“I do a lot of things solo. I like it that way.” Not quite true. Not a lie. In a parallel life where things hadn’t gone to shit, he’d have been standing here with his brother, racing to be first into her good books and maybe even her bed. In this life, yeah, he was a loner, outside the legion. The shine had gone out of chasing women, like it had a lot of things.
“You know there’s no mobile reception, and no one passes by? These climbers are the only others up there.” Her lips tightened. “The only ones presumed alive.”
“You didn’t think of talking me out of itbeforeI paid you?”
“Hell, no. I need the money. But we’ve already lost four tourists on the river this spring and it’ll be bad for business to lose a fifth. So just...don’t die.” Her tone caught somewhere between dry humor and genuine concern.
“Wait,fourtourists? I heard about two, a month or so back.”
“Another couple went missing a fortnight ago. Thetapuhad only just been lifted after the last pair.”
“Tapu?”
“If a place istapu, it’s sacred or forbidden. When someone dies up there, it becomestapuuntil it’s blessed.”
“When someone dies.This happens often?”
“There’s a reason the river’s called Awatapu. But I’m hoping like hell both couples are waiting for us up at the hut, living off eels and huhu grubs.”
He noted her pronunciation—Ah-wah-tah-pu. Long vowels, a softT, even stresses on the syllables. Not far off Spanish. “What’s it mean?”
“The forbidden river, the sacred river. Want to lift your kayak and paddle up here, and I’ll strap them?”
“And... Wairoimata?” he said, hoisting the craft, following her lead on the pronunciation, rolling theR. “That’s the name of the town I’m getting out at, right?”
“Yeah.Waimeans water,roimatais tears.”
“Water of tears. Uplifting names. Did you fly them in—the missing tourists?”
She frowned as she strapped the kayak. “The ones from two weeks ago, yes. Danish couple. Experienced kayakers.”
“But not the others—the first couple?”
“I didn’t think they could handle the paddle. Both couples are officially still missing, but yeah, it’s a safe bet they won’t be walking out. We’ve had some late-season snowfalls so it’s not a good time to be lost in the bush. Not that there’s ever a good time.”
He pictured the terrain he’d flown over—the Alps, subalpine scrublands, rainforest... “Guess it can be tough to find people out there.”
She tugged at the kayak—it didn’t budge—then straightened and dusted her hands on her jeans. “Yep. I was up there long days, searching. I’ll be paying off the fuel for months.”
“You cover your own fuel on a search and rescue?”
She picked up the remaining straps and walked to the other side. “I’m funded to a point,” she said as they got to work. “But what am I supposed to do when the budget maxes out, leave them out there? And I took the second couple in, so... They’re probably snagged in tree roots, caught in a sieve. They’ll be flushed out soon, with the snow melting in the tops. The river always gives up its dead. The bush, not so much.”
“I’m getting the idea these aren’t the first people to disappear up there.”
She gave him a sideways look. “How much research did you do on this river?”
“Enough to know it’s one of the wildest kayaking runs anywhere.”
“See, I’d have thought that would warn people away, but it just seems to attract them. I’ve never understood that urge to put yourself in danger.”
“And yet you fly a helicopter.”
