“One hundred percent agree. But how about we don’t talk now, huh? You know, since we’re close to freezing to death and all? We have to get out of here.”
“No one told you to butt in.” Even though she was half frozen, her eyes flashed at him.
A dozen retorts bottled up in his throat as he stared at the infuriating woman. “Just get moving before we can’t, okay?” They began to work, seizing slippery handholds and hauling themselves sideways toward the steep bank.
A branch snagged in her hair. She snapped off the offending twig and continued. He kept on, but he could not ignore the fact that the whole pile was vibrating with the shock of the water slamming away at it.
“Mackenzie.” He didn’t finish as the two-by-four andthe branch that had held it steady pulled loose and were immediately sucked up by the current.
Faster. They had to go faster. He tried to say as much, but he couldn’t expend the energy. Mackenzie was moving slower, as if the branch pile was working to hold her in place. He grabbed her wrist and lugged her forward, figuring she’d give him a hostile elbow or at least a serrated glare. She did neither. They kept on.
He estimated they had fifteen feet left to traverse before they reached the muddy edge. How they were going to climb up the steep slope was another problem, but if they could manage it, he might be able to go back for his Jeep. Drive them out. Back to the station. A hospital. Anywhere that wasn’t wet and freezing. His body yowled in complaint.
While he was still rolling ideas over, the branch he held was yanked from his grasp by a vicious wave. The whole pile ripped loose, and they were rushing and tumbling, right along with the debris.
Mackenzie’s expression was pure terror. Though this was her choice, her decision, and she’d delivered herself squarely into the mess, his heart lurched. He grabbed the front of her coveralls and managed to pull her to his chest. The water hauled them under, dousing them until he thought they were finished, then rocketed them to the surface where they gasped and choked.
“Just hold steady for a minute,” he said into her ear. “We’re okay.” He wasn’t sure how exactly they were okay, but panic wouldn’t serve. With the network of branches gone, it was all he could do to stay afloat. A thick piece of foam rushed by, and he snagged it, then shoved it under her arms.
When God sends youa flotation device ...
At least it got her head above the water. He draped an arm around her shoulders and began to try to tow them both to the bank. But as much as he kicked and struggled, they made no progress. He treaded water, panted, searched for the rescue boat, though they were too far out of visual range. Possibly they’d called in reinforcements and decided to get their retrieved victims to safety before returning. He probably would have done the same, rather than risk three people dying of hypothermia while attempting to rescue two clowns who couldn’t seem to stay out of the river.
Come on, Gid. Power through.
But the water increased in volume and violence as his muscles began to shut down. The noises seemed farther away. His limbs weren’t moving smoothly anymore. Still, he fought on, Mackenzie helping kick.
It wasn’t enough.
Should he stop resisting? Let the river carry them where it would, hopefully to a place where they could escape? But it was full of debris and the bank was so impossibly far away.
He hung on to her, and she looked at him.
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t hear the words, but the regret in her expression was clear under the extreme discomfort.
You should be.
“Hey!”
Had he imagined the voice?
He whipped a look toward the bank. At first, he didn’t see anything. Mackenzie pointed one trembling finger. “There’s ... a man,” she said as if she didn’t believe what she was seeing.
He didn’t dare let go of her as he blinked his vision into focus.
A heavyset man with a brimmed rain cap and a navy slicker stood on the bank, waving a yellow rope.
Not Hairy from the white truck. Possibly the driver of the black truck, but he didn’t think so. This looked like a well-meaning local, a guy who might possibly be able to save them. His frozen veins pulsed a tick faster.
The man cupped a hand around his mouth. “Gonna ...”
Gideon didn’t catch the rest of the sentence, but he didn’t need to. The man tossed the coiled rope. It unfurled, ribboning down the cliff of mud and hitting the water twenty feet from their position.
“Tread water,” he commanded Mackenzie as he struck out hard for the rope that undulated frustratingly ahead of him. He pushed on with his last reserve of strength. This was undoubtedly their only remaining chance to survive.
His fingers touched the wet fibers, but his flesh was so cold he couldn’t grip. The surge pulled it farther from him. He thought of the swimming contests he, his brothers, and their cousin had in the lake on their family farm. Who could stay underwater the longest, reach the other side the fastest, make the biggest splash cannonballing off the dock. His cousin Johnny would typically win, which only infuriated Cullen and Duncan. Winning came easily to Johnny, his big size and natural physicality working to his advantage. But all the losing taught Gideon an invaluable lesson that he passed on to his students.
Stay present.
