She sat in the trapped car, watching the water rise in the ditches, and dialed the one number she had sworn never to call again.
And when he answered, when he saidI'm coming, she didn't feel anger. She didn't feel betrayal.
She felt the only thing that mattered: Hope.
III. The River
Ryder reached the bridge on County Road 9 ten minutes later.
Or rather, he reached the place where the bridge used to be.
The concrete span had collapsed. The creek, usually a polite trickle twenty feet below the road deck, was now a brown, churning monster that had risen thirty feet. It was tearing at the banks, swallowing willows and fence posts whole. The roar was deafening—a physical vibration that shook the truck cab.
Ryder slammed the truck into park. He peered through the rain-lashed windshield.
Where are you?
He scanned the tree line on the far bank. Nothing but gray rain and black trees.
Then, he saw it.
Downstream. About fifty yards. A flash of red caught in the branches of a fallen cottonwood tree that was snagged in the middle of the torrent.
Ryder’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm.
Red raincoat.
"Leo!"
Ryder didn't think. He didn't grab his crutches. Crutches were useless in mud.
He kicked the door open. He grabbed the door frame and vaulted out, landing on his good leg. He ignored the scream of protest from his broken femur as he dragged it forward.
He slid down the embankment.
The mud was slick as grease. He fell, sliding uncontrollably on his back, tearing his jeans, scraping his palms raw. He hit the bottom of the slope near the water’s edge.
The noise was terrifying. The water smelled of earth and violence.
Ryder scrambled up. He looked at the tree.
Leo was clinging to a branch in the center of the river. The water was rushing over his waist. His red boots were gone. He was screaming, but the sound was swallowed instantly by the roar of the flood.
The tree shifted. The current was pushing it. If the snag broke loose, the tree—and the boy—would be swept downstream into the rapids.
Ryder looked at the water. It was freezing snowmelt.
He looked at his cast. A ten-pound weight of fiberglass and padding. In the water, it would be an anchor. It would drag him down.
I can be brave too.
Ryder grit his teeth.
"Hold on, Leo!" he screamed, though he knew the boy couldn't hear him.
Ryder stepped into the water.
IV. The Anchor
