Ryder lost his grip on the tree.
They were swept away.
The water took them. Ryder went under. The heavy cast dragged him down toward the bottom.
He kicked with his good leg. He fought the weight. He broke the surface, gasping for air, holding Leo’s head above the water.
Swim. Swim.
He couldn't swim. Not with one arm holding the boy and one leg dead weight.
He saw a willow branch hanging low over the water near the bank.
It was their only chance.
Ryder threw his body toward the bank. He reached up with his bad arm—the torn shoulder.
He grabbed the willow.
The sudden stop ripped at his socket. Ryder screamed, a sound that tore his throat. The pain was blinding.
But he held on.
He swung them toward the mud.
"Grab the root!" Ryder yelled at Leo. "Grab the root!"
He threw Leo toward the bank.
Leo scrambled. He clawed at the mud. He found a root. He pulled himself up, half out of the water.
Ryder hung onto the willow. His strength was gone. The water was pulling him back. His cast was dragging him down. His fingers were slipping.
He looked at Leo. The boy was safe on the mud.
"Go up!" Ryder choked out. "Climb!"
Leo looked back. "Ryder!"
Ryder’s hand slipped.
The willow branch snapped back.
The water closed over Ryder’s head.
He didn't fight it. He was too tired. The pain was gone. The noise was gone.
He sank into the cold, brown silence.
I won,he thought.I lasted eight seconds.
Then, a hand grabbed his collar.
Not a child’s hand. A man’s hand.
Ryder broke the surface, coughing, gagging.
Cole was there. He was waist-deep in the mud, holding onto a tree with one hand and Ryder’s jacket with the other.
