He had to work harder. Do better.
He shifted into the turning position again. Pressing his legs against the boat until he thought they would collapse from the strain.
He leaned forward to lower his body from a wind gust and caught sight of Ava looking up at him. She needed him. He was all that stood between her and death.
No way he could let her die. But he needed help.
Where are you, God? I can’t do this alone. I need help. Lots of help.
The wind died down some. He sat up. Felt God’s presence. Not physically, but in his heart. Knew that whatever happened, it was God’s will. Didn’t mean he didn’t need to keep trying. Working hard. Just meant God was in control of what happened, and God had equipped Micha with the tools He wanted him to have.
The boat surged up. Shot ahead. Around a bend. The shore the closest it had been.
Now was the time.
He dropped the right oar. Let it drag. Rowed with the left. They made some progress. Inches really. But he kept hold. The inches grew to feet, the boat now moving toward the shoreline, a light in the distance.
He pinned his focus to the light and kept working. Hard. Harder. His muscles begging for release. The cold zapping them. Fatigue zapping them.
A worship song came to mind. Lauren Daigle’s songHold On To Meplayed in his brain.
He let the words wash over him like the icy water. Let them strengthen him.
He kept holding on to God. On to the oars. The boat moved in the right direction. The shore just feet away now.
Yes, he could do this. He held fast. Kept them moving and piloted the boat to shore, pointed at a fallen tree that he hoped would stop them and hold.
The boat struck the tree. Their downriver descent stopped like a car ramming into another one. He was catapulted forward. Had to brace his hands to keep from smothering Ava.
He landed and wanted to hug her, but no time. “We made it. This is over.”
“Praise God!” she shouted.
“But now we need to see if Colin’s okay.” He pushed up. Drew his gun.
“You think the shooter could’ve followed us?” she cried out.
“Not on the water, but you can never be too careful.” He climbed from the boat, hoping he was right. He reached a hand to help Ava up, but kept his gaze on the area.
Ahead he spotted a small shack and, farther inland, a streetlight burning down on what was likely a road or maybe a parking area, the light beckoning him. He wanted to race for it, but first off, his muscles wouldn’t let him run, and second, running would be foolish. Care was what they needed to take.
He helped Ava over the side of the boat, then tucked her behind him and started toward the road.
They reached the shack. Mounted above the door, a wooden fish declared Wally’s Fishing Shack. Right. A fishing shack made sense so close to the river and could give them shelter while he called Russ for backup.
He moved toward the door.
A figure materialized out by the road. His arm raised. A gun in his hand. Their shooter?
Micha couldn’t stand there to determine the person’s ID. He jerked on the shack door handle.
Unlocked. Good.
He shoved Ava inside just as a gun report cut through the air. He grabbed her in his arms. Dove for the floor. Taking the fall on his shoulder and keeping his back to the front wall to protect her.
“How?” she cried out. “How could he have found us?”
“He must’ve followed the road downstream.” Micha rolled toward the back corner, swiping at thick cobwebs. “Lay down. Make yourself a harder target to hit.”
