I kick my legs, stretching toward it with every inch of me. The paddle disappears, twirling away. I duck sideways to avoid a branch, just as a hazy flash of yellow catches my eye.
I lunge for the paddle and catch the handle before it floats past me, using the paddle like a flipper as I beeline for the raft—only a few more feet away.
“Find the paddles!” I yell, praying the other women can hear me.
Deborah dives beneath the surface, one hand hanging onto the rope threaded through the D-rings of the raft, just as I reach her side.
“The raft’s stuck—high-centered on something! We can’t get it turned over,” Pam screams, treading water in the circling eddy. She grabs hold of another D-ring and lifts the raft with all her might. Her bloodshot blue eyes are wild as she looks helplessly at me—then past me, to where Leo cruises toward us.
We don’t need paddles after all. We aren’t going to get away. How can we? Thirty seconds max, and he’ll be on us with that knife.
“Where’s Imani? Where’s Allie?” I cry, keeping hold of the lone paddle as I dive toward Pam’s side and kick my legs as hard as I can, then reaching beneath the water and pushing upward against the slick orange rubber with everything I have left. The water is calm enough in this eddy that we aren’t getting swept downriver, but I almost wish there were more of a current. Because the overturned raft is impossibly stuck. There’s nothing to use for leverage, and our efforts to right it are totally futile.
“I can’t find Allie, but Imani is underneath the raft—with Deborah,” Pam whispers between ragged breaths. “There’s a little pocket of air under there, and Deborah is trying to find a way to push the raft upward …”
I kick furiously again, my legs searching for something to push off of, but finding nothing. I whirl around, looking for anything that might help us—when another flicker of muddy orange draws my attention.
On the other side of the river, near the canyon wall, I see one paddle and two of the ejected spare life jackets spinning in another deep eddy. But they’re too far away to reach, with Leo rowing down the center of the river and angling toward us.
I almost look away—but something about the cliffside, where the smooth gray rock meets the dark water, keeps me staring for half a second longer.
There’s someone in the water at the edge of the whirlpool.
A body? Is that Allie?
My stomach clenches, but before I can tear my eyes away, the person disappears beneath the surface, only one pale hand still visible. It clings to a hollow in the granite, blood streaming through the fingers and into the water. Like she’s hiding.
Sheishiding, I realize. And it must be Allie. One of those life jackets in the whirlpool has to be hers—she must have taken it off so the bright orange color doesn’t reveal her position. But there’s no way she’ll be able to cross back over the current and reach us on the opposite side of the river without getting swept downstream directly into the next rapid.
And if Leo sees her in the next few seconds, she’ll be a sitting duck, too.
I catch another flash of movement out of the corner of my eye—a familiar bright green object approaching fast.
The gear raft. Leo, closing in.
My mind whirls. What now? Abandon our flipped raft and fling myself into the current—straight into the next rapid? Dive beneath the raft to hide with Imani and Deborah?
Pam thumps frantically on the slick rubber, water spraying up around us, her eyes wide with fear. “He’s coming. Oh god, he’s nearly here!”
Her gaze meets mine for a brief moment, and then she makes her choice, drawing in a ragged breath and pushing herself under the raft to join Imani and Deborah.
Parker, I beg, desperate for him to tell me what to do next, but all I can hear is the roar of blood in my ears and the rush of the water. The river has numbed my legs, cold seeping deeper by the second like slow poison. The recirculating current tugs at my life jacket, tossing me off balance again and again as I fight to steady myself among the minefield of boulders.
Leo’s oars slap methodically, closer and closer. Then that low, awful whistle.
I whirl to face him, even as I feel frantic fingers grasping for me from beneath the water, tugging on my life jacket. It’s one of the other women, trying to draw me into the tenuous safety of the overturned raft. But something keeps me where I am, clinging to the side of the raft.
I dart my eyes toward Leo, and to my surprise, he isn’t quite as close as I expected. He’s veered toward the center of the river, rowing steadily backward against the current as he takes stock of our situation, scanning both banks while he whistles, mouth pursed in a lazy O. Plotting his next move.
Is he counting us? Making sure everyone is here before he settles in to enjoy whatever he is about to do? Has he seen Allie?
I clench my jaw. His gaze lingers on the two life jackets floating lazily in the whirlpool on the other side of the river,feet away from where Allie hides, submerged along the cliffside.
After a long second, Leo shifts at the oars and turns toward me, still whistling.
Hedidn’tsee Allie.
The relief blooms and then shrivels when my eyes lock with his and he swings the left guide oar wide, turning the nose of the raft straight toward us.
