The urge to peek out from behind the bumper and assess the situation grows stronger by the minute. I’m desperate to get eyes on Leo, see exactly where he is and what he’s doing. Have the other women made it past him yet?
There’s no way to know without giving ourselves away.
Just then, the raft bucks as it hits a small wave, and one of the dummies—the one Pam constructed from a dry bag and a rain jacket—topples sideways.
My breath catches in my throat. Allie gasps.
For a moment, I’m sure the dummy will fall over entirely or even out of the boat.
No, no, no.
But mercifully, it stays slumped in place, lashed to the D-rings Pam rigged to keep it from slipping overboard.
Another wave nudges the raft from the opposite side, just as Allie reaches up a hand—rocking the dummy back into a reasonably upright position.
I exhale shakily, praying that if Leo is watching, he thinks one of us briefly collapsed from exhaustion. Praying he’ll never know that some of the women are, at this very moment, sneaking past him along the portage trail.
I return my focus to kicking, to righting the boat, and to believing our ruse might work. I imagine him tracking the raft’s progress with sick fascination, amused at our fear of the impending, impassable falls.
“Just a little longer,” I whisper to Allie—and myself. “Please, just a little longer.”
“Shouldn’t we start swimming for the left bank now—and let the raft go over?” Allie gasps from the other end of the bumper through chattering teeth.
Abruptly, the raft pops upward against a wave, and for a horrible moment, I lose my grip on the rope. I grasp desperately with my numb hands, trying to regain a solid hold. When I do, the rope burns against my wrist as it pulls taut, nearly yanking me underneath the raft. I kick frantically, my hair soaked, my body trembling from the cold.
Is this the beginning of the whitewater Macy warned us about? Surely we haven’t gone two hundred yards yet. Panicfloods my veins. What if we’ve already gone too far—what if we’ve missed our only chance to swim for shore?
The thought makes me sick.
Skin crawling, I look around wildly, trying to spot anything that could tell me how close we are to the falls. Are we about to go over the edge?
“Not yet. Stay the course,”Parker murmurs.
“Shit, row backward, hard!” I cry, not even trying to hold back the wail that claws its way out of my mouth, hoping Leo hears me. All the better for him to hear our frightened screams. I try shooting Allie a reassuring look, but I know I must look terrified. “Hold tight. Not yet,” I hiss more quietly.
We inch closer. How long has it been? Three minutes? Five?
The falls growl louder, thundering through my body like a steady earthquake, overwhelming my senses. My limbs are cramped and frozen. My brain is fried from fear. The river is too powerful, the raft more unwieldy by the second.
This is impossible.
“You’ve got this,”comes Parker’s voice again and again, soft and steady in my ear. “You’re strong.”
I want to believe him. But the boom of Splinter Ridge is getting so loud, I can’t think straight.
“Do you see Leo?” Allie says, anxiety spiking in her voice. “I don’t see anything!”
I lift my chin above the water and shuffle to her side of the raft—the portage side—just close enough to scan the bank with her.
At first, all I can make out is a pale flash of sand—the pullout for the portage point—boulders and shadows and the faint outline of trees against the darkening sky.
Then I see it.
Allie does too, from the choked whimper that escapes her mouth, inches from my ear.
There, at the very edge of a rocky outcropping that rises above the river like a dark shelf, is a figure. Stout, broad-shouldered, and as still as a hunter.
My heart stops.
