Down River Read Free

consciousness in the next seven, and life itself in the following seven or so. And a South Florida girl was hardly prepared for a snowmelt swim.
    He waved his arms and shouted again but she was facing downriver and didn’t see him. She was hanging on for dear life—literally.
    He half climbed, half crawled back up the bank. A kayak! He needed the kayak that was on the other side of the ridge. There was no time to get help. No one at the lodge would hear him above the water if he shouted, nor could they see him from here. How long could she hold on?
    He’d have to get her in the kayak without tipping it, shoot the next eddies, humps and holes to get them to a landing spot before the gorge where he could tend to her. But there was no easy way to return. They’d have to either hike back on the other side of the river or portage the kayak around the falls and ride the rapids all the way out of these mountains.
    He yanked himself up from Sitka spruce sapling to sapling, digging his nails into the green moss and orange lichens. He scrabbled past where she’ddropped the cooler, over the ridge, then raced down the path to the red, two-person kayak sitting by the serene lake awaiting their easy trip across to one of his favorite picnic spots. Damn, why hadn’t she fallen down this side of the ridge?
    His heart pounded; adrenaline stoked his strength. Kayaks weren’t overly heavy, but he had to get it up the path, then over the ridge to launch it without splitting the quarter-inch plastic. Yes, two paddles in it. Two PFDs, too. He glanced once across the lake to see if his friends Ginger or Spike might be somewhere in sight, but saw no one. Ginger’s little motor boat was pulled up on the shore near the lodge, but she was nowhere around.
    “No one but me,” he grunted as he shoved the kayak before him up the path. Please Lord, he prayed, let her hang on to that rock.
    Panting, his heart pounding and muscles screaming, he got the kayak up and over the ridge, now trying to keep it from crashing down into the river and taking off without him. Sweat burned his eyes as he squinted to see if Lisa was still hanging on. Yes!
    He cursed the time it took him to get the spray skirt out of the fore dry storage well and tight around him while he hung on to a sapling so the kayak didn’t take off from under him. Otherwise, if too much water got in, he could go hypothermic himself, or capsize. He fought the violent pull of the water—nothing like surfing offshore in South Florida.
    Mitch realized he still wore his backpack when itbumped against the kayak. He yanked it off and exchanged it for one of the PFDs in the front seat. He jammed the backpack into the well. He needed the neoprene wet suit he saw there, but no time, no time. He realized he had no helmet—hadn’t put one in for a simple paddle across the lake. He was breaking the rules he’d laid out for safety, but this was life and death—Lisa’s, and maybe his, too. “Be stupid and a kayak can be your coffin,” he’d told more than one group of guests.
    He felt a jab of anger at Lisa for being in the river, for getting them into this nightmare, when he’d thought things in his life were going so well. So well, that is, except that for the week he had to be near the woman who loved her career and her sunny spot on the planet more than she had loved him.
    He shoved off, stabbing the river with deep strokes, fighting for control and balance so he wouldn’t shoot past her. He prayed he could get over to her and somehow get her on board without rolling them both under. “Don’t let go! Don’t let go!” he shouted, though he figured the roar of the water would keep her from hearing him.
    He squinted through sun and spray to locate her by her orange PFD again, and, in that instant, saw her swept away, flailing in the foam.

2
    L isa tried to cling to the next rock she saw, even claw her way atop it, but the water pinned her against it. She couldn’t breathe. Should she let