Six Seconds Read Free

the opposite direction.
Must be a search, Graham figured, as he set the urn aside and looked along the river for any indication of what was happening. Not long after the chopper had subsided, the air crackled with the cross talk of radios as two men in bright orange overalls entered his campsite.
“Sir, we’re with search and rescue,” the first one said. “There’s been a boating accident on the river. We’ve got people looking for survivors. Please alert us if you see anything.”
“How serious?”
The searchers assessed Graham, standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. Late thirties, about six feet tall with a muscular build, and a couple days’ stubble covering his strong jaw, accentuating his intense, deep-set eyes.
He produced a leather wallet and opened it for them to study the gold badge with the crown, the wreaths of maple leaves, the words Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the bison’s head encircled with the scroll bearing the motto, Maintiens le Droit. The photo ID was for Royal Canadian Mounted Police Corporal Daniel Graham.
“You’re a Mountie?”
“With Major Crimes out of Calgary. Off duty at the moment. How serious is this accident? Are there fa talities?”
“One for sure. A young male. We don’t have con firmed details.”
“Have any members arrived yet? Can you raise your dispatcher?”
One of the men reached for his radio, made checks with the dispatcher and Graham was told that members of the local Banff and Canmore RCMP detachments were en route. Others were being called in to help.
“Do you have a scene and an identity on the victim?” Graham asked.
Over the radio a park dispatcher told Graham that the body of a young male, approximately eight to ten years of age, was found about a kilometer downriver from Graham’s location. It appeared a canoe had overturned and the wardens suspected there were other victims.
“It’s all happening now,” the dispatcher said.
“I’ll help search as I make my way to where the boy was found. Pass that along,” Graham said.
The searchers continued upstream while Graham collected some items and headed to the river, moving as quickly as he could along the harsh terrain. The inter ruption had distracted him from his purpose for being here. Graham pushed his personal problems aside to deal with the tragedy unfolding before him.
He paused to use his binoculars to scan the rugged banks and the water, concentrating on rocks spearing the surface. They created powerful spouts and rainbowcolored curtains of white water, as the current pounded against them. As he searched, Graham heard the inter mittent whump of the chopper and the buzz of the small plane overhead.
When he came to a perilous section, he slipped on the wet ledges, banging his knee. But he kept going, picking his way along the craggy formations, which stood as a gateway to a waterfall that dropped two stories. He could hear its roar.
As he steadied himself, Graham thought he’d seen a patch of color amid several large rocks that forced geysers of spray in the middle of the river. He found a secure position and focused his binoculars. The spray obscured his view but he was convinced that through the gushing watery fan, he could see a swatch of pink, low against the rock. He got into a better position and dis tinguished more details: a small head, an arm, a hand.
    It’s a child. A girl. Pinned to the rock by the current. Clinging for life.
She was about the width of a football field away from him, concealed by a clear dome of water spray. At any moment she could slip under the water or off the rock and be swept to the falls. She’d never survive the plunge.
There was no time to lose. He didn’t have a radio. Or a cell phone. No other searchers were in sight. He had to make a decision.
Standing alongside the roaring river, staring at the tiny pink square, Graham could feel the vibrations of the rushing water in his rib cage. He knew the danger of going into the river. He’d have only one chance