34. Colt #2
The river narrows, hemmed in by steep limestone banks. The current is a living thing, bucking and twisting beneath the hull. I’m constantly adjusting, bracing against the water, eyes scanning for submerged logs.
I navigate a sharp S-turn, the water boiling into haystacks—standing waves that threaten to swamp the cockpit. The adrenaline soars now, everything else falling away. There is no Warren, no bookshop, no end to a beautiful thing. There is only the water and the next three feet in front of me.
I look back again. Alice is navigating a stretch between two large boulders. And she’s crushing it. She looks strong, her arms moving in a blur of motion. In the fading light, I can see her face. She’s smiling, laughing. Not the fake, brittle smile from earlier, but something triumphant and alive.
We reach a chute. It’s a fifty-yard stretch where the river drops ten feet through a narrow gap. The water is a sheet of seething, unyielding white.
“Follow my line!” I shout.
I head into the center, kayak vibrating as it gains speed.
I’m flying. The spray is blinding, the cold water soaking through my clothes.
I hit the bottom of the chute, the kayak nose-diving into a wave before popping back up like a cork.
I paddle hard to clear the stopper wave and pull into a small eddy behind a rock to wait for her.
I turn, my lungs burning, ready to cheer.
Alice enters the chute. She’s perfectly centered, concentration absolute on her face.
She’s almost through. She’s got it. But then something catches the bow.
The kayak jerks violently to the left, and in a heartbeat, the craft flips.
Alice’s eyes widen, her mouth opening in a drowned cry.
Her head slams against the limestone shelf with a sickening thud.
And then she’s gone.
“Alice!” I roar.
I’m out of my kayak, diving into the freezing water without a thought. My body is instantly swept downstream, tossed like a rag doll. My shoulder hits a rock underwater, pain ripping through me as I reach the surface and gasp for air.
I search for Alice, sputtering water. But there’s no sign of her.
Just white foam and a darkening sky. Panic explodes inside my head, jackhammers in my chest as I dive back under.
My nose and throat burn as I open my eyes underwater, twisting side to side to look for Alice, but it’s too muddy, too dark.
I come up, lungs screaming, and see a splash of orange bobbing twenty yards down. I swim with everything I have, muscles seizing in the cold. When I reach her, I grab the straps of her vest, flipping her over. She’s limp. Dead weight.
“Alice,” I yell. “Alice, look at me!”
Her eyes are closed, her face a terrifying shade of white.
There’s a pool of blood spreading from the back of her head and disappearing into the water.
Keeping hold of her lifejacket, I swim one-handed toward the muddy bank.
The current fights me every inch of the way, trying to pull us back to the center.
My boots find purchase in the muck, and I scramble upward, dragging her into the grass.
I collapse beside her, coughing up water. “Alice. Alice!”
I check her pulse, put my ear to her mouth.
She’s breathing, but it’s shallow. I call her name twice more, and when she doesn’t answer, I lift her, starting to run.
I’ve carried men twice her size through the desert.
Run with a hundred-pound ruck until my feet bled.
I run like I did then, with every ounce of my strength, heart on the verge of bursting.
I dive straight through the brush, thorns tearing at my skin, the mud trying to trip me. In minutes, I’ve reached the road, my breath coming in burning stabs. I lay Alice in the passenger seat of my truck, cranking the heat to full blast.
I drive like a demon, gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ache.
“We’re almost there, Alice. You’re gonna be okay.” My voice breaks, tears blurring my vision. I turn my head, just for a second, and see her fingers, blue-tinged and motionless.
I screech into the hospital parking lot, tire jumping the curb. I’m out of the door before the engine quiets. Cradling her against my chest, I sprint toward the sliding glass doors to the ER.
“HELP!” I roar, my voice cracking. “I need help!”
The fluorescent lights are blinding, and a few startled faces turn in my direction. An orderly takes three quick steps in my direction, then rushes toward a curtain. A moment later, the orderly reappears with two nurses and a gurney. I lay Alice down, my hands shaking, my pulse pounding.
“Please. She hit her head,” I tell them, my words coming too fast. “She was underwater. I don’t know how long. Maybe a minute.”
Alice’s skin is turning blue now, her breathing more labored.
“Sir, you have to stay out here,” a third nurse says, placing a hand on my chest.
“No, I’m staying with her!”
“You need to check in at the front desk. We need her—”
I don’t hear the rest of what’s said. I’m too busy watching them roll the bed toward the back. One of the nurses is bagging her, forcing air into her lungs.
“Oh, my god,” I breathe.
I try to follow, frantic, calling her name, but another nurse joins the first, pushing me back. The last thing I see is Alice’s hand hanging limp over the side of the bed, pale and small, swaying with the motion of the gurney as they disappear into the hallway.
The double doors swing shut.
And then she’s gone.