12
Macy swears again, nearly losing her balance at the stern of the boat as she scrambles to reach the second water jug. The tips of her fingers brush the plastic lid as it slips out of her grasp, slams against a rock, and disappears into the churn.
My stomach lurches, but I don’t have time to process what’s just happened. We’ve all stopped rowing just long enough that our passenger raft spins sideways, colliding with the weight of the next wave at an angle.
“All forward, NOW!” Josh cries. “Dig, dig!”
It’s too late, though. The raft is already vaulting onto its side, sending the passengers on the right half of the boat—including me—tumbling over the edge and into the whitewater.
One second, I’m staring at the bright white foam, and the next I’m in the dark, surrounded by murky, swirling chaos.
My life jacket pops me toward the surface, but my head slams into something solid above me.
The raft? My muscles seize at the brutal cold of the water, my lungs constricting.
I want to gasp so badly I feel like I could burst. I flail my arms and legs, trying to move in any direction that might take me to the surface.
Panic—stronger than anything I’ve ever felt—utterly overtakes me.
I can’t breathe. I’m trapped, stuck, in the dark. Just like Parker in that cave.
I’m going to drown.
My lungs burn with a scream, and horror radiates through my body like a thousand bee stings.
And then, just as quickly, the darkness is gone, the water rolling me like a washing machine, over and under toward the light. My life jacket buoys me to the surface, where I gasp for one ragged lungful of air before my hip smashes into a rock.
I scream, whirling in the rapids, water streaming down my face and blurring my vision.
Where is the raft? Where is everyone? I’m alone, helpless against the force of the river, unable to find anything to hold onto.
I try to swim, but the current slams me back against a rock, only to lift me away again, pushing me deeper into a roiling whirlpool.
Maybe this is the end, comes a surprisingly calm voice, cutting through my panic. I slam hard into another boulder, knocking out the breath I’d just managed to pull into my lungs. The metallic taste of river water, gritty with silt, fills my mouth.
Then Josh’s instructions enter my mind with perfect clarity. Idaho Easy Chair.
I struggle desperately against the wave and then relax, letting my body roll over so I’m facing downriver. I bring my knees to my chest and put my feet out in front of me, managing to push off on the next rock instead of smashing into it.
“We’ve got six swimmers!” a woman screams in the distance, her voice warped by the water in my ears. “Kaia, Deborah—swim river left to Bryan! Pam, Katie, Resa, Kathy—stay river right, Gracie will get you! Everybody—Idaho Easy Chair!”
Less than a minute later, we’ve all made it through the rapid.
I’m the last one pulled to safety, coughing and sputtering as Bryan leans over the side of the raft, grabs me by the lapels of my life jacket, and hefts me into the boat. I slide in like a fish, barely able to sit up or do anything but pant.
“Are you okay? That was terrifying,” Allie says, resting a hand on my shoulder.
I sag against the side of the raft and look up at her, but she and everyone else have their eyes fixed downriver.
I follow her gaze to where the two large yellow water jugs float, barely visible above the surface of the now-calm river.
“Is anybody hurt?” Gracie asks breathlessly as her gear raft comes cruising alongside ours. “Is anyone going to go after the jugs?” She pulls back on her long guide oars, angling downriver to eye the lost luggage. “I can try to go retrieve them—”
“They’re both cracked,” Macy says in a tight monotone. “They smashed against the boulders in the rapid. That water’s no good now.”
“What? How did that even happen?” someone murmurs, but when I squint at the jugs, I can see that Macy is right. There are long, dark cracks snaking down the length of both.
Nervous chatter pings around the rafts while the guides look at each other helplessly.
I catch Allie eyeing me. She offers a grimace that might have been a smile, then looks away.
“Do we have any more fresh water with us?” Pam asks, not trying to hide the fear or hope in her voice.
Gracie shakes her head slowly. “Just what’s in your individual bottles. I’m really sorry, everybody, but that’s what we’ve got left until we can boil water in the Dutch ovens tonight.”
We’ve all been refilling our water bottles regularly, trying to stay hydrated in the sun. I shake my canteen and hear a few inches sloshing around. My throat already feels sticky when I imagine rationing it, especially after the stress of going overboard and nearly drowning.
I let myself take one gulp, then steel myself for what’s ahead—the final stretch to Camas Creek.