33
Nobody speaks for a while after that.
We just row, following Macy’s directions to find the fastest lines along the current, breathing hard and smashing through sets of whitewater, trying to stay in sync.
I keep praying we’ll see a flash of green from Leo’s raft up ahead so we’ll know we’ve finally closed the distance—and that there’s a chance we can still outrun him.
But the sun only climbs higher overhead, turning our faces red and chapping our lips as the clock in the sky races westward, then slips over the opposite wall of the canyon.
As soon as it disappears from view, the canyon plunges back into shade and shadows, like an ominous preview of what’s coming.
It isn’t sunset yet—but the abrupt darkness feels like a warning.
We’re running out of time, and fast.
“I’m here,” Parker says, each time my arms shake so violently I’m not sure I can row any longer. Shadows fall across the river as a chill creeps back into the air; everybody is once again soaking wet from the whitewater that crashes over us every few minutes.
I’m here, I find myself mouthing it in rhythm to my rowing, like a prayer.
After a while, I swear I can feel him behind me, one hand resting on my shoulder, his cheek leaning against the back of my neck, the only warmth in this whole canyon.
In the center of the boat, Imani has slumped farther down into the footwell, no longer trying to hold herself upright when a wave throws her sideways.
She stares ahead with half-lidded eyes, like she’s already accepted that this is really and truly over.
The bandage has come loose and her elbow has started to bleed again, the wrapping falling apart as water sprays across the raft again and again.
I want to circle my arms around her, to tell her to hold on, to be strong for her boys and her husband, that we’ll make it. I don’t know if we will, though. And I’m in no position to cheerlead, having nearly given in to the same despair a few hours ago.
I desperately want to believe that someone she loves is sitting beside her in the raft like Parker is, doing what none of us can do right now, speaking comfort and kindness to her in what might very well be her last moments.
“How much farther?” Deborah gasps as the water turns abruptly to glass—forcing all of us to row even harder.
“Maybe an hour,” Macy says hoarsely.
An hour.
“Let the paddles do the work,” Parker’s voice reassures, repeating what he said in that dream. And as much as I want to be comforted by the sound of his voice, a spark of frustration ignites instead.
Let the paddles do the work? We’re rowing as hard as we can—especially Macy, at the back of the boat. Those words don’t make sense.
“Let the paddles do the work,” comes his voice again, steady and sure.
In despair, I rack my brain, sweeping my eyes across the raft at my fellow passengers. Our paddles are being used as powerfully and desperately as possible.
We can’t row any harder, I think in despair, as my biceps scream for relief. We’re doing everything we can.
“Let the paddles do the work,” he says yet again, calm as a summer’s day.
I want to break down and cry. The words make even less sense now than they did in the dream. All of us are working as hard as possible with the damn oars and paddles.
It’s then that a shadow flits across the bow of our raft, slightly darker than the gray light in the canyon.
Maybe it is a hawk, maybe it’s an owl. Something with wings hunting for a meal in the gathering dusk.
I don’t look up to follow its flight path, just watch as the shadow streaks across the neon green raft. It glides over the handle of Deborah’s paddle as she cranks her arm back across the boat, and then it dips over her life jacket, the sliver of wings stretching dark on either side.
I freeze.
A still-frame from that vivid, crazy dream of Parker leaps to the front of my brain, along with an even crazier idea.
Let the paddles do the work.
“Holy shit,” I stammer, barely able to believe what’s just clicked into place.
There is no rational explanation for why that dream suddenly makes sense.
But that doesn’t matter, if it gets us out of here alive.
I call out to the others. “Hey, hold on! Take a break for a second.”
Allie looks despondent. “We don’t have time to stop,” she insists.
“Give me two minutes,” I tell her. “I have an idea.”