37
The rumble of Splinter Ridge gets louder as Allie and I move into the straightaway approaching the falls.
To my relief, the current is slower here—the calm before the storm—but the rhythmic pounding of the falls crashing on the rocks below vibrates through my bones. I heard the same rumble in the approach to both Anvil Falls and the Devil’s Stairs. But this is different. Deeper. Angrier. Deadlier.
According to Macy, this straightaway continues for around two-hundred yards before we reach the drop-off. But it sounds—and feels—much closer.
Unrunnable. The word loops through my head again and again.
And now there’s a psychopath leaning over the edge at the overlook, watching us. Hopefully watching us. Because if he isn’t watching us, it means he’s watching the others slink along the canyon wall toward the trailhead.
I search the shadows for any trace of them, relieved to see only dark sheets of rock. Have they already made it to the portage trail? How fast will they really be able to move with Imani and Macy as injured as they are?
I dismiss the unanswerable questions and tighten my grip on the rope, kicking in time with Allie.
We’re both fighting against the current with all our strength now, like a boat motor chugging in reverse, clinging to the D-rings for dear life, all while straining to keep the boat moving straight and slow.
My legs feel like dead weight with each kick, the current growing more powerful with each passing second.
To my surprise, we’re actually pretty damn successful at holding back the raft.
Instead of cruising toward the falls, we’re inching along.
Hopefully, from Leo’s vantage point it looks like we’re gathering courage before we face our doom—trying to decide whether to face him on land or go over the falls.
It’s difficult to see much from my position in the water, below the bumper.
But I swear I can feel his angry, cold eyes locked on our raft. Planning. Waiting.
Even though our current task is easy compared to what we’ve survived over the past twenty-four hours, keeping the raft steady and slow is taking everything I have left.
I’ve been running on fumes for too long now, and I’m already out of breath.
An arm’s length away, Allie’s breathing is every bit as labored.
We can’t do this forever. And we still need to save enough strength to swim cross-current to shore.
“How much longer?” Allie gasps beside me, her voice barely audible over the rushing water.
My mind reaches for Parker.
His voice, low and calm, murmurs, “Give the others a little more time. Kick hard, and don’t drift left.”
I repeat the words to Allie like a medium, kicking and ramming the raft to the right as hard as I can without revealing my position.
The urge to peek out from behind the bumper and assess the situation grows stronger by the minute. I’m desperate to get eyes on Leo, see exactly where he is and what he’s doing. Have the other women made it past him yet?
There’s no way to know without giving ourselves away.
Just then, the raft bucks as it hits a small wave, and one of the dummies—the one Pam constructed from a dry bag and a rain jacket—topples sideways.
My breath catches in my throat. Allie gasps.
For a moment, I’m sure the dummy will fall over entirely or even out of the boat.
No, no, no.
But mercifully, it stays slumped in place, lashed to the D-rings Pam rigged to keep it from slipping overboard.
Another wave nudges the raft from the opposite side, just as Allie reaches up a hand—rocking the dummy back into a reasonably upright position.
I exhale shakily, praying that if Leo is watching, he thinks one of us briefly collapsed from exhaustion. Praying he’ll never know that some of the women are, at this very moment, sneaking past him along the portage trail.
I return my focus to kicking, to righting the boat, and to believing our ruse might work. I imagine him tracking the raft’s progress with sick fascination, amused at our fear of the impending, impassable falls.
“Just a little longer,” I whisper to Allie—and myself. “Please, just a little longer.”
“Shouldn’t we start swimming for the left bank now—and let the raft go over?” Allie gasps from the other end of the bumper through chattering teeth.
Abruptly, the raft pops upward against a wave, and for a horrible moment, I lose my grip on the rope.
I grasp desperately with my numb hands, trying to regain a solid hold.
When I do, the rope burns against my wrist as it pulls taut, nearly yanking me underneath the raft.
I kick frantically, my hair soaked, my body trembling from the cold.
Is this the beginning of the whitewater Macy warned us about? Surely we haven’t gone two hundred yards yet. Panic floods my veins. What if we’ve already gone too far—what if we’ve missed our only chance to swim for shore?
The thought makes me sick.
Skin crawling, I look around wildly, trying to spot anything that could tell me how close we are to the falls. Are we about to go over the edge?
“Not yet. Stay the course,” Parker murmurs.
“Shit, row backward, hard!” I cry, not even trying to hold back the wail that claws its way out of my mouth, hoping Leo hears me.
All the better for him to hear our frightened screams. I try shooting Allie a reassuring look, but I know I must look terrified.
“Hold tight. Not yet,” I hiss more quietly.
We inch closer. How long has it been? Three minutes? Five?
The falls growl louder, thundering through my body like a steady earthquake, overwhelming my senses. My limbs are cramped and frozen. My brain is fried from fear. The river is too powerful, the raft more unwieldy by the second.
This is impossible.
“You’ve got this,” comes Parker’s voice again and again, soft and steady in my ear. “You’re strong.”
I want to believe him. But the boom of Splinter Ridge is getting so loud, I can’t think straight.
“Do you see Leo?” Allie says, anxiety spiking in her voice. “I don’t see anything!”
I lift my chin above the water and shuffle to her side of the raft—the portage side—just close enough to scan the bank with her.
At first, all I can make out is a pale flash of sand—the pullout for the portage point—boulders and shadows and the faint outline of trees against the darkening sky.
Then I see it.
Allie does too, from the choked whimper that escapes her mouth, inches from my ear.
There, at the very edge of a rocky outcropping that rises above the river like a dark shelf, is a figure. Stout, broad-shouldered, and as still as a hunter.
My heart stops.
I can tell he’s facing us, his attention locked on the raft we’re propelling.
I shrink back to my spot on the right edge of the bumper, yanking the raft away from him as hard as I can—but it’s a lose-lose battle at this point. The farther we get from that shoreline, the harder it will be to swim back, without being dragged over the falls.
“Don’t look at him,” I say, forcing my eyes back to the raft, to the rope in my hands. “Hang on a little longer,” I add, not bothering to keep my voice quiet. If anything, our voices will make the illusion of the ghost ship stronger.
Roiling, foaming whitewater springs into my field of vision now, maybe fifteen yards in front of us. My numb legs tingle with the urge to abandon the raft, to swim for shore.
“Kaia,” Allie says, louder now, her voice thick with panic. “We’re going to go over. Shit, shit, shit!”
“No, wait a little longer,” Parker says firmly, but this time my panic doesn’t respond to his voice.
The terror is all-consuming.
We’re trapped between a killer and a waterfall.
And Allie and I are the only hope for the other women to somehow make it to safety before Leo realizes we’ve tricked him a second time. I don’t even want to imagine how furious that realization would make him—or how cruel.
The river picks up more speed, drawing us steadily toward the drop-off. The raft surges up, then down, hitting a faster current, forcing the raft sideways. As we tug back on the bumper, the dummies sway, their life jackets muddy orange in the failing light.
“Kaia,” Allie gasps over the din of the falls. “I can’t—my arms—”
“You can,” I say fiercely, even though my own arms feel like they’re being torn from their sockets.
She doesn’t answer, but I hear her breathing—quick, terrified, desperate—and feel her legs keep on kicking beside mine. Can Leo see our splashing now? Does he think it’s from the paddles?
I pull myself up with the rope just long enough to risk another glance up at the dark figure on the rocky ledge.
He still hasn’t moved.
Is it really possible he’s still buying this charade? Does he really think we’re all rowing ourselves toward oblivion for his entertainment?
“Please, please help,” I beg, not sure whether I’m pleading with Parker or praying.
“We’re going to go over the falls,” Allie screams, and I try with everything in me to believe that it’s for show, for Leo to hear. A final ploy to make him think all of us are in this raft, floating toward our doom.
We’re nearly level with the lookout point now.
I no longer have to lift myself up to get a clear view of the hulking shadow leaning over the edge.
He hunches perfectly still at the very lip of the rocky outcropping, a dark cutout against the darkening sky.
My heart slams against my ribs as his head slowly swivels and locks on the raft like a laser.
Even from this distance, in the nearly dead light, I can see the deliberateness of the movement. Like he has all the time in the world.
Maybe he does.
But we don’t.