He told himself that every step of the way until he touched down on soggy earth. How good it felt to feel mud squish beneath his boots! And rain drip from the leaves of trees high above his head. Not below him, or beside him, but towering over him the way God intended.
With a little luck, Schoville found the cave system in the dark. They dried off as best they could and hunkered down for the night. But as tired as Patrick was, he could not rest. He lay there within arm’s reach of Linley, trying to hear her breathing over the relentless downpour of rain just outside.
All he could hear was Schoville snoring away in his corner of the cave.
Patrick fumbled for Linley’s hand in the dark. He wanted to hold her. To know she was near, and hope that wherever she was, she knew he was near, too.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Patrick and Schoville looked at what once was a lush river valley, now raging from weeks’ worth of torrential rains.
“Christ,” Patrick said, laying Linley’s stretcher a few feet from the river’s edge.
“At least we know we’ve made it this far.” Schoville searched up and down the floodwaters. “With any luck, the bridge will still be here.”
“Bridge? You mean the one we crossed to get here? The one that barely held us when the river was down?”
Schoville nodded.
“You’re mad! Surely you don’t intend to put Linley through that sort of danger.”
“Do you want to get across or not?”
Patrick did not even bother to answer. He simply stared at the thick brown water rushing past. Danger or no danger, they would get Linley across that river.
Schoville slapped him on the back. “Good man.”
They marched along the riverbank, careful to keep their precious cargo far away from the crumbling embankment. Neither man was accomplished at reading maps—especially not rudimentary ones drawn by an aged lama who hadn’t left his monastery in many, many years. But, once again, the good Lord seemed to be on their side, as they were only a mile or so away from the bridge.
“By God!” Patrick called. “There it is.”
Somehow, through the beating rain and fog, the weather-worn bamboo bridge teetered just over the water’s surface.
Patrick’s excitement sank to the pit of his stomach. “When we first came through, it was a good fifteen feet above water level.” He watched with dismay as stumps and loose branches crashed against the woven bamboo boards. “I—I don’t think it is crossable.”
“At this point, I don’t think it is a question of can it be crossed or not. All that matters is whether we’re going to try.”
Patrick looked from the bridge down to Linley, who lay tucked beneath her canvas shield. “I suppose today is as good a day to die as any.”
“There’s that bravery our noble classes are so revered for.” Schoville gave the stretcher a little shove, knocking Patrick forward.
They slogged the rest of the way to the bridge, ankle deep in mud and grass. The bamboo creaked and groaned over the sound of the thundering river. Patrick had been half-kidding when he made that joke about it being a good day to die. Now, it did not seem so amusing.
“I’ve crossed worse rivers than this in the Amazon,” Schoville assured him. “The bridge will hold. It is what they’re made for.”
Patrick took the first slow step onto the slick latticed boards. The bridge protested, dipping with the wind, and the water, and the added weight. He clutched the stretcher until his knuckles went white and he was sure his calloused hands were bleeding.
“…Whenever I cross the river…” he whispered to himself. “On its bridge with wooden piers…”
Schoville took his first step onto the bridge, and Patrick moved ahead.
“Like the odor of brine from the ocean…”
More steps. More swaying.
Patrick’s voice began to tremble. “Comes the thought of other years…”
The two men slipped and slid as the water danced over the bamboo boards. It swirled around their boots, seeping through the wet leather.
Ignoring it, Patrick kept whispering, breathing the lines of the poem that saw him across that river the first time. “And I think how many thousands, of care-encumbered men…”
They moved out farther onto the bridge. It was too late to turn back. The river tumbled all around them, seeming to grow higher and faster with every step.
“Each bearing his burden of sorrow.” He held tighter to the stretcher. “Have crossed the bridge since then.”
They made it halfway on shaking legs. But by then, the woven bamboo boards were completely submerged. Either the river was rising or they were sinking.
The bridge seemed to dip and sway with more violence than before. With every step Patrick took, it felt like the river pushed him back three more. He had less than half a bridge left to go and was getting nowhere.
The bamboo groaned. It practically screamed in agony.
One of the support ropes splintered, causing the entire structure to lurch. It tipped, nearly dumping Patrick, Schoville, and Linley into the raging water.
Both men held on to the stretcher for dear life. Thankfully, Linley remained belted and secure.