She sat up by inches the second time, letting her pounding head adjust to the change. Once upright, she leaned back against the canyon wall, which soared at least a hundred feet above her head. Climbing out was not an option. Neither was staying and waiting for the river to recede more. If she waited too long she could die of thirst, hunger, or even the drop down to the shallow water. Jumping now meant a drink, and the very real possibility of drowning. In the best of health she would’ve jumped without question, trusting to the strength of her body. As it was she couldn’t move more than a foot at time without feeling dizzy.
She swallowed once, ignoring the thickness of her own saliva, before calling out. “Lynn?” The single syllable echoed off the walls, bouncing back and forth as it traveled upwards toward nothing, to the endless expanse of desert. There was no answer.
It was what she had always feared.
She was alone.
An hour later the water had receded another five feet, and there was still no answer to her increasingly panicked calls. Her heart beat so quickly, she could feel the answering pulse under the thin scab that had formed on her temple. The sun had dried her lips, and as she thought, she chewed on the thin strips of skin that flaked off.
Delay would only increase the drop as the river fell, and Lucy knew it was time. Her legs were still shaky, but her weakness would grow along with hunger pains. She shimmied to the edge and swung her legs over, meaning to dangle and drop after taking a deep breath. But she’d misjudged the strength left in her arms, and the sudden weight was too much for them. Her hands scrambled for purchase as gravity yanked her over the edge. She had a pristine moment of clarity as one fingernail was ripped off, the pain standing out like a sharp moment in time.
And then she was falling. She gasped deeply and closed her eyes. The water was so cold it felt like hitting rock as she sliced through it, her heart stilling for one second at the shock. Her feet struck bottom for one moment and she pushed upward with the strength she had left, scissor-kicking to propel herself to the surface. She gulped the air, which tasted sweet and made it seem like her lungs were the only warm part of her body.
The current had her, but its fingers lacked the cruel grip that had ripped her from Spatter’s saddle, and she allowed herself to relax until her foot was caught up by something beneath the surface and she was pulled under. The water closed over her head, before she was able to take a lifesaving breath.
Darkness came again, calling with a comforting numbness she knew had little to do with the cold water. It was the same futility she’d seen in her mother’s eyes, in the few memories Lucy still had of her life in the city. Dark days with curtains drawn and Neva lying in her bed though the sun was high in the sky outside. Even as the current forced her lips open and the cold water slid into the crevices of her lungs Lucy thought of Neva, and the living death that had been in her eyes years before she put a pistol to her head.
And she thought of Lynn, who had forced herself to survive even with Mother’s blood on her hands and no meat stored for the winter. Lynn, whose faith in her own strength kept her going beyond all limits of endurance in order to provide for herself, and later for Lucy. Giving up now meant betraying Lynn’s effort, the years of her life she’d given over to raise a child not her own. Lynn, who might be looking for her at that very moment.
Lucy screamed underwater, bringing more water into her body as if challenging it to drown her. She broke the laces of her boot with willpower rather than strength and, kicked for the surface, buoyed by thoughts of how disappointed Lynn would be with her for losing a boot. She broke through to warmth and a dark shadow riding the current alongside her, a scruffy tree that had been torn out by its roots, still clinging to the dirt it had depended on.
She made a lunge for it, twining herself around the pale, waterlogged roots. They encircled her like a thousand arms, grasping her waist and tangling in her legs. Water warmed by her own body gurgled from her lips, and the next breath of air felt like daggers pulling her apart from inside. She gasped and choked, sending more water through her nose and bringing on a coughing fit that crushed her chest and stole the last ounce of energy she had. Lucy fell forward against the tree trunk, her bare foot trailing her body in the dark current like a tiny ghost.
A day later the river water was a pleasant memory, longed after like the wet days of spring in the middle of summer’s drought. The sun was merciless as Lucy dragged herself across the desert, the toes of her bootless foot curled under to keep the burning dust from her sensitive sole. She’d tried switching her remaining boot from foot to foot, but a blister had formed and burst only minutes after she’d forced the left boot onto her right foot.