Before I could answer, he stripped off his boots and jacket, placing them neatly at the top of the rise. Then, with everyone watching, he slipped down the bank, sliding a bit in the mud, and stepped to the edge of the river. A brief pause as he gazed up and down the bank, surveying the current, then plunged into the foaming waters.
The undertow caught him immediately, but he struck out for the far shore, swimming doggedly into the current. I watched his pale form, bobbing along the surface, sometimes getting pulled down. Each time he vanished I bit my cheek and clenched my fists until his head broke the surface once more. He was quite the powerful swimmer, but it was still several tense, breathless moments before he emerged, dripping and panting, on the other side. As the rest of the group cheered, Zeke stumbled over to a tree, tied the rope around the trunk, and then sat down heavily in the mud, apparently exhausted.
He did, however, push himself to his feet as the rest of the group started over, standing at the water’s edge to help those who made it across. I hung back, watching, as Ruth crossed first, probably anxious to get over to where Zeke was. After her, Silas and Teresa made their slow, painstaking way across, inching forward, their wrinkled fingers gripping the rope for all they were worth.
Then Darren turned to me.
“Your turn, Allison,” he said, holding out a hand. I looked over to where the three kids, Caleb, Bethany and Matthew, stood on the bank, huddled together in the rain.
“What about them?”
“Zeke will be back over to help,” Darren replied. “He’ll take either Bethany or Caleb across, I’ll grab the other one, and Jake will help Matthew. Don’t worry, it’s not like this is our first crossing. I’ll be right behind you.” He smiled again and motioned me forward. “Of course, if you need help, I’ll be happy to piggyback you to the other side.”
“No, thanks.” I ignored his hand and made my way down to the rope. “I think I can handle it myself.”
The water shocked me. Not the temperature—the freezing cold didn’t bother me, of course—but the strength of the undertow as it tried sucking me down was impressive. If I’d still been human, one who didn’t swim very well, I might add, I might’ve been concerned.
The water wasn’t very deep, only coming up to my chest, but the current fought me every step of the way. Somewhere behind me, Darren shouted to keep going, his voice nearly lost in the roar of the river. I looked back. Shy little Bethany clung to his back with her arms around his neck, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
As I turned to look at them, something big came hurtling toward us over the water—a broken tree trunk, bouncing on the waves. I shouted to Darren, but the tree was moving fast, and my warning came too late. The trunk slammed into him, tearing him away from the rope, and he vanished into the waves. Bethany screamed once before she was pulled under and lost from view.
I didn’t think. I just acted. Releasing the line, I dove into the water. The current sucked at me, dragging me along like a rag doll. It resisted my attempts to thrash my way to the surface, tumbling me along the bottom, until it was hard knowing which way was up. For a few moments, I panicked…until I realized the river couldn’t hurt me. I didn’t breathe; I was in no danger of drowning.
Once I stopped fighting the current, it was much easier. The river rushed me along, and I scanned the top of the roiling waves, searching for Bethany and Darren. I caught a split-second glimpse of a blue dress and lunged in that direction.
It was several long minutes before I could grab the limp, bobbing girl and haul her to me, struggling to keep her pale little face above water. Planting my feet on the river bottom, feeling the current rip at my legs as I braced myself, I struck out for shore.
Staggering up the bank, I lay Bethany on her back and sank down beside her, anxiously studying her face for signs of life. The girl looked wholly drowned; eyes closed, mouth slightly open, blond hair tangled and smeared across her face. She didn’t seem to be breathing. I put an ear to her chest, listening for a heartbeat, bracing myself to hear only a hollow emptiness.
It was there. Faint, but still beating. Still alive.
I sat up, biting my lip as I stared at the motionless girl. I had an inkling of what I was supposed to do; back in the Fringe, I’d watched as a young boy was dragged out of a flooded storm drain. His rescuer had tried to resuscitate him, breathing in his mouth and pumping his chest, while the crowd looked on. Sadly, the boy failed to revive, and his mother had taken home a limp body. I couldn’t help but wonder if Bethany would share the same fate.
Well, she certainly will unless you do something, Allison.