The Way Back from Broken

by Amber J. Keyser

  The world flipped, and they plunged into the water.

  Rakmen thrashed against submerged branches. They scraped across his face and along his body. Water pummeled him, trying to pull him along with the current, but he was held fast. Opening his eyes, he saw stripes of white and dark, foam and wood. A great tree had fallen in the water. Its branches were a net, catching everything. He thrashed violently, and then he saw orange.

  A foot below him, Jacey was stuck too. The strap of her life jacket looped around a broken branch. The current swept over her shocked face.

  Panic raced through him.

  Rakmen’s body bucked in the current.

  Holding tightly to a branch, he thrashed himself free, broke the surface, gulped air, and went back down. The current clutched at him as he pulled himself, hand over hand, toward Jacey.

  His chest ached for air.

  Another few inches.

  He was there.

  But now her face had gone slack, and the current sucked at her limp arms. Rakmen forced himself to look away from her face. Instead, he slid one arm inside her life jacket, behind Jacey’s back, looping his hand up over her shoulder. Once he had a hold of her, he let go of the branch. The river sucked against him as he fumbled at the buckles.

  Black shadows pressed on his peripheral vision. He needed air, and soon.

  He pressed hard on the clasp, and the first one clicked open.

  His hand slipped on her shoulder as the water sucked against his legs.

  Click—the second buckle came loose.

  Bubbles spun out of Jacey’s nose.

  Not this girl!

  Water was filling his mouth, burning the back of his throat.

  Rakmen squeezed hard on the final buckle, and the current swept them downriver and away. He’d never held onto anyone as tightly in his life. Together they burst to the surface, the two of them buoyed up by his life jacket.

  Gasping, Rakmen rolled onto his back, flipping Jacey so she rested face up on top of him. He kicked to shore and pulled free of the water. On the bank, he rolled Jacey onto her side, slamming the palm of his hand against her back.

  Again and again.

  Jacey’s body was loose in his arms.

  Breathe.

  He pounded her back, swallowing back terror.

  Rakmen forced a breath of air into her lungs. Her chest rose with his breath then wilted. Another. Then another.

  “Breathe,” he cried, the word a strangled prayer.

  The world collapsed in on him.

  “Please, please, please—not her too,” he moaned, rolling Jacey to her side again. Rakmen could no longer hear the roar of the water or see the sun streaming down around them.

  He was desperate, plummeting into terror, when a violent spasm rocked Jacey’s body. Suddenly, water gushed from between her lips, and she rolled over to vomit in the sand. Jacey’s breath came in great, wheezing gasps, her bone-white cheeks flushing red. Rakmen clutched her to him, crying with his whole body in great, racking sobs.

  A great flood of loss and fear, relief and resurrection broke loose within him.

  The what ifs and the what could’ve beens poured out.

  There was Dora and there was Jacey.

  There was now.

  CHAPTER 32

  They leaned into each other and sat for a long time. Rakmen’s entire world was Jacey’s respiration. Each inhalation a gift. Each exhalation a promise. Slowly, his perceptions expanded. His own breath came slow and steady. Rakmen could see the pulse in Jacey’s wrist, the twist of the grasses near their feet. Water dripped from their sodden clothes. The river gurgled and splashed. In the deep hole where the tree was lodged, flashes of orange were visible in the swirling depths.

  As he stared at the spot where the entangled life jacket twisted in the current, he realized he wasn’t angry anymore. Not at Dora for leaving him in the wreckage. Not at himself for being unable to see what was breaking down inside her. He had been the best brother he knew how to be, and he had held her while she passed.

  He squeezed Jacey a little closer.

  “Rakmen?” said Jacey in a creaky voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “What about the canoe?”

  Launched by another surge of adrenaline, he vaulted to his feet, racing the river downstream. He crashed through the brush, cursing like a madman and oblivious to the welts rising on his legs and arms.

  If the canoe was gone or busted up—

  Rakmen caught his foot on a root and went down hard. The pain slicing through his shin rebooted some circuit in his brain.

  Don’t fall.

  Don’t drown.

  Don’t get lost.

  He had to stay focused. They were balancing on the knife edge.

  Rakmen hauled himself up slowly. The shin would bruise but that’s all. He looked upstream where Jacey sat, arms coiled around her knees, dripping wet. They hadn’t drowned.

  They had not drowned.

  He picked his way downstream, alternately watching his footing and craning his neck to look for the canoe.

  Around the next bend and at the bottom of the last stretch of rapids, he found it floating, mostly submerged, like a harpooned whale in smooth water fifty feet from shore. Tipped by the weight of the tied-in packs, it listed to one side, a single, curving gunnel above the surface. His paddle—intact—floated next to it.

  Rakmen unlaced his waterlogged boots and swam out. Dragging the canoe back to shore turned his arms to putty. He could barely fumble loose the knots holding the packs to the thwart. Panting, he carried them to a flat, grassy patch of bank and returned to the canoe.

  “Is it ruined?” Jacey asked, coming up beside him holding her broken paddle, retrieved from the rocks alongside the river.

  He ran his hands along the canoe, checking for damage. Near the brass plaque that said Au large, his fingertips hit splintered wood, and worry surged through him, but as far as he could tell the cracks were above the waterline. The canoe had probably smacked a rock when it was upside down.

  “It’ll get us home,” said Rakmen. “How’s your paddle?” Jacey held it out. The blade had cracked, splitting off a section from one side, but it was still useable. Jacey stared blankly at the ground, arms limp at her sides. Stringy bits of green algae clung to her clothes.

  “Come over here,” he called, unbuckling the top of his pack and pulling out a soggy sleeping bag. “We’ve got to get this stuff dried out a little.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Jacey? Are you okay?”

  She turned toward his voice, looking dazed. “Rakmen—”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s really easy to die, isn’t it?”

  He dropped the sleeping bag and went to her. “We didn’t die.”

  Jacey crumpled before him. “Not this time.”

  “But—”

  “No!” she interrupted, beginning to cry. “Don’t say anything lame and stupid. Mom might be dead already.” She slapped away her tears. “Jordan’s dead! Dora’s dead! All the ones at Promise House. It’s what happens to kids. They get dead.”

  Rakmen crouched in front of her and held her shoulders. “Jacey—”

  She mashed her lips together, daring him to lie to her.

  “We didn’t die. We’re kinda broken. That’s true. And you’re right. It is scary, but we have to keep going. Broken bits and all.”

  She stared at him for a long time. He knew that look. She’d leveled it at him the first time they met in the front hall of Promise House. She’d seen something in him then that he didn’t even know was there.

  “And you know what?” he said, leaning in close. “We’re a good team.”

  She touched her forehead to his. “Like brother and sister?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Exactly like that. Brother and sister.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “This is it,” said Rakmen. “The last portage.”

  After the accident, they’d made camp, both
of them too drained to go any farther that day. They’d tossed and turned through a mostly sleepless night in their still-damp sleeping bags. Waking early, they’d broken camp and travelled fast all day. On the portages, Rakmen had to remind himself to be careful. He couldn’t get hurt now.

  By late afternoon, they were almost there. Vesper Lake was so close that Rakmen imagined he could smell the moose muck in the sludgy little bay. He couldn’t wait for a nose full.

  Uncle Leroy’s fall-apart cabin waited for them.

  Edna would know what to do.

  Rakmen could rest.

  Jacey laid her paddle across her knees as he guided them into shore at the end of Wren Lake. Sand scratched against the bottom of the canoe as the bow slid into the shallows. He patted the gunnels on either side. She was a good boat.

  “Look,” said Jacey, pointing down the shore into a patch of fragrant water lilies as she swung her pack on. A great blue heron, tall and long-legged, picked its way through the shallows without a ripple. Its plumage was a fluid glimmer of silver, but as the bird turned sideways, Rakmen noticed the unnatural hump above the bird’s left shoulder and the odd angle of its wing.

  “There’s something wrong with it,” he said. “It’s deformed.”

  The bird lifted one leg in the air and took another step forward, swinging its long bill side to side. The glare of the sun had turned the water into a mirror. It jabbed its bill at the unseen bottom and pulled it up again, empty.

  The heron retracted its neck, cocking its head to look for prey again. The light was wrong. After a moment, the bird raised its wings, the right outstretched in a graceful arc, the left a bent twist of splayed feathers.

  “What’s it doing?” Jacey asked.

  Everything about the way the bird moved looked painful, an ache matching the one in Rakmen’s own shoulders. Maintaining the awkward stance, the heron stepped forward. In the shadow of the bird’s body, the bottom of the lake was visible.

  Rakmen understood all at once. “Smart bird. It’s making shade with its wings so it can see the fish.”

  Jacey headed down the trail.

  He needed to follow her. Rakmen knew it. The faster they got to Edna, the sooner Leah would be safe, but he was filled with a fierce desire to see the mangled bird succeed in the hunt.

  Rakmen kept watching.

  After a frozen minute, its head and neck shot forward like an arrow. The crippled wing contorted violently, but when the bird settled, Rakmen saw a minnow twitching in its bill.

  The heron flipped the fish head-down and swallowed. With a reverberant, gurgling croak, it rose into the air, held aloft by that twisted wing, and sailed over the trees toward Vesper. Rakmen grabbed his pack, threw the canoe to his shoulders, and followed it home.

  . . .

  When they entered the main portion of Vesper Lake, they could see Edna in overalls and an old fishing hat, casting a bobber into the weeds. Jacey tucked her paddle into the canoe, cupped her hands around her mouth, and screamed her name.

  “Keep paddling,” said Rakmen. “We’re too far away.”

  Jacey yelled again, and this time, the squat woman turned toward them.

  “We need a plane,” Jacey called.

  Edna squinted at the sky. “It’s not going to rain.”

  “A plane!” Jacey, a ball of nervous energy, bounced up and down in her seat, sending ripples out from either side of the canoe. Rakmen paddled harder, sending them skimming into the dock. Milled lumber, metal nails, motorboat tied to one side—civilization. They had made it back from the middle of nowhere. Rakmen forced himself to release his grip on the paddle shaft. No more J-stroke. No more portaging. No more sleeping on the ground.

  “Where’s your mom?” Edna asked, catching the bow and pulling them alongside the warped dock.

  “Hurt bad. There was a storm and rapids and we gotta go. Now, now, now.” Jacey was breathless with hurry.

  “Whoa, horsey,” said Edna, helping Jacey out of the canoe and fixing an eye on Rakmen. “Tell me normal.”

  “It’s true. Leah’s stranded on Allard Lake with a broken ankle. She sent us to get help.”

  Edna frowned. “Allard is four days’ hard travel from here.”

  “Yeah,” said Rakmen, flexing his stiff fingers. “We know.”

  “You’ve been on the trail alone for four days?”

  He nodded.

  Jacey clutched at Edna. “Mom said you could get a plane.”

  Shock washed over Edna’s face. Then she jumped into action. “Get the canoe on the dock and come up to the cabin. I’ll get Coop on the radio. He’s been flying fire patrol all day.” She checked her watch. “It’s nearly six. He may be at the hangar already. I hope he hasn’t gone home.”

  Worry exploded in Rakmen’s stomach. They had to get to Leah tonight. He couldn’t bear knowing she was out there alone. Not when there were beds to sleep in. Not when he and Jacey were safe.

  The crackling static of a CB radio filled Edna’s tidy cabin. She waved them in and pointed toward a box of Nilla wafers on the counter as she established a connection. “Hey Coop,” she said, “where you at?”

  “Just heading in for the night. What’s up?”

  “We need an airlift. There’s a woman hurt on Allard. Her kids trekked in to get help.”

  “That’s at least four days out. You say they’re kids?” The pilot’s disbelief echoed through the radio.

  “That’s what I said. Can you pick them up at my place on Vesper? Her boy can lead you in.”

  “Will do.”

  “Good. See you in a few.” Edna ended transmission with a stubby finger and turned toward them. “You kids—” she began, shaking her head. “Look what you’ve done.” Her wrinkled face crinkled into a grin. She beamed at Rakmen. “Look at what you’ve chosen.”

  . . .

  They heard the drone of the plane before they saw it, and went down to the dock to wait. The bright yellow float plane circled once and landed in a spray of water, coasting toward Edna’s dock.

  The pilot opened the door, counting heads. “Edna, I’ve only got room for three besides me. If we’re bringing the woman back, one of you has to stay.”

  “Take the kids. I’ll get an ambulance to meet you at the hangar.” Edna nudged Rakmen and Jacey toward the plane.

  They strapped in, and Coop took off down the lake in a roar, skimming the treetops and turning north. Rakmen pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Below, the rolling hills and shiny lakes looked more like the greens and blues on his well-worn map than the terrain they’d actually covered step by step and stroke by stroke.

  He rubbed his calloused hands, proof that they had crossed all those miles by themselves, by sweat and tears. The distance that had taken them four days to traverse melted away in minutes. He could hear Jacey in the copilot’s seat naming every lake, and Coop, stunned that a little girl would know the landscape so well, saying yeah to everything.

  When Allard Lake came into view, Rakmen leaned forward. He could see the rocky point where they’d left Leah. From the air, her tent looked like a pumpkin amid all the green. Sunlight glittered on the surface of the water.

  They were close now.

  Coop would land the plane.

  They’d get Leah and get out.

  “Alright,” Coop said. “I’m setting her down.”

  Only a few minutes more and he could walk away from being brave and being strong. As the plane descended, Rakmen could see the fire pit, a gray circle of ashes.

  There was no smoke.

  Nausea swept over him.

  There should be smoke.

  Rakmen had pushed himself past every challenge. He’d pulled Jacey from the water. All Leah had to do was keep putting sticks on the fire.

  There should be smoke.

  The plane touched the surface of the lake and skimmed toward the campsite. Coop shut off the engine, and the plane slid to a stop a hundred feet from shore. He opened the door and climbed down on the float to untie the ca
noe lashed there. Jacey leaned out of the open plane, peering at the shore. Rakmen unbuckled and stood beside her, scanning for movement.

  A breeze rippled across the tent.

  Behind them a loon wailed, its loud tremolo piercing him.

  “Mom?” Jacey called.

  Nothing.

  Coop lowered the canoe to the water.

  Jacey’s call rose to a shriek. “MOM!”

  An icy, electric current snapped through Rakmen. His pulse stuttered. Breath caught in his lungs. He closed his eyes against the blackness coming. Jacey dug her nails in his arm, gulping air. They had come so far together.

  To have it end like this was more than he could bear.

  He wanted to die.

  No, that wasn’t right.

  What Rakmen wanted was to live. Not to forget or walk away or even heal. He wanted to keep going, wounds and all. Beside him, Jacey trembled and pressed closer. She sobbed, and the sound penetrated to the very center of his own throbbing wound. Rakmen slowed his breathing, preparing himself to open his eyes and face what they would find at the campsite, but before he could, Rakmen felt the change in Jacey. The tense current of her body shifted.

  “Mom—” Jacey whispered.

  But this time—

  This time, her voice was buoyant.

  He opened his eyes as Leah unzipped the tent door and waved at them.

  Rakmen’s every sense exploded outward. The stretching sky. The glimmering lake. The humming air. The world was expansive, vibrating, pulsing. And Dora was there, entwined around his heart. Her absence aching. And it was all connected.

  Everything.

  A unexpected longing filled Rakmen to stay right here. He knew the song of the wood thrush and the way a moose grazes on lilies. He could tell the difference between an otter and a beaver from the ripples they left in the water. When a loon rose to the surface beside his canoe, he knew to rest his paddle across his knees and watch in silence until it dove again.

  He had found his way along these trails and lakes.

  This place was where all the pieces had come together.

  He wanted to stay, but he couldn’t.

  Up ahead, Rakmen could see the start of the next portage.