Escape From the Badlands

by Dana Mentink

  Shane swallowed. She’d be taken care of, safely back in her uncle’s custody.

  Suddenly Kelly lurched forward into him. He grabbed her to keep her from falling.

  “Sorry,” Betsy said, hefting her canoe. “I’m a better driver in the water.”

  Gwen followed along, her eyes darting from Kelly then away toward the river.

  Shane helped Kelly regain her balance, letting go in spite of his overwhelming desire to crush her to his chest and bury his face in her long hair.

  She gave him a tentative smile. “Thanks.”

  “You got it.”

  She didn’t have to say the rest—it shone clearly in her brown eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, giving her a wink. “I’ll be careful. Don’t want you to have to work too hard today.”

  He joined the line of racers fanned out at the edge of the roaring water. The rain, combined with the extra water released from the nearby dam north of them in preparation for storm season, made the flow a daunting sight. Truth be told, Shane didn’t much like the water. His skill at canoeing came because he’d forced himself to learn, thrusting himself into the element that God used to take away his brother.

  He felt the stubborn flare of anger rise up inside him. I’m going to beat this river today.

  He hefted the canoe by the crossfork, thumping the sturdy Royalex sides as he moved into position. The vessel was not a traditional calm-water canoe. It was a small C-1 craft, more like a kayak than a canoe, meant to be easily maneuverable. The athlete knelt in the front and employed a one-bladed paddle. Gleeson would be in the first group to start, along with Betsy, Tim and the others. Shane would be toward the middle, with Gwen behind him. He cast a look in her direction. She looked terrified.

  “You okay?” he called above the sound of the water.

  She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the ferocious current.

  He pointed to a spot a half mile down. “Could get tricky down there.”

  She flashed a wan smile. “That’s what Betsy said.”

  They watched the racers in front of them get into their canoes and take off with whoops of excitement.

  Shane fastened his personal flotation device and tightened the strap on his helmet. His safety equipment was all accounted for—throw rope, knife, carabiners clipped in their locked position. Stomach tightening, he saw Ackerman approach with a starting gun in his hand.

  The sight burned itself into his mind. Had he held a similar gun when he murdered Olivia and framed Todd for killing her? Their eyes locked, and Devin flashed him a cocky grin. “Water’s rough. Can you handle it, Matthews?”

  “I’m not afraid of rough water.”

  Devin’s smile vanished. “We’ll see if you still think so at the finish line, provided you get there.”

  “I’ll get there, don’t worry.”

  “I won’t,” Devin said.

  Your mistake. Shane steadied the canoe in the eddy and knelt in the seat, looping the thigh straps securely. Gripping the paddle firmly, he tensed for the starting gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen do the same.

  Somewhere up on the bank, he knew Kelly was watching.

  FOURTEEN

  At the sound of the starting gun Shane flipped a neat eddy turn, and in a moment, he was caught up in the rush of the tumbling waves. Though he wore a paddle jacket and pants, the cold of the water splashing over the gunnels momentarily left him breathless as the torrent carried him away at a dizzying speed.

  He’d scoped out the course ahead of time and knew the first danger to overcome was the sieve, about a half mile downriver. The sieve funneled the water between an enormous boulder and another lower shelf of rock. He’d been in the river enough to know that the water compressed between the two rock barriers was under higher pressure than the water around it, so turbulence would be a factor. It would test his white-water skills to the limit. He wondered briefly if Ackerman and Chenko really understood how dangerous a swollen river could be.

  He could not hear any sounds from the other racers, just the roar and slap of the river as it shoved him along. Keeping his shoulders loose and using the paddle to weave himself into the frantic flow, he made his way along, adrenaline pumping through his system. As the sieve approached, he pushed against the foot pedals, making sure his legs were securely rammed into the thigh straps. One careless move and he could easily be flipped upside down. Though he’d managed an Eskimo Roll to right himself before in calmer waters, the violence of the current and the prevalence of the rocks that knocked occasionally into the bottom of his boat made him reluctant to try it. This was not a polite river, and calm-water techniques were not going to work in this race.

  The rocks loomed before him, and for a moment he felt a twinge of panic as his speed increased. The bank flashed by as he hurtled faster and faster. He wondered, just for a split second, if the river would beat him today.

  Not today. Not ever again.

  Gritting his teeth, he gripped the paddle more securely and forced his torso to relax, to move with the water instead of fighting it. The sieve loomed ahead; he could feel the change in the water under his bow. Like a bullet from a gun, his tiny craft rushed toward the narrow opening between the rocks. Paddling alternately on both sides to keep the boat from being swamped, he held his breath as he approached the gap. A wave he had not accounted for took him by surprise, and his canoe cracked into a rock with a thunk, but did not tip. In a moment, he was through, triumph surging in his gut.

  He’d beaten the river, at least for the moment. His canoe bobbed and weaved as he continued along. An instinct pricked at him to turn around. He shot a quick look behind him. He couldn’t see much past the curtain of rock and water. The ominous feeling flared brighter in his gut.

  Though speed should have been the first thing on his mind, he propelled himself into the slow-moving eddy at the extreme edge of the water. He looked back across the river as several racers made their way by, their faces creased in concentration as they approached the sieve and exultation as they slipped through it—some without any trouble, some with a good deal of buffeting against the rocks. He searched for any sign of Gwen, wondering how she had fallen so far behind. The look on her face at the starting line had revealed a level of fear that could be dangerous around white water.

  Finally he spotted her approaching the river bend, black hair frizzing out from beneath her helmet. He was not close enough to see the look on her face, but her body was rigid, paddle slapping into the water as she fought to control her boat.

  He held his paddle to one side, giving her the signal that the route he’d taken would see her safely through. She did not copy the signal, so he was not sure if she’d even seen him. As she drew closer, he could see more clearly that she was fighting the water.

  He knew that was a disaster in the making. Fear makes you the loser.

  He knew. He remembered.

  The memory of the rocks scratching his fingers as he frantically clawed underwater, searching for Lonnie. The moment of stark terror when he stood, waist deep, too scared even to scream. The cold water enveloping him as his brother tumbled into the fast-moving creek, snatched away in a flash. A thirteen-year-old, taking his brother out to play in the creek.

  “Water’s high, Shane,” Lonnie had said on that bright fall morning.

  “Not too high for me. We can go back if you want.”

  Lonnie had answered with that look of hero worship on his face. “Not too high for me either.”

  One minute, Shane was showing off for his brother, and the next, frantically pounding through the water, trying to save him from being washed downstream.

  He wondered if Lonnie had been scared, as scared as Gwen obviously was now, before he drowned.

  Shane did not understand why God had punished him that day, and every day since. Pain and unadulterated rage seeped to the surface again.

  What was it about Shane Mason that made him unlovable in God’s eyes? A soul to be crushed at age thirteen, reduced to
fighting the tide that seemed determined to snatch everything away from him. Lonnie, Todd…

  And Kelly.

  His eyes automatically sought the bank, trying to pinpoint where she might be. Maybe today would be the last time he would ever see her. She would move on and leave him behind. Never again would he see her looking at him with that mix of love and exasperation.

  Water roared in his ears and stung his eyes.

  By now, his group of racers had all passed, shooting down the next five miles of river. Only he and Gwen remained.

  Gleeson would be nearly finished, starting on the next leg of the race. Shane should be moving on, too, yet he remained in the eddy, watching Gwen’s harrowing approach toward the sieve.

  Get moving. You’re here to keep in the race. Stay in it or you can’t help your brother.

  But he did not go. He remained tucked into the eddy, mesmerized by Gwen’s approach. She was abreast of the sieve now, the change in the water flow jerking and twisting her canoe.

  Don’t fight too hard.

  Feel the water and work with it.

  Don’t let the fear make you helpless.

  Gwen plunged her paddle into the water, causing her boat to turn sharply in the other direction. The force of the water pinned her against the rock, and for a moment she was caught there, her face frozen white and stark against the gray rock. Then she began paddling frantically until she lost her grip and the paddle was ripped from her hand. The water rushed in over the gunnels.

  Shane saw her panic, read it in the motion of her flailing hands as she tried to free herself from the thigh straps.

  “Gwen!” he shouted, over the roar.

  She did not hear him, trapped in her own terror as she battled with the torrent.

  Water poured over the gunnels, filling the interior. As it pooled around her waist, she stopped fighting and lifted her face to the sky.

  The canoe turned over, taking Gwen with it.

  Kelly stood on the rise above the river, watching the action unfold beneath her. Her heart lurched as she saw Shane approach the narrow gap of rock, easing only slightly when he’d made it through. She did not understand why he’d pulled into the eddy and stopped. He did not wave his paddle vertically in the air, indicating there was an emergency.

  She got out her binoculars and trained them down on the water. His attention was fixed on the racer behind him. She had to scan her clipboard to learn that it was Gwen Falco. Though Kelly had never tried canoeing, even in still water, she could see that Gwen was struggling. As soon as her canoe smashed against the rocks, Kelly was galvanized into action. She grabbed her bag and scrambled down the twisting trail toward the water, shouting into her radio as she went.

  “We have a racer in trouble. I need help.”

  Though she, too, wore a GPS unit, she knew that by the time anyone got to their position, it would be too late. Chenko was already miles downstream at the finish line, and Devin was stationed a mile upriver to start the last group of racers. She prayed he’d gotten the message in time to stop them from entering the water.

  Slipping on loose debris, she half fell, half ran to the water’s edge, taking a moment to get her bearings. Then she saw the two rocks projecting from the water several yards ahead. She hoped Gwen had been able to right herself or get out of the boat. Maybe she was clinging to the rock, waiting for rescue. The angry roar of water punching downstream next to her made her doubt the woman would have the strength.

  She turned the corner just as Shane started to push out of the calm eddy water back into the current.

  “Shane!” she yelled before he completed the turn.

  He stopped, grabbed a packet from his canoe and tossed it to her.

  “Tie it onto something,” he yelled.

  With trembling fingers she grabbed the throw rope, unfurling it and tying it as securely as she could around the nearest boulder and tossing him the other end. He grabbed it and paddled out of the eddy, ferrying across the crush of the current.

  The radio crackled. “Kelly? I’m on my way. What’s the status?” Devin shouted.

  She could not answer, her mouth suddenly dry as she watched Shane’s progress.

  Somehow he managed to force his canoe across the angry river, looping back around behind the rocks before he turned and allowed his boat to rejoin the current, following the path that Gwen had taken.

  Her breath froze in her chest as Shane’s canoe rushed up to the rocks where Gwen was still upside down. He was going too fast; he would lose control and be crushed against the rocks.

  Devin’s voice came across the radio again, louder this time.

  “What is going on there?” he demanded.

  “Shane!” she screamed as his boat slammed into the rock with an ominous crack. The white water obscured her view for a moment and then, to her horror, she saw Shane’s canoe careening down stream.

  Empty.

  Shane knew it was sheer lunacy to hit the rock intentionally, but he could think of no other way to get to Gwen Falco before she drowned.

  When the side of his canoe hit the rock, the force shook through his body and left him momentarily stunned. Only the slight movement of his boat as it threatened to skid off the rock and reenter the current brought him to his senses. With hands stiff from the cold, he undid his thigh straps and shoved away the craft, which went spinning crazily out into the current.

  He knew he had to get to Gwen quickly, or there would be no chance for her survival. He made a loop from the throw rope and tossed it over the top of the rock, which imprisoned Gwen’s craft. His aim was off, and the rope was sucked away into the turbulence.

  Teeth gritted, he managed to grab the end and pull in the length of rope. This time, his throw was perfect and the loop caught around the pinnacle. He pulled it tight so it now stretched across the river, from the place where Kelly had tied it to the spot where he was going to attempt a rescue. He began to haul himself from his precarious perch over to Gwen. The thundering water struck at him with such explosive force, he felt as though he was being battered by a thousand angry fists as he crossed the narrow gap between the two rocks. Hand over hand, he made his way along, bones vibrating from the impact.

  Just as he thought he could not maintain his grip on the rope any longer, he made it to the other rock where Gwen’s canoe lay overturned. Letting the water work with him now, pinning him as it had Gwen’s canoe, he bent down and, still holding the rock with one hand, grabbed the gunnel and tried to heave the boat over.

  It didn’t budge.

  With a rising sense of panic, he let go of his own hold and yanked on the gunnel again, this time with both hands. The boat flipped only halfway, but it was enough.

  He grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her close to his body, again using the force of the water to hold them steady against the rock. He was not sure if she was alive or dead, her body limp in his, head drooped down over his clasped arms.

  She couldn’t be dead.

  “Gwen!” he yelled. He felt a slight movement from her, but he could not tell if it was a sign that she was conscious or the result of the rushing water moving her body. It didn’t matter. He was going to get her to shore, to help.

  Holding her to him with one arm, he risked opening the Velcro pouch on the back of his personal flotation device and released the tow tether, clipping it with the carabiner to the rope that Kelly had secured. Then he grabbed another short length of rope he had snatched before letting his own boat go, and used it to tie Gwen’s body to his own. Now their lives were entwined. They would drown together or survive, if he was strong enough to get them to shore.

  He didn’t say a prayer as he positioned himself on his back, Gwen in his arms. He knew God had no love for him, but maybe He had a spot of compassion for the woman whose life Shane held in his hands. Doubts assailed him like the stinging drops of water that stabbed at his eyes.

  You’ll let her down. She’ll die. She’ll drown. It will be another death on your conscience.

>   “No,” he said aloud. He shook off the negative thoughts and eased out into the water on his back. The current took them immediately, pulling them away from the fixed rope until the tow line snapped taut with a breathtaking jerk. He fought the urge to get his legs under him.

  Standing was the deadliest thing you could do in white water, with cracks and crevices waiting to trap an ankle or foot under a crush of water that would easily push victims facedown in a heartbeat. Struggling to keep his feet pointed downstream and arch his back, he allowed the current to pull them into the center of the river. After a moment to rest his muscles, which were now screaming in protest, he began the painful process of pulling them up via the tow line until he could grab the fixed rope. Rocks banged into his back and his legs as he fought against both the current and Gwen’s dead weight.

  The cold water numbed him, making his fingers clumsy. An incredible weight seemed to be pulling at him, sucking him down into failure, urging him to give up. He caught sight of Kelly up on the bank, her hands at her mouth.

  Kelly…

  He fixed on her there, and though his vision was obscured by the foam that battered his face, he concentrated on memories of her dark hair, the brown eyes that danced with delight as she watched little Charlie play—the devotion he’d seen there before the hurt, the faith that nestled deep down in spite of the losses she’d sustained.

  Hand over hand he battled, flashes of his surroundings assailing his senses: the ice-cold pull of the water. Kelly waiting on the shore. The seemingly endless length of rope extending before him. Fingers clawing for purchase, the wet rope sliding out of his grip.

  His whole body was growing numb, Gwen’s weight drawing him deeper into the raging water. His hand slipped off the line and he hung there for a moment, desperately trying to keep his hold. But he and Gwen were once again yanked to the end of the tow rope. This time, he knew, he did not have enough strength left to get them back.