by Jackie Ivie
ALLEVIATE
Jackie Ivie
CHAPTER ONE
“Well. That’s enough slack time, intrepid explorers! Everyone ready? Gear stowed? Life jackets tight? Everyone have their game on?”
Elena smiled slightly at being called an intrepid explorer, just as she’d done the first time it happened. That had been days ago...at the lodge, where they’d been wined and dined and given all kinds of information. Along with a heavy dose of safety rules. That was the last time she’d had a drink. And she could sure use one. Her body was in revolt, but they didn’t allow booze on this trip.
Or wine.
Or even beer.
Elena sighed in resignation and checked her life jacket again. Re-cinched all the straps. Waited her turn to load. The evening at the lodge felt like a dream. She hadn’t paid much attention to all the rules and regulations at the time. No need. She’d pored over all the information for months now. She’d prepared. She’d even bought a special wardrobe from an outdoorsy outlet mall. She was going natural. She hadn’t even packed her special mastectomy bra or the inserts. Besides, she’d known this trip was a dry one. That’s why she’d booked it. That’s also why she’d gotten a few doubles under her belt before retiring for the night.
She was going sober. Cold-turkey.
Nobody had noticed her inebriation level. Nobody seemed to pay much attention to her. And nobody had complained when she’d gone into the gift shop and dropped a large chunk of change on the counter for a little golden ring. The lady in the shop had been a Native American. Something about her had given Elena pause. The woman had some kind of mystical aura. Or the vodka in that lodge had something weird in it. The shop lady told Elena she was going into one of earth’s most powerful places. She’d need this ring. It was her destiny to own it.
Elena regarded the spiral-shaped ring sitting on her middle finger right now. What a stupid purchase. She shouldn’t have imbibed so much. But she used to say that every morning.
“Listen up, my intrepid explorers!”
There it was again. Intrepid explorers...
It was cute wording, but Rob, the lead boatman, was that. Then again, all of them were cute. Very cute. Every raft had five boatmen. All fit. Late twenties to maybe...forty. Nicely muscled. Like a small army of beefcake, displayed in identical khaki-colored uniforms. Looking sharp. The first day, she’d picked out her favorite - Mike. He had the longest hair, although he kept it pulled back and tucked beneath his collar. He also had the most tattoos. She’d joined his boat with alacrity. Days into this excursion and her choice hadn’t changed. He was very cute. But he was married. Told everyone he had a really cute wife and two cuter kids back in Glen Canyon. Elena hadn’t even asked.
Rob started speaking again. He had a voice like a bullhorn. He used it efficiently. The words had a distinct echo as they bounced off the canyon walls.
“Today is the day! We’re going through Cataract Canyon! That means we’ve got some major rapids on the menu! This is the section with the big, dangerous drops. We spoke of them. Everybody remember?”
Mister Smyth opened the map card he’d zipped into a plastic bag and pointed it out to his wife without saying anything. That was a blessing. The Smyths had told everyone they were on their anniversary trip. The first night out here the groups had gathered around the campfires. Shared stories. Elena hadn’t offered much, but they all knew she was a paralegal. And they knew she was single. Which got her an interested look from Marv, the chubby accountant from New Mexico somewhere, and a couple of stupid come-on lines from the Utahan Ronald, who might be in excellent shape but looked old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather.
Well.
It looked like her ex-husband, Don, was wrong about one thing. There were other men who would want her. Even without breasts. Elena had been married to her college sweetheart, a football receiver with looks to match his physique. He’d been gorgeous. Ripped. The first two years of marriage had been absolute fun. They’d had a great sex life.
Too bad that hadn’t been enough...
Wow.
Elena swiped at what could be a tear if she allowed it existence. She could sure use a drink. Of something besides the constant stream of water the boatmen kept on hand. They didn’t use bottled water. They had a supply of special filters that supposedly made any water drinkable. She’d been given one at the lodge meeting - it was in the welcome packet - but she’d already bought one. It might make the water drinkable, but it sure didn’t make it vodka.
What was she mooning over the divorce for, anyway? She didn’t even know any happily married couples. Her boss avoided his spouse, and required her help with it. The senior lawyer in the firm had a collection of ‘girlfriends’ his wife didn’t know about. The Smyths were just another example. They might smile happily if anyone was looking, but it was a farce. She’d rarely heard more scathing tones and words than when they spoke to each other if they didn’t think anyone was listening.
“Today we’re going to go through a hydraulic called Satan’s Gut! That section is aptly named! It will get your heart pumping! That’s a guarantee, ladies and gentlemen!”
The boat rocked side-to-side as Elena reached her assigned seat. She swiveled and wedged her butt into the spot, trying to look smaller. She might have lost some weight on this trip, but not much. They’d put in the brochure that physical fitness was of prime importance. Well. She hadn’t considered herself unfit. She always hiked the stairs at her office building. Walked everywhere. Everyone in New York did. But she still carried a few extra pounds left over from the rounds of chemo. And they really counted negatively on this trip.
Rob wasn’t finished. He kept up the diatribe as the boats loaded. It was part of the package. The boatmen got the camp site cleaned up and everything stowed quickly while breakfast was cooked. They got everyone fed. Prepared for the day’s ride. Geared-up with safety equipment. Loaded into boats. And it was all accompanied by a lot of words to pump up the enthusiasm.
Rob would have made a great football coach.
“But this is why you booked this trip, isn’t it? The excitement and danger lurking around every corner! Isn’t that right?”
Most of the boaters agreed. Elena snickered. She hadn’t booked this trip for the excitement or the danger. She hated the holiday season. It meant loss. Depression. First she’d lost her still-birthed daughter, then her boobs with the double mastectomy. And then she’d lost her hubby. She’d come on this trip because she was escaping Christmas...just like she did every year. Only this time she wasn’t using a bottle.
She needed a break from snow and cheer and merriment and twinkling lights and decorated trees and gingerbread smells and office parties and...
Crap.
There was too much to list. Every moment of each day was filled with somebody trying to make sure nobody forgot it was the holiday season. Time to celebrate! Be of good cheer! Gather with your loved ones! Exchange presents!
A river rafting trip down the Grand Canyon in Arizona was the farthest thing she could come up with. And so far, it just might be working.
The boats shoved off. She was in the last one. On purpose. Elena wasn’t adventurous. She didn’t want to be the first. Then again, nothing about the morning looked dangerous. Or exciting. There seemed to be a slight current in the center of the river. It bobbed them about placidly for about an hour. And then things started changing. Mike and the other boatmen put their paddles in the water and fought progress, as they slowed up. It was to get distance between the boats. They needed room in the event of a problem, so one boat in trouble wouldn’t become two of them. Elena remembered that from the talk.
She could hear t
he upcoming rapids before they came into sight. Sounded like a big waterfall. Then a huge one. And then it sounded like they had dozens of them. The canyon narrowed next, the tops of cliffs reaching toward each other overhead, darkening the area. Elena started subconsciously tensing muscles as the roaring sound got louder. And louder. The boat started bobbing, as if in concert. Her heartbeat quickened. Her throat tightened when she swallowed. But then she didn’t need that. Her mouth went dry.
Well ahead of them, the canyon curved. Elena squinted to see the lead boat go around it. And then they all heard a lot of yelling. The second boat disappeared around the bend, with another burst of sound. Elena’s eyes widened and her hands gripped to the ropes along the side as she got her first look at Rob’s version of excitement and danger.
Holy shit!
The water had turned into a live thing as if giant turbines had been slammed into the river. The front of the boat dipped nastily, sending her skyward. Then the front launched upward, soared several moments above the water before slamming back into the river with a stomach-dropping thud. Water shot up and over everyone, drenching. Frightening. The front dipped again. Elena’s tightened her knees in a crouch, as if that would keep her secured in place.
“Isn’t this cool?!”
Cool?
Someone yelled it. Elena guessed it was Marv. She’d smack him later. Right now she had to hang on tightly as the boat jerked to one side and then the front rocketed into the air again. The ridges in the seat weren’t too tight after all. Elena’s butt slid right out. She slammed against something in the bottom. Took a moment to realize it was a cooler that was also lunging against its restraints. The ropes burned her palms as she slipped. Her arms strained. She tried not to panic. According to the report of one fatality on the river, there is a tendency to panic if you fell overboard, to hyperventilate, and all that only made the likelihood of hypothermia greater. A person could slip into unconsciousness within moments.
The boat rocked and gyrated about her. Over and over again. Elena squatted in place beside the cooler. Getting drenched. Feeling seasick. And watching the world go crazy. Soaring rock face cliffs meshed with sky. White foam filled the view before it splashed over them. And even if they hadn’t wanted to proceed, the water forced it. There was no way out.
And then everything went calmer. Mike gave a huge whoop. It was followed by his men.
“We made the first Big Drop!”
A chorus of cheers came from the others in the boat. Not Elena. Even if she’d wanted to celebrate, her throat was too tight.
“And we’ve got Satan’s Gut just ahead! Everybody ready?”
Oh.
Hell no.
Nothing changed for long moments. The boat rocked side to side, each one getting wilder, as it slid along the water. Elena turned forward. Peeked ahead. Watched with shock as the back of the second boat lifted well above the waterline. And then it disappeared! She didn’t realize what had happened until the boat she was in started moving quicker. Pulled forward by the current. Toward a ledge. It looked like the water just ended as they approached what couldn’t be...
Oh! My God!
It was a waterfall, the drop beyond comprehension. Elena was hyperventilating as the front of their boat went out into space, and then dropped forward as if in slow motion. The rear went perpendicular next. Elena screamed as her body jettisoned out from the boat, leaving her hanging by her handhold. The boat slid into a precipice of doom, taking everyone in it.
Elena screamed. She was actually watching as the cooler swung outward from its mooring, and then came right back at her. The boat slammed into the vortex of water called Satan’s Gut. The cooler barely missed her head. And she lost hold.
It wouldn’t have mattered.
The boat was upside down. Everyone had been ejected. The stupid warnings in the paperwork hadn’t been succinct enough. They were right about an involuntary gasp. Elena did that as she entered the water. That added a lungful of water. That sensation combined with an instant dunking in freezing water caused an instant need to hyperventilate some more. All of that had been covered. But nothing had been mentioned about a rainbow of color that seemed to swell up from the bottom of the river and start swirling around her. Nor was anything said about weird shards of crystal. They permeated the rainbow, glinting with all manner and variation of light.
She should be flailing, her arms pushing at the water, her legs churning her toward the surface. None of that happened. Because nobody had said a word about how warm and comforting losing consciousness would feel.
CHAPTER TWO
1790
“We’ve been out here for hours! Listen to reason! There’s nothing to find. No treasure! And no one you need to save!”
“Not! Yet!”
Morrigan yelled the response, breaking it into two words due to the storm’s intensity. The speaker had been Cedric. The man had a wealth of breath available to him, mainly because he stood atop the oaken keel, running the center of the boat. The man didn’t work an oar. He spent his energy directing. Yelling. That’s what came of being born to the village leader.
Cedric’s words were wasted. Everyone knew it was a bad night to be out. Nobody needed the reminder. Bone-chilling waves washed over the boat edge with unfailing frequency, drenching every rower. Especially those in the front row. Where Morrigan sat.
Cedric had a booming voice. They could hear his next taunt even over the maelstrom. “Then mayhap you should not sit about like newly-birthed babes! Put your backs into it this time! Heave!”
Christ.
Cedric was an ass. Ill-equipped as a leader. Morrigan itched to challenge him despite it being a mistake. He’d joined this village three months past because it was isolated. Primitive. Easy to disappear in, while his brother’s men searched. He didn’t plan on staying.
“Heave again, you wastrels!”
The taunt added impetus to Morrigan’s motions. Warmth to his exposed hands. Power to his movements. He pulled at his oar with a gesture that bumped his shoulders into the man beside him before lifting the wood, swinging it backward. Dropping the end back into the water and pulling again. Morrigan was one of the largest men in the boat, probably the strongest. Cedric’s words added unnecessary impetus. Morrigan’s side of the skiff reacted with his strokes, shuddering slightly as it sent the bow against a riot of seawater.
“This is your doing, Morrigan!”
Morrigan shoved the oar into the water again. Ground his teeth. Yes. It was his doing. They were out here because of him. He still wasn’t giving up and going in. Not yet. He knew the odds of finding anything diminished with every second that passed. But something kept nagging at him. Despite the temperature, how difficult it was to see, and the chunks of debris that filled the ocean waves, making progress even more hazardous.
Gut instinct drove him.
He was following it.
There had been a big ship out here. He’d been the lone one to spot it from shore before the sun gave up trying to break through clouds and had disappeared altogether. The ship had hit Satan’s Reef. That’s how Morrigan had gotten all these men out here. Looking. Pointing. Arguing. There shouldn’t have even been a discussion. The ship had been a Spanish Galleon. Unaccompanied. And vulnerable. It was a supreme stroke of luck. Those ships rarely came this far north and never this late in the season.
Then again, it had been a season wracked by storms...
The villagers hadn’t been difficult to convince. This was a Spanish Galleon on the brink of sinking. The salvage could be astronomical. Those ships came from the New World. They were filled with treasure. This could make everyone rich. But that had been before a series of explosions had lit up the sky, blasting the ship apart. If anyone had survived that, it would be a miracle. Still, Morrigan wasn’t going back in until he was certain. Some cargo might have survived the blast and could still be awash. He’d already argued with Cedric over it. That exchange felt like it had happened hours ago.
“Th
is is foolish? We are all going to die!”
Cedric’s complaint was actually heard over the storm. Morrigan considered them as he worked his oar. Sounded like he might need to speak again. Perhaps threaten. But just then something smacked into the wood beside him with a jolt that nearly unseated him. Morrigan released his oar, leapt it, and grabbed a long grappling hook to send it over the side. He barely missed hitting other rowers’ fur-covered heads. They all wore furs. Dark with moisture now. He fished about vainly until somebody assisted by lifting a lantern. The flame struggled for life behind glass panels. It wasn’t much help. The light barely illuminated. The seas were rougher than he’d imagined. The waves flecked with foam. Filled with boat-damaging debris, and...
Wait!
There was a mass of netting in the water beside the skiff. Amidst it, Morrigan could plainly see the rounded top of an ornate trunk. Metal embossing glimmered as flickers of light reached it. Morrigan’s next lunge with the hook speared the net. He yanked, bringing the trunk close and another trunk became into view. A third one trailed it. A fourth. The edges of even more containers were visible as far as he could see. They were all entangled in the netting. Morrigan would have grinned if the temperature of air wouldn’t have iced his teeth painfully.
“What is it? What have we got?”
Someone yelled the question. Someone else answered it.
“Treasure!”
A cheer went up. The burst of excitement gave Morrigan strength. It took mere moments to get the first container close, snag a side handle with one hand, and yank it up and onto the deck. He hadn’t even needed help. He flung the grappling hook down onto the deck and started hauling at the net. The next trunk came near. Knocked against the side of their skiff. Morrigan dropped the net and reached for it, but the entire boat dipped that direction, plunging his arms and chest into freezing water, while swamping his lower legs as seawater gushed over the side.
“Everyone! Get back! You fools! You want to sink us, too?”
