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“The river only goes one way, Princess,” he drawled from where he slouched against the rail.

“I mean that we’ve taken some sort of branch.” Ellie pointed at the fork, which was now disappearing behind them. “We’re not on the same river.”

“They all end up at the ocean. Quit worrying about it and sit down,” Bates replied.

Ellie dropped onto the remains of the shattered bench. The uneasy feeling lingered in her gut. The landscape around them tugged oddly through her perception of the tangled branches that lined the bank and the clouds that scudded thinly overhead.

She realized that the nagging concern was centered on the way the rushing water echoed back from in front of her.

“That’s funny,” she said distractedly.

“What is?” Bates replied.

“The waterfall,” she clarified. “We’re moving away from it, but it seems to be growing louder.”

“Sounds travel in weird ways up here in the mountains,” Bates returned lightly and popped the last bite of tapir into his mouth.

Ellie gazed over the rippling water in front of them. The branch they had inadvertently taken was narrow and quick. The steamboat bounced gently along the rush of it. The water frothed here and there at the surface with the strength of the current. The white caps on the ripples were more apparent a little further ahead of them where the trees lining the banks opened into a wider vista over a deep, thickly overgrown valley.

An instinctive dart of fear quickened Ellie’s pulse.

“Bates?” she said as she jolted to her feet.

“You should lay back and take a nap,” he returned easily. “We’ll tie off and look for more grub whenever we bump into the bank.”

“But something is wrong with the river,” Ellie pressed back.

Bates reluctantly peeled himself from the deck and strolled over to her.

“What could possibly be wrong with—” he began. “Oh hell!”

His eyes locked on the place a hundred yards ahead of them where the river disappeared into a low wall of mist. He grabbed Ellie’s shoulder and swung her toward him roughly.

“Waterfall!” he shouted, pointing out over the water.

Ellie stared forward blankly, panic driving the thoughts from her head.

Bates sprang into action. He yanked the Winchester and his canteen and swung them across his shoulders. He snatched up the rucksack as well and skidded across the deck. Whipping his machete from his belt, he jammed the blade under another board and pried it up with a pop. He yanked out the map tin—and hesitated for a breath.

“Heck with it,” he muttered.

He grabbed out an unlabeled bottle of dark golden liquid and tossed that in the stuffed bag as well.

“What did you just pack?” Ellie demanded.

“How well can you swim?” he shot back, ignoring the question as he threw on the rucksack.

“Tolerably well, I suppose,” Ellie replied. “Though I haven’t really—”

“Deep breath,” Bates interrupted and yanked her over the rail.

Ellie plunged into cold, rushing water. The river swirled around her violently as the current swept her forward with terrifying speed. Only the anchor of Bates’s grip on her arm kept her from being utterly disoriented by the maelstrom of it.

He hauled at her in a direction that she hoped was up. She broke the surface and gasped in a desperate breath. The force of the river shoved her forward as water splashed against her face.

Bates tugged at her. His hair was plastered to his scalp.

“There!” He waved a hand at the bank ahead of them. “Swim with the current. Don’t fight it!”