Page 5 of Beneath the Mountain Sky

A feeling of simultaneously suffocating and drowning while trying to draw in air.

But before it can completely overtake me, a splash of pale-red color catches my eye near the opposite bank, fifty yards upriver. Not a color I would usually see out here. Not natural.

Instead of stepping into the woods like Connor and Liam to continue the search, I move toward the water with slow but deliberate steps.

What the hell is that?

It wouldn’t be completely unusual for an animal carcass to end up in the river after a coyote or bobcat got to it, but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I move even closer.

There’s something there…

Lodged up in the roots of the tree protruding into the water…

“Fuck.”

I drop my axe onto the ground and rush into the frigid rapids.

The sharp sting of the icy swirl against my skin makes me grit my teeth, but I fight through the natural instinct to head back to dry land.

Because that isn’t a wild animal in the river.

I can just barely make out an outstretched hand, dark hair floating in the water, face turned away from me. The rest of the torso and limbs are beneath the surface or tangled in the tree that prevented it from drifting farther down the rapids.

What the hell was anyone doing up here?

There is absolutely nothing for hundreds of miles in almost every direction except one—toward our homestead, the falls, and the town. But that’s a good eight miles from where we are now, and whoever this is clearly entered the river farther up to have ended up here.

My boots slip on the slimy rocks on the bottom, but I manage to keep my balance, arms spread wide, as I work my way across the expanse toward the opposing bank, fighting the current that threatens to drag me down.

“Fucking hell.”

Teeth chatter at the chill seeping into my bones, but I force myself to keep moving.

Each step feels like barely advancing, yet I finally make it close enough to grab the end of the log. My grip on the wet wood helps me battle the current and get a better footing.

I inch my way along the fallen tree until I can grab the hand floating in the water.

Pale, clammy skin.

But it doesn’t have the cold, stiff feel I would expect from a dead body.

The heat barely registers against my palm…but it’s there.

Holy fuck.

Whoever this is.

They’re alive—though barely.

I push forward along the log toward where the person is pinned in a V created by the massive tree roots. My feet slip on the rocks again, but I regain my balance enough to grasp the thick, dark hair and shift the head back to ensure it stays out of the water, so whoever it is can breathe.

But it’s my breath that catches at the face that tilts up at me.

Covered in cuts, scrapes, and mottled bruises…

Blood trickling from a nasty cut over one dark eyebrow…

Normally pink lips now holding a deathly blue tinge…