Page 12

Wyatt

T he wind gust catches me off guard. It’s intense enough to grab my attention and make me shiver. I look up into the trees above where we’re fishing. The conifers are bending to and fro, violently at the tops.

It’s time to get the heck out of here and back to the lodge. The weather can change on a dime this time of year, and despite a calm forecast this morning, our luck might have run its course.

“Hey, you two,” I say as I approach the lovebirds.

They sit on a large rock, Rebecca’s head leaning against Jake’s shoulder.

Neither of them is fishing; they’re simply gazing out at the rushing water.

I’ve seen this look before—they’re in what I call nature’s trance.

The calming sounds of the natural world around them, the company they’re keeping, and their recent nuptials—it’s euphoric for many.

They both turn to me and smile.

“We should really get going,” I say. “The wind is picking up, and to be safe rather than sorry, I think it’s time to pack up and go. Plus, you all caught quite a few fish, and we want to get them back in time for Doris to cook them up for you tonight.”

“If you insist,” Rebecca says. “I’ve never felt so relaxed out in the wild in all my life. This place is intoxicating.”

I nod and smile. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. Maybe if there’s time before you all leave, we can come back out here one last time, for memory’s sake.”

“That would be amazing,” Jake says. “Where are the fish? I can go get them while you both pack up some of the other things.”

I point to the log that sits halfway in and out of the creek. “Right there, tied to the log. Here,” I say, handing Jake the knife. “Hold the line and cut it free. There are four fish on the line.”

“What should I do with them?”

“I have a cooler strapped to the back of my quad. It’s full of cool water, so you can put them in there.”

“Great,” Jake says and takes the knife. He and Rebecca stand and kiss. He turns to retrieve the fish, and she comes with me back to the quads to help strap everything down before we leave.

We’re about done tightening down the last of the equipment when we hear a loud splash. Rebecca gasps as we both turn toward the rushing creek. “Oh, shit.” I drop whatever is in my hands and run to the water’s edge.

“Oh, god,” she screams. “Where is he?”

I look downstream. At first, I don’t see him, but then his head and waving arms pop up above the surface. He’s flailing around, no doubt in shock from the low water temperature. “Stay here,” I command her. There’s no sense in her falling in too. I’d be lucky to save him, let alone two of them.

Rushing around large trees and through gnarled, thorny bushes, I have trouble gaining ground on the fast current that’s taking Jake farther away by the second. There are rapids up ahead, and with the water as cold as it is, there’s no way he’ll make it through. I pick up my pace.

The tip of my boot snags on a root, and I fall forward, but I manage to catch my balance before I hit the ground.

There’s no time to think or react to what just happened, though, as every second matters—life or death are the only two options here.

To my left, there’s an opening in the terrain and foliage; I’ll be able to make up some ground there, but it’ll take me temporarily away from the water’s edge.

I don’t have a choice.

Banking to the left, I run as hard as I can.

My lungs burn from the frigid air, and my legs feel the strain of the hills I’m climbing at top speed.

Veering back to the right, the slight decline will send me right to the creek below and, with any luck, ahead of where Jake is struggling to keep his head above water.

With everything I have, I pound down the trail, my boots slamming the ground beneath me with each stride. I begin tearing off my coat and sweatshirt as I know I’m going into the water, whether I like it or not.

“Help!” Jake cries out before his head goes below the surface.

Fuck, Jake isn’t equipped to handle this kind of situation. They’re from the city. He’s probably never been in water other than a pool or maybe the beach, up to his knees. Warm water lapping at your lower legs does not at all prepare you for a rushing torrent of icy Alaskan stream water.

Without slowing down, I dive into the water.

My entire body shudders, and my muscles want to cramp instantly at the severe change in temperature.

I force myself to stay calm to prevent a sudden gasp and intake of water while I’m still beneath the surface.

Within seconds, the pull of the current forces me quickly downstream, rocks and boulders crashing into my legs and back as I’m forced over them.

I kick to the surface, breaching the water and gasping for breath.

No more than six feet away, Jake manages to lift his head out of the water as well.

With a sudden resurgence of need and desperation, I kick my legs, now heavy and restricted from waterlogged jeans and limited strength from the onset of hypothermia.

Jake reaches for me, and I reach for him. Our hands clasp together, although his fingers feel more like icicles than living human flesh. I pull him to me and wrap my arms around him, turning him to face away from me. “Try and relax,” I say. “Let your legs float up to the surface. I’ve got you.”

He does as he’s told.

“Now, kick with everything you have. Kick, Jake. Kick.”

His legs are no doubt also heavy with exhaustion and cold, but he manages to obey my instructions. He kicks with what he has left, as do I. A roar sounds behind me, and I turn to look, see what’s making the noise.

Rapids.

The water has taken us even farther than I expected, and the rushing creek will soon become a raging category three gauntlet.

In a rubber raft, I could get us through it, no problem.

But, cold, submerged in the icy clutches of the swollen waterway, there’s nearly a zero percent chance we’ll be making it home to dinner.

We’re losing the fight. Inching toward the bank is good, but we’re running out of real estate before reaching the beginning of the white water.

I’m starting to lose hope. My legs are exhausted, and my chest is burning.

That’s when I notice a log with a thick branch lying partially submerged in the water.

If I can get us there, we’ll have a chance.

“Kick,” I command. “Kick with all you’ve got.”

Jake’s legs splash in front of us, and I turn toward the log and do the same.

We’re almost there. Reaching with my left hand, I strain with everything I have to grasp the branch closest to us.

My fingers are so cold and feel weak as I feel for the rough bark, but I realize all my sensation is blunted—numb.

One more chance is all we have.

I lunge for the branch, this time wrapping my arm around the larger end of it.

It works. We’ve stopped moving, but that doesn’t mean the water has.

The current pulls, yanks, and tears at our bodies and soaked clothes, threatening to break us free of the fallen tree.

With sheer determination and self-preservation, I bring Jake around toward the branch and say, “Grab this and hold on tight.”

He does exactly as he’s told and with surprising coordination.

Jake, too, must be feeling this is our last chance at survival and gives it his all.

Together, we hold on and slowly pull ourselves toward the bank.

Once we get there, we’re both heaving, gasping for breath, coughing up whatever water we’ve managed to swallow and inhale.

On our hands and knees, we make it another ten feet to solid, dry ground.

“Oh, Jake.” Rebecca dives to the ground next to her husband. She’s sobbing into his shivering chest. “I thought you were gone forever.”

I manage to get to my knees and sit back onto my heels, still breathing heavily and beginning to shiver. Rebecca must have noticed what condition I’m in and stands, runs back into the trees, and reemerges with my sweatshirt and coat. “I found these as I was following you down the river.”

I’ve never been happier to see dry clothing in all my life.

I pull off the soaked t-shirt and don the sweatshirt and coat.

Immediately, warmth begins to seep back into my body, but I know from experience we’re not out of the danger zone yet.

Hypothermia is the number one killer in these parts during the late fall, winter, and early spring seasons in Alaska.

We need to start a fire, and we need to do it immediately.

“Rebecca, can you start a fire?”

She nods and pulls Jake closer to herself, rubbing his arms, trying to warm him.

“I need you to gather as many dry twigs and small branches as you can. There’s a lighter in the tackle box as well.”

“What about Jake?” she asks, worry etched across her face.

“I’ll bring him back to the quads. You have the fire going. Get it as hot as you can. We have to dry his clothing and warm him before we can even attempt the trip back.”

I scoot over to her and place my hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes. “Can you do this?”

She nods again, a look of resolve now replacing the earlier one of worry and fear. “I can do this. Hurry, though.”

I stand and lift Jake, slinging one of his arms around my shoulders and supporting his weight against mine. “Hang in there, buddy. We’re almost there.”

He nods, teeth chattering so hard I fear they might break.

His skin is pale blue, and his lips are almost purple.

I struggle a bit at first to find my footing, but once we’re stable, I carry Jake back to the quads, where Rebecca has the fire started and small flames lick at the branches she’s collected.

“Good job,” I say, laying Jake down near the base of the growing flames. “We need to get his wet clothing off and wrap him in the blankets that are strapped to my quad.”

“I’ll get the blankets,” she says.

Within minutes, Jake is out of his wet clothes and wrapped in two heavy wool blankets. Rebecca joins him, taking my advice on helping to warm him up with her body heat. The fire’s getting hotter, and I hang Jake’s clothes nearby so they can dry faster.

“Thank you,” Rebecca says, her eyes full of gratitude. “You saved his life.”

I nod and sit close to the fire, feeling the warmth and relief wash over me. “We still have to make it back to the lodge, but I’m confident we’ll be okay. Just keep that fire going and stay close to each other. We’ll be fine.”

She nods, tightening her hold on Jake as the flames crackle and grow stronger. The storm clouds are moving in, but I feel a sense of calm knowing we’re prepared and have each other.