Wild River: Day Six–Thirty Days Later

The clouds remain low and dark, with tendrils of mist that reach almost to the ground.

It’s a great relief not to be showered on, or drizzled on, or pelted by a downpour.

We search the leaden sky, the clouds so low they touch the trees.

No cries for help. No whimpers. Deke, frantic, gets all the way to the bottom of that debris pile.

Imani and Mia duck beneath the branch, and then, ever so carefully, they drag out a frail and broken body, and carry her clear of the leaves under which she’d been hidden.

We not only strive to save ourselves, we do whatever it takes to save Cindi Beacon.

The bear starts making a huffing noise. Oof! Oof! Oof! It sounds ticked off, angry. And it shuffles around, directly facing us from about thirty yards away.

Bears look kind of slow and ambling when they’re walking around sniffing at stuff, but when they charge, the speed is unreal.

“Deep enough to cut me.” Deke sounds grumpy. Who could blame him?
“Sorry. Looks like three claws grazed you on the way by. I’m going to open one of these antiseptic wipes, and then we’ll bandage you up.”

Deke grimaces, but doesn’t moan or cry out.

Mostly she’s out of it, muttering about stuff that doesn’t make any sense. Imani says it’s called delirium.

That will be the end of our great and terrible adventure, struggling to survive in the Montana wilderness. Teaching ourselves how to tame the Crazy River. The killing river. Making grown-up decisions and grown-up mistakes. Being given the chance to balance the tragedy by saving one of the adults who tried so hard to help us.

All kinds of creatures out there, capable of inflicting great harm, and the river itself can be deadly.

But it makes sense a super-wealthy dude like Byron James would spare nothing to locate his missing daughter.

Mia, leading from the front, joins in the optimistic chatter.
“Today is the day. I like the sound of that. First thing when I get back to civilization, wash my hair! Then eat a Big Mac. So icky but so delicious!”

The raft is the same one that carried us through white water on the very first day. Astonishing that it survived the flood without any obvious damage.

Ripping along with the white water is like riding a toboggan down a bumpy slope, only softer.

I hope Cindi has passed out, because every twist and jounce must hurt.

The raft is amazingly buoyant. No matter how steep the wave, it bounces back on top.

Then we’re thumping in steep shallows, barely clearing the rocky bottom. Mist rises from the turbulence like steam, making it difficult for either of us to see what lies ahead.

The raft pitches forward—backward for us—and the bow area is submerged for a second before popping back up.

The downdraft from the blades roars like a hurricane, knocking leaves and small branches from
 the shivering aspen trees, spreading white rings in the water.
The noise is overwhelming.

After we back away, the cradle rises, slowly turning a graceful pirouette as they pull it into the helicopter.

Cindi Beacon, the Tiny Dancer who scored that amazing goal, will soon be on her way to the closest trauma center.

The docs will need to give you a thorough checkup, make sure you’re good to go, but first there’s somebody who wants to see you.

I never knew Mom was so strong. She practically cracks my ribs as she nuzzles my hair and strokes my face.

The physical examination takes a lot longer than I expected. No, they didn’t count my freckles, but they checked everything else, from heart rate to lung capacity.

On the downside, cadaver dogs are out searching the Crazy for the remains of Sky Hanson. It’s possible his body has been buried under so much flood debris that it will never be found, but we owe it to him to try.

The four of us are up in the bleachers of the Sky Hanson Gymnasium, witnessing the dedication ceremony for the brand-new Byron James Regional Middle School. It’s quite a spectacle.

Cindi Beacon wanted to be there, but is about to enter a long-term rehab facility.