But it was the dogs that were likely to find us first. And I could hear them, their incessant barks and growls growing closer and closer to where Tyler and I stood on the ledge, our hands clasped together so tightly I was sure I’d left fingernail marks in his skin.
“This is crazy,” I shouted, easing closer to the rocky threshold.
Tyler smiled, and I thought it was the most amazing smile I’d seen in my life. I hoped it wasn’t the last time I’d see it. “Or the best.” He squeezed my hand in return.
The dogs and the agents and the flashlights all broke through the tree line behind us at the same time. Their lights bobbed frantically, converging on us in unison.
I wavered, scrambling to decide which fate was worse. But then Tyler squeezed my hand again, and I counted to three. And as if he’d been doing the same, we both leaped at once.
When the icy waters enveloped me, I forgot how—or why—to breathe.
There were only two things I knew for sure.
One, that I was trapped.
And two, I was going to die at the bottom of this effing river.
Most people talk about how their lives flash before their eyes right before they die. That didn’t happen for me. All I could think of, all that kept going through my head, was that it was a fanny pack that had gotten me killed.
And instead of spending my last minutes reflecting on the bucket list of things I should have done, or the things I wished I’d done better, or all the people I wanted to made amends to, I was pissed that I’d gone after the stupid fanny pack in the first place.
What had I been thinking? The current had been too strong, dragging the pack along the bottom until it had gotten caught in a tangle of fallen trees at the bottom of the river.
And here I was, my foot snared by that same twisted gnarl of branches at the bottom of the river. At least if Tyler finally decided to give up on trying to save me, he’d have the pack, because it would be clenched in my cold, dead fingers.
My chest ached as I desperately kicked and kicked and kicked again, trying to free my ankle from the fallen tree. I was no longer cold, even beneath the freezing waters, which I was sure was because of the panic that sent white-hot jolts of adrenaline surging through me every few seconds. The river’s currents continued to pull and drag and suck at me, although less so down here, so far beneath the surface.
I reached down and tried to wrench my foot free, but my hands were useless. I could see the way my ankle was wedged beneath the massive trunk, caught between the twisted branches, and I wondered how I’d managed to get it so lodged in the first place.
If I hadn’t been at death’s door I would’ve been impressed that I could see it all so clearly in the dark and murky riverbed.
I saw Tyler too. Swimming toward me from the water’s surface. I don’t know why he kept coming back down; I was a lost cause, but he refused to quit.
Again I tried to wave him away, gesturing for him to give up on me, but he ignored my flailing protests and went straight to work on my ankle instead. This time, the fourth time he’d come down for me, he had a hefty section of branch in his hand.
He used it like a tool while bubbles rose from his mouth, and from mine. He had to be tired from fighting the currents and from exerting himself time and again, but he refused to quit, stabbing at the branches and trying to free my ankle.
I reached for his shoulder, grasping a handful of his shirt and signaling for him to leave me. It wasn’t going to work, and I didn’t have much time left. He’d already had to go back up for air three times; how much longer could I possibly last?
He jerked away from my grip and positioned the sturdy piece of wood beneath the tree trunk that was pinning my ankle. He was crazy; there was no way that thing was going to budge. But he was far more stubborn than I’d given him credit for.
He leveraged his branch, which was far flimsier looking than the trunk he was determined to move, and when he put his weight on it—all the weight he could manage in the water—it moved all right. It shifted.
But in the wrong direction.
The weight of the trunk rolled even farther onto my ankle, shattering the bones with a crunch that may or may not have been audible beneath the water. All I knew was pain like no other.
I opened my mouth to scream, fire bursting in my foot and spreading everywhere. Bubbles and muted sounds rushed from my throat as the last of my air reserve burst out of me. It took everything I had not to inhale then. Not to gasp in huge lungfuls of the frigid river water in my next breath.
Black crept in around the edges of my vision.
Tyler’s face registered his mistake for only a second before he threw himself on top of his makeshift lever once more. Adrenaline and pure determination were propelling him now, and somehow, someway, that combination was enough, because that one last effort did the trick. The trunk rolled away from me.
Barely, but enough.
My foot, the bones crushed and still throbbing, slipped free from its trap.
Lying on the shore, Tyler and I stretched out on our backs and stared up at the sliver of a moon making its appearance between clouds that moved like tiny, silver-tinged vines, creeping in and over and across the sky.
Tyler was panting and breathless, while I shivered, my teeth chattering in an endless rhythm, waiting for the tingling in my ankle to subside.
It was the strangest sensation, the awareness of my own bone re-forming beneath my skin. I could feel the broken pieces moving and shifting, remodeling themselves. It pricked and itched and tickled and stung. I didn’t move. I just let it happen while I lay there, wondering at it all because it was too new and strange and unusual to do anything else.
I thought about Agent Truman and his shattered fingers, and guessed at how long it would take them to heal.
When the process was complete, when the last fragment of bone had knit itself back into place, I could roll my ankle without so much as wincing.
After what felt like an eternity, and when I was sure we were both still alive and relatively unscathed, I held up the fanny pack, still dripping with river water, and announced, “Got it.”
Tyler rolled onto his side and glared down at me. “You scared the shit out of me. You were down there way too long.” He cupped my chattering jaw. “How did you do that, Kyra? Could you . . . breathe under there?”
My eyebrows lowered. “Breathe? No?” But I thought about it. Tyler had gone back up for air three times while I’d been forced to hold my breath the entire time. “Of course not,” I maintained.
“Do you have any idea how long you were down there?”
I shook my head. I didn’t. I’d lost all sense of time.
“It had to have been ten, maybe even fifteen minutes.”
I let my head fall back until I was staring at the sky again, watching the viney clouds part and shift and reveal pieces of the moon. Behind us the river, the place that should’ve been my tomb, continued to gush and flow.
Fifteen minutes was forever. In fifteen minutes I should’ve been dead.
But here I was.
Tyler appeared above me then, his eyes glittering mischievously. “I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” I asked, nearly forgetting to breathe again.
“Die,” he clarified. “I’m really glad you didn’t die on me.” His fingertips brushed my lips, and my pulse quickened.
I laughed, wishing I had half the control over my reactions to being near him as I did when I threw a ball. “Thanks. Me too.” And then I shot upright, my brow wrinkling. “Tyler? You’re nose. It’s bleeding again.”