Page 36 of One Last Stand

Then they dropped, splashing down, hitting the river with such force it knocked out Shep’s breath.

The frigid water jerked Tomas’s grip.

Shep’s feet hit bottom, the cold nearly stopping his heart, but he jammed his elbow back and hit Tomas. The man broke away, and Shep pushed to the surface.

The current grabbed him and wrestled him downstream, the cold in his brain, his cells, colliding with his reflexes. He slammed against boulders, the pain sharp and bright, his body numbing, and in the darkness, he was a pin ball.

He got a glimpse once of Tomas, also fighting to stay afloat, but still crazily hard after him. What was his problem?

Shep flopped in the water, turning, his legs rubber as he tried to kick to shore.

Then, the thunder.Oh no. . . because despite the darkness, in his bones he knew?—

Waterfall.

Aw—so he’d take it back. Give him the cabin and a fighting chance with Tomas. Water choked him, running over his face, into his eyes, his mouth. He turned, tried to kick, but he could barely feel his body. The fact that when he hit rock it didn’t break his bones like before probably wasn’t a good thing. Mostly because he couldn’t feel it, so who knew what damage he might really have.

Maybe God would be merciful and he’d die before he went over?—

Nope. The current grabbed him, spun him, rolled him over and over. Then—lights. They shone down over the falls, the water, and he looked up to see—what? Achopper.Maybe the Air One chopper—which seemed crazy, but . . .

Then the door opened, and in the opening stood a form—Axel. He had hooked onto the line, appeared about to go in the water?—

The current grabbed Shep and sent him over.

The dump of water gobbled him whole, pummeled him, pushed him to the rocky bottom. His feet scrubbed and he pushed hard, surging up, and popped out of the froth, gasping.

The chopper hovered above the falls and he waved his hand—“Axel!”

But the roar ate his words, and the current again grabbed him, spun him. He fought it, turning, and in the glow of the spotlight, glimpsed Tomas shooting out, dropping hard.

The chopper rose up, the light washing away from him toward the churn of the water.

No—he was over here!

But maybe they’d lost him, had gone back to search.

Shep rolled to his stomach.Swim.Swim and get away, and then the team could pick him up. His arms might be moving—he couldn’t tell. But here, the current calmed a little, not quite as rampant. He had nothing left, so he rolled onto his back, feet out, and rode the river, glancing back to the tumult of the falls.

No Tomas, so maybe . . .

No.He didn’t wish death on anyone. . . .

Overhead, the moonlight pierced the clouds, turning the river silvery, the forest skeletal, the chopper still upstream.

His body had numbed now, and he started to shake, his core temp dropping. The current roughened, his eyes blinded. He coughed water—there wasn’t a hope he’d survive another plunge.

Then, up ahead, on a rock outcropping, he spotted a downed tree across the water.

Please, hands, work.

He reached out for the branch—more of a log, really, with a few remaining bushy arms. He missed the first branch, the trunk rolling past his frozen hand, but just as he passed under it, a miracle. The tree shifted, and a branch caught him in its V.

He turned and threw both arms around the space, hugging the trunk. Sorta. Maybe. But the river pushed him into the curve of the branches, pinned him there.

He clasped his hands, barely feeling them, and tried to hold on, kicking, angling for balance. The tree had been in the water for a while, much of it bare with a tangle of branches, but maybe not so long that it had turned brittle, because it held his weight.

But he couldn’t haul himself up on it.

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