Page 4 of Curves for the Mountain Man

My eyes fixate on the ATV I drove, headed in the most remote, isolated direction I know until it ran out of gas. The only trace of humanity is an old forest service road that’s been in disuse for years.

I wipe the back of my hand over my wet cheeks, remembering photos of the flag-draped line of my comrades’ coffins. I should have attended their funerals. Instead, I lay face down in a hospital bed, enduring excruciating surgeries and unraveling mentally.

Hours pass, and early afternoon sets in. I haven’t moved an inch since my first and only piss-poor attempt. Maybe I don’t want to off myself after all. But I don’t know what to live for, either. A frigid April breeze blasts my face, announcing a coming blizzard.

Screaming at the sky, I challenge, “If you want me to live so badly, give me a fucking reason!”

I swallow loudly, simultaneously waiting for something epic and fully convinced miracles and divine interventions don’t happen to men like me.

“Fucking silence,” I rant, shaking my head and looking at my shaking hands some more. “Fucking silence.” I laugh into that silence, sounding like a madman.

Suddenly, a high-pitched cry, throbbing with urgency, shatters the atmosphere, arresting my attention … too clear and distinct to deny. A female scream.

What the fuck?

Jumping to my feet, I crouch by the tree, straining my ears until I hear it again, louder and headed in my direction…a visceral howl of terror.

Boom! A gunshot shatters the fragile quiet of the woods, bouncing off large boulders and tree trunks and reflecting back in increasingly faint echoes. The crack of an AR-15. Without thinking, I flip the cylinder of my revolver open, index the sole bullet, close it, and cock my gun. As I retread my earlier path, my eyes rove toward the bushes where I scattered the remaining rounds, finding one, which I load. Another scream compels me forward, unwilling to waste another second.

As I approach silently, the soundscape tells a story of fright and desperation—heavy breathing, whimpers, cries, breaking twigs, and thudding footfalls. I have the advantage, stealthy in my approach. Behind the cover of trees, I scan the valley, spotting a curly-haired man dressed in black and carrying the AR-15. Well ahead of him, I spy shimmers of blonde hair in the threading strands of afternoon sunlight yet to be gobbled by dark storm clouds.

A woman sprints into the water, evading the man hunting her. Immediately, the current sweeps her off her feet, steamrolling her downriver. Unseasonably warm temperatures and snow melt prior to today’s blizzard mean the river is swollen and deadly. If she can survive the initial ride and the frigid temperature, however, the extra water’s cushion may save herin a tumble over the falls. After that, there’s nothing but hell to pay…

The man raises his weapon as the current drags her under. Each time her head bobs up, enveloped in a swirl of whitewater, he struggles for a clean shot. His actions tell me everything I need to know about this lowlife.

I line him up in my sight, my finger tightens on the trigger, and my forearm flexes. But at the last second, he disappears behind a thicket of trees. And urgent, new priorities steer my course away from this game of cat and mouse.

The woman.

I race the river toward the falls, the golden-haired woman’s final destination, relying on agility I’ve honed through years of freerunning and forest parkour. Her odds of surviving a drop over Breakneck Falls are forty-sixty, thanks to current water levels. She may get lucky. Either way, I’ll be there when she bubbles back to the surface.

Fighting to catch my breath and surveying the angry water in the pool beneath the chutes, I wait, taut for action. Suddenly, a golden head bobs above the swirl, accompanied by skin as white as the snow falling around me.

Seizing a large branch, I skim the surface of the water, giving her something to hold onto. Weak from fighting the river and the intense cold of the water, she struggles against the twisting currents. I’m tempted to follow her into the rapids.

But I must maintain my body temperature to warm her up if this rescue proves successful. Her body slams into the branch as she twists and twirls in the torrent, her arms tangling with the lifeline. She flutters, like laundry on the line, caught in the ferocity of a tornado, as I pull the branch towards me.

“Don’t let go!” I scream, inching her closer and closer until I seize slick, icy fingers and a handful of wet clothing, heaving against the current. But her grasp has no strength, and themossy, slippery rock I balance on denies me grip and stability. Pulling her towards me, I lose my balance, dragged into the swirl of ferocious white. Heart-stopping cold greets me, numbing my limbs and making my lungs strain for air. I fight to keep my mouth above water as she slides back into the river’s chaos.

Motherfucker!

Gripping her around her shoulders, I struggle against the current siphoning us towards the rapids of the pool. Each stroke and kick drags us back further, the maelstrom greedy for two victims.

Digging deep, I surge forward with a great burst of energy, kicking us free. Edging out of the current, I navigate towards calmer waters, but the respite remains fleeting. She gasps and chokes as I fight toward the riverbank.

Suddenly, the water hastens.Is this struggle all in vain?The thought crests in my mind as we slam sickeningly against a large, root-encrusted boulder. My legs tangle in roots beneath the water’s surface, the current racing so fast that I could end up with broken legs if I’m not careful.

Leveraging my legs and summoning brute force, I shove the woman halfway up onto the boulder above us. She feebly grasps at the slippery surface, her strength waning. From the waist down, she remains precariously caught in the torrential water.

Resolve slams into me hard. This womanwillsurvive…no matter what it fucking takes. I dig deep, summoning intestinal fortitude.

“Don’t let go!” I command between chattering teeth and fast-paced breathing.

Her eyes look wide and wild, the direness of the moment etched in them. One wrong move, one misplaced grip, and we’ll both be swept to our deaths. Because I refuse to live without saving her.

Her arms tremble, her grip weak. She’s past chattering teeth, her body sinking into hypothermia. Tangling my legs more tightly in the roots, I grunt, shoving her ass up onto the rocks where she lies on her belly, quivering and sputtering.

I will myself out of the water onto the rock next to her, our faces two inches apart. I register with dull horror her glassy, unblinking stare, ivory skin, and powder-blue lips. But the faint warmth of her breath hits my icy cheek.There’s still hope.

---