Hellbender (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 2) (5 page)

As he passed, he said, “Just follow the bubbles, right?”

Alex looked at me for some sort of affirmation.

I said, “Should’ve waited until we were past the rock to tell you about the undercut and all that, huh? Let’s go easy forward.”

She tensed up, holding her paddle like it was a battle axe. Like she was fighting zombies. Upstream, Smurf began his talk-up.

“Relax, it’s all good. Give me a few strokes easy forward, okay? Three strokes easy.”

The boat gained speed as the river narrowed. I leaned on the paddle, ruddering to point the nose of the raft toward Pinball, the big rock just upstream of Dimple. Hitting Pinball wasn’t a great idea either.

“You’re going to stop now. Just stop.”

I kept talking mostly just to hear myself. The whoosh of the pillow got louder. “Threading the needle, Alex. Nice and easy forward now.”

Pinball got close fast, and she tensed up.

“We’re fine. This is where I want to be. I need you to keep it nice and easy forward. Three more,” I said, nearly yelling.

She started to lean toward me.

“Two more then we’re going to dig it in.” I back-paddled to keep our angle, then gave a few quick forward strokes again.

“One more, then…” I held my paddle just above the water.

The front of the boat drifted right past Pinball and I hollered, “Go! Go! Go!” Dimple got huge—seemed to double in size as we hit the big aerated pillow of whitewater that formed in front of the rock. I reached into the river and took two big J-strokes. The back of the raft was so close to Dimple I could’ve reached over and smacked the rock with my paddle.

I started back-paddling and, catching my breath, I said, “Easy, right?” She smiled and her shoulders dropped.

I said, “Not yet, I need you to back-paddle. I have to go up on the rock and give hand signals. Getting the rest of the trip through is the tough part.”

We hit the rocky shoreline, and after a quick scan for snakes, I pulled the boat onto the rocks. I handed Alex the bull rope and a throw bag. I said, “Give these to Isaiah and just hang out for a bit.”

She shrugged, mostly because I hadn’t given her any other option. “Sure thing.”

I took a few steps upstream before realizing this was kind of a ‘moment in the spotlight’ for me, so I said, “Or, you can come up and watch me?”

I stuffed the throw bag into my life jacket and led Alex up the rocky shore to a ledge where she could sit. She put on her sunglasses and clasped her hands over her knees. She looked tiny sitting in all that rhododendron at the base of the cliff.

As I climbed onto Dimple Rock, Smurf paddled into the current. I got situated as he eddied out behind Pinball. While I sat on Dimple, I ran my fingers over the cool sandstone. One of my first lessons as a guide came at this very spot. After flipping here trip after trip—with guests, with lunches, in rain or sunshine—I learned that no matter what I did, this rock would never move for me. So I got a hell of a lot better at going around it.

To get to his video spot, Duff had to push his way through the throng of geek boaters crowded onto Vulture Rock, on the other side of the main flow of water. The geeks were usually from the city, either Pittsburgh or D.C. and guides kind of hated them. They had money and drove nicer cars and acted like they owned the river. Like the bars stayed open just for them. Like all the redneck locals were no different than black flies. Like Ohiopyle was their playground, even if they only paddled when it was eighty-five degrees and sunny.

My job was to deny them any sort of entertainment. I looked over at Alex and smiled.

She didn’t smile back. Instead, she said, “So there’s a room underneath the rock?”

I nodded and that was it. Duff believed that the amount of time you spent looking at a rapid was directly proportional to your likelihood of flipping. And talking about a rapid, like Alex was doing, was even worse.

She said, “Like, water goes beneath the rock?”

I put my finger to my lips. “Shhhhh.” I pointed to draw her attention to the first

raft, now entering the channel above Dimple.

I blew my whistle to get their attention and took a deep breath.

They quickly developed a right hand angle, just like Smurf told them to. I had them drift forward. All four faces in the raft watched intently, waiting for the ‘paddle hard’ command.

“Not yet.” I shook my head and waved my hands.

“Not yet.” I held up my pointer fingers.

“Go! Go! Dig! Dig Dig!”

Their well-synchronized strokes took them easily past Pinball and I relaxed a little. I looked at Alex and raised an eyebrow. “One down.”

The second boat was already in the channel. A group of high school boys. I

blew my whistle and waved my hand to get their attention. Then I gently gave the ‘paddle forward’ signal. High school boys were the best, usually. When they didn’t want to look stupid in front of the guides. They watched me and did exactly what I asked and my hand gestures were essentially a repeat of my last set of commands.

“Right.” “Steady.” “Steady.” “Hold.” “Right.” “Hold.”

I looked over at Duff and shrugged. Days like this didn’t sell videos.

He made a ‘V’ with his fingers. “That’s only two.”

Upstream the next raft careened into the channel. I blew my whistle to get their attention, but they hit the ledge on the river left side and spun. Duff stood up when the geeks on the rock behind him started to cheer.

I blew into the whistle so hard my ears rang. I stomped my foot and yelled, but the family of four couldn’t get their shit together. From the back of the raft the dad yelled, but his two sons wouldn’t budge. Both looked a hell of a lot younger than the minimum age requirement—their life jackets looked gigantic. When I saw they weren’t going to make it I sat on the rock, preparing to put as much of my weight on the raft’s downstream tube as I could.

In one gushing motion the raft hit Dimple and swamped. The upstream tube disappeared as the river swallowed the dad. The geeks on the rock applauded when I pulled the mom and smaller kid onto Dimple with me. Clinging to the center tube, the older brother floated downstream alone in a raft filled with knee-deep water. Smurf peeled out of the eddy and hustled toward the dad.

Raucous applause from Vulture Rock alerted me to the presence of another boat already in the channel—another potential disaster. I waved my hands over my head, but the paddlers never once looked down stream at me.

“What the fuck did you tell them, Smurf?” I blew into my whistle so hard I got lightheaded. I waved my arms, but they never once looked at me.

The snowball effect was in full swing. I frantically kicked the boat away from Dimple, but the raft cart-wheeled and its paddlers disappeared below the rock. Smurf readied himself in the eddy below Washover Rock. I waited to count heads.

One by one they popped into the current below Dimple. Smurf coerced one, then two then three swimmers into the raft with the dad and his kid. The last swimmer bounced over a nasty ledge into some really shallow water. Isaiah hit her with the bull rope and pulled her to shore.

The next two rafts came through just fine, and Duff’s voice returned to a normal speaking level. He had enough carnage to sell his three videos. Shaking my head, I turned and did another head count downstream. I couldn’t believe I was having a day like this with Alex sitting right there watching. She probably thought I was a joke. Upstream, the next boat entered the channel.

Before the current could take it, a second raft pulled into the stream behind it. I blew my whistle and gave the second raft the sign to hold, but the first boat misinterpreted. They back-paddled, hit the second boat and spun sideways as they entered the channel.

The four girls in the first boat yelled at the four guys in the raft behind them. Collectively, the eight of them did a great job of ignoring me. They splashed each other with their paddles while I jumped up and down and blew my whistle. My teeth hurt from clenching my jaw over the hard plastic.

The current swept the two rafts right against the rocky ledge. They bumped and spun, clueless to the fact they should’ve been paddling. The geeks on Vulture Rock stood up, yelling and hooting. They shouted out commands to confuse the spinning rafters. “
Back! No, forward!
”

I started to lose my composure—my hand signals were like sign language to a blind man. The girls in the first boat froze. The four guys finally got their shit together, but were powerless to maneuver around the raft in front of them. I scooted toward the edge of Dimple.

The girls’ raft came at me like a mosquito to blood. I dropped onto my ass to stomp on the boat and shouted at the girls to lean into the rock. The two girls closest to me followed their instincts and jumped away.

The raft flipped.

Before the girls could surface the second boat hit the raft and flipped. Eight people swimming.

Duff put his camera down and waved his hands to stop the anymore rafts from entering the current. I stood up, looking for swimmers, counting heads. Smurf coached one of the girls and two of the guys into the raft with the swimmers from the previous flips. Isaiah snagged two girls with the bull rope, one of whom appeared to be bleeding from beneath her helmet. Probably caught a paddle.

“Mike!” I shouted. “Looking for two!”

He shook his head. “Right there!” he yelled and pointed.

In the wash behind Dimple a swimmer materialized. She jerked awake with the rush of air into her mouth. Her hands frantically cleared the hair from her eyes.

Smurf paddled into the eddy behind Dimple. “Fuck me,” he said, eyeballing me like it was my fault.

“One more,” I said. “Looking for one.”

“Collins!” Duff blew his whistle and pointed.

In the white foam pillowing in front of Dimple the last gurgling swimmer appeared, his eyes locked on the sky. He sank as fast as he’d appeared. The buoyancy of his life jacket kept him from getting swept free of the rock. He bobbed there, like a fishing lure.

Duff threw a line across the swimmer’s shoulder, a perfect shot. The swimmer didn’t respond. I got on my knees and blew my whistle, a prayer to whoever was listening. At that very moment I hated myself.
Six feet away and not a fucking thing I can do about it except blow a fucking whistle
.

“Rope! Grab it!” Duff blew his whistle and jumped up and down on the rock. “Grab the fucking rope!”

The swimmer made no motion, no movement at all except to cough.

“Grab the rope!” Duff slowly reeled his throw bag in, hoping the movement would attract the swimmer’s attention. Like trying to get a trout to notice a fly.

The swimmer washed up to Dimple again, then disappeared. I stepped to the edge of the rock and looked at Alex. She was on her feet with her hands over her mouth.

Duff blew his whistle again as he traded his throw bag to one of the geeks for a new one. Duff aimed and tossed it, another excellent shot. But there was nobody to receive it. The foam had swallowed the swimmer.

I took off my hat and threw it to Alex.
Tucker County High School Baseball
. One of the only things I grabbed when I left the house. Then I picked my own throw bag up, waved it at Duff, and tossed it to him. I yelled, “I need people in the water. Mike, get some of those guys in their boats.”

I pointed to the eddy behind Pinball. To their credit, the geeks scrambled. Maybe it was just to have the story to tell. Whatever. My hand was shaking.

I took my end of the rope, clipped a carabineer into the loop then wrapped it over my left shoulder and beneath my right armpit twice. I clipped the end Duff held back into the carabineer.

“Henry!” Duff yelled. “Collins! Don’t, man. Fucking don’t.” From the other side of Dimple Smurf yelled, “What is it?”

Duff said, “Stay in your boat and watch me. Got it? Just stay in your boat.” “Just follow the bubbles,” I told myself. “Follow the bubbles.”

I locked eyes with Duff on Vulture Rock. A thousand miles away. “Don’t let go, man.” I laughed when I said it.

And before he could say anything back, I dropped into the water to the right of the hole where I thought the swimmer was.

Cold washed over me and took my breath. The rush of current filled my ears. I fought to surface. The green of the deep pool gave way to the clear blue of late morning sky as I found my feet on the ledge. On the other side of the rock Smurf yelled at Isaiah to get the radio from the big first aid kit and to get on it.

I could no longer see the swimmer. I swept my foot through the current hoping he’d be close enough to grab.

“Do you see him?” I stood in the shallow water next to Dimple with my left hand on the rock. “Does anybody see him?” I yelled.

Dimple loomed next to me, same as it always had. The swimmer had vanished, swallowed by the hole below the rock. I turned, giving one last look at Mike on Vulture Rock. He shook his head ‘no’.

To deny why I was doing it would’ve been stupid. Jane drowning. Me staying up night after night thinking about how I could’ve saved her. I knew if I died saving this guy nobody’d be able to say anything about me not doing enough for Janie.