Take Me to the River (9 page)

Chapter 18
You Can't Get There from Here

D
OLLY WAS FAR FROM
done. We flew down the canyon into the teeth of the redoubled storm. Lightning struck upstream and down. Torrents of rain slashed at us, and the wind-tossed waves attacked from all sides. Waterfalls even more spectacular than before cascaded from the canyon rims.

As we rounded the corner a mile below the cave, I slid off my seat and into the whitewater position, my knees spread wide against the hull of the canoe. I had a Class 1 rapid to put behind me. It was coming up soon, where Silber Canyon entered from the Texas side.

On a day like this, with a major rapid lying in wait only a few miles on, a Class 1 tune-up was okay by me.

Suddenly the side canyon came into view. A second later I heard the roar of flash flooding. A couple of heartbeats after that and I saw how much water Silber Canyon was dumping into the Rio Grande—hugely more than the Rio Grande itself had been running when we set out on this ill-fated adventure.

I drew a deep breath. Rio was already starting down the tongue of the rapid. The wave train waiting for him below was enormous, like a succession of rearing, white-maned horses. Class 1? No way. Class 3 was more like it.

I've got a spray cover, I told myself. I'm not gonna swamp. I'm also not gonna capsize. You ran Class 3 rapids back home, and you got pretty good at it.

I took a quick glimpse below to see how Rio was faring. He was riding the wave train like a roller coaster, keeping the raft straight while pushing through the troughs and over the top of each exploding wave. My eyes went to Diego, up front in the raft with Carlos, hanging on as best he could. Carlos wasn't helping him. Carlos had one hand on the grab line that ran around the raft; the other was pointing a gun at his boatman. How insane was that for Rio?

Almost too late, I focused on my own situation. I was starting down the tongue. It was steep and it was fast. There wasn't a chance in the world Carlos had made it through this rapid with the rowboat. He must have rowed to shore above it or swam to shore below it.

Down the narrowing tongue I went. I had to hit every roller in the wave train just right: up and down and up and down and up and down until I was all the way through. A moment's lapse and I would capsize.

I rose onto the first wave. I had never climbed a wave this high. I paddled hard to get over the top and nearly spilled in a cascade of whitewater. Leaning to my right and reaching with my paddle blade, I was able to brace on the wave, or I would have gone over.

My roller coaster was only beginning. With the rain in my face, I battled for position in every trough, fought to stay upright over the summit of every crashing wave.

I got a cheer from my cousin, parked in the eddy, as I flew past them. Diego was safely inside the raft. So was the man with the gun.

I was able to pull into the bottom of the eddy and ride it upstream to the raft. I brought the canoe alongside.

Rio pumped his fist. “Big-time, Dylan, big-time!”

“So far, so good,” I allowed. I reached for my bailer and started tossing out water. My spray covers had saved me from swamping, but even so, some of the waves had splashed into the canoe on account of the uncovered section immediately around me. The gunman's face, watching me bail while keeping track of Rio, was all calculation, cold calculation.

Diego was trembling, and not from the cold.

My cousin got back to business. “San Rosendo Canyon is going to come up fast, Dylan. The river should pool up at the top of Hot Springs Rapid. We'll take out and scout on the right side, like the book says. Don't jam me, or I won't have time to land and catch you when you come in. And don't float into the rapid, no matter what. You won't have any protection waiting downstream if you do.”

“Got it,” I said.

“But if the river doesn't pool up above the rapid, and we can't get to the shore, I'll have to run it and so will you.”

Diego's face quickened with terror. The face of his kidnapper betrayed uncertainty, suspicion, and hatred. He hated us, and he hated the lack of total control.

Rio's jaw was clenched as he pulled back into the current. He didn't seem at a loss, like me, and he didn't appear to be sick to his stomach. How could he not be thinking of his father, like I suddenly found myself thinking of my parents, my sisters, and my brother? Did he actually believe we were going to live through this?

Clench your own jaw, and don't make any stupid mistakes. You might have to run Hot Springs at flood stage, real soon.

The rain slackened somewhat. The next few miles flew by all too fast. We might've been going ten miles an hour. After a long, straight run, the river jogged right, then left. A deep cleft in the Lower Canyons appeared on the Mexican side—San Rosendo Canyon already.

At the mouth of the deep side canyon, the Rio Grande appeared to be coming to a dead end. That wasn't possible. It meant the river was bending sharply left at the top of Hot Springs Rapid.

Rio swept ever closer to the brink, me following closer than I would have liked. Where was the eddy water, so I could put on the brakes?

Suddenly we had a strong wind at our backs, and driving rain again, right when we could've used a break. “You're inhuman, Dolly,” I muttered, and laughed at my weak attempt at gallows humor.

Focus
, I commanded myself, hearing the full-throated roar of Hot Springs Rapid. Whitewater was spitting up from below the first drop. The river was pooling up behind the brink of the rapid as Rio had predicted. We should be able to go to shore above the rapid and scout it.

As we drew ever closer, the roar of the rapid ever more ferocious, I had to fight hard to keep my stomach down. This was just too much.

There was no beach to land on, nothing like that. Everything was flooded. Rio found a landing spot, though, against a gigantic slab of limestone. Carlos stepped onto it, tie-rope in one hand and pistol in the other.

Carlos snubbed the raft against the boulder and told Diego to climb out. Diego did as he was told, and stood glassy-eyed in the rain. Carlos tied the raft to a nearby mesquite. Rio helped me land the canoe alongside the raft. “I sure hope San Rosendo is flash-flooding,” he whispered. “Too bad we can't tell from here.”

Carlos returned to the raft. His backpack was on the front thwart, and he wanted Rio to hand it out to him, slowly. Rio did as he was told. The backpack was heavy, I noticed, with what was left of the canned meat we had given him, his extra ammunition clips, and maybe a jug of water.

“Take care of Diego,” Rio said to Carlos, as if in parting.

“Nice try, Texas,” Carlos replied with heavy sarcasm. “You two are going with us all the way to that ranch house. If I can't get any help there, we're coming back to your boat for a ride down the river. You're stuck with me until I say different.”

“Okay by me,” Rio said almost cheerfully. “We can help make sure Diego gets out safely.”

“Let's go see what shape the road is in. We all go together, you two clowns in front.”

I strapped the canoe to the side of the raft and stepped to the shore. Carlos gave us a wide berth and told us to take the lead. I followed Rio through the brush. It was a short walk but hard to get through unscathed in the rain. Rio slipped in the mud and went down on the knee he'd injured previously. A catclaw mesquite raked the back of my hand and drew blood.

The brush gave way as we approached the high, stony ground separating our landing spot from the side canyon. As we topped out, we were greeted by a monstrous roar. The mouth of San Rosendo Canyon, wall to wall, was filled with raging floodwater.

The kidnapper and his muddy captive joined us at our vantage point. Carlos cut loose with a torrent of Spanish curses.

“There's nothing left of the road,” Rio said matter-of-factly.

“I see with my eyes, Texas. I don't need a fool to say the obvious. It will be harder without the road. We'll have to keep to high ground. Stay above the flood.”

On our side of San Rosendo Canyon, that didn't seem possible. The talus slopes below the cliffs were radically steep and choked with cactus and spear-sharp yuccas.

The killer's eyes were on the other side of San Rosendo Canyon. The slopes there were more barren and not nearly as steep. As far as we could see, that side of the canyon was walkable. The ranch Carlos was trying to get to, however, was twelve miles from the river. Who knows what we would run into.

“We'll try the other side,” Carlos said.

Rio shook his head. “You can't get there from here.”

“Not by foot, Texas.”

“How, then?”

Carlos pointed to the Rio Grande, to Hot Springs Rapid, where the flood leaving the side canyon boiled into the far greater flood coming down the river. “The answer is obvious. You take us through the rapid, we land downstream, we hike up the other side of San Rosendo Canyon.”

“Easier said than done, Carlos,” Rio said coolly.

“I have confidence in you, Texas.”

For the first time, I took a good look at Hot Springs Rapid. It was peppered with boat-eating holes where the whitewater poured over submerged boulders and back on itself.

Rio asked how it looked to me.

“Sick,” I replied.

Chapter 19
Ready, Boys?

H
OT
S
PRINGS
R
APID AT
flood stage was scary enough. From our scouting spot it was a gut-wrenching sight. In the rain, with thunder rumbling and a gun at our backs, it was nothing short of terrifying. The rapid's first drop was a beast, and more hazards waited below. If I capsized, there'd be no swimming out of the current for as far as I could see, maybe a mile. “Too much jeopardy,” I said over the roar of the rapid. “This has got to be Class 4.”

Rio looked grim. “No doubt about it.”

“I've met my match. What do you say we ditch the canoe, like you were saying we might have to? Are you sure you'll be able to come back for it with your dad, like you were talking about?”

“Pretty sure, but that doesn't matter. Getting home alive is the only thing.”

“Ready, boys?” Carlos called mockingly.

I glanced at Rio. “You pretty sure you can take the raft through this?”

“If I enter the sweet spot we should be okay.”

My cousin and I started down the trail to the boats. Carlos followed, holding Diego back.

I untied the canoe. Rio pulled it halfway out of the water. “What are you two doing?” yelled Carlos.

Rio explained that the rapid was too dangerous to attempt in a canoe. We were going to leave it behind.

Carlos thought about that for about two seconds. “Oh no, you don't,” he said with a toothy smile.

“It's a good deal all around,” I hastened to say. “I can hang on to Diego—make sure he stays in the raft.”

Diego brightened at the idea. Carlos scowled. “Good try, Carolina. That last rapid . . . you looked like a pro! You're afraid, that's all. Suck it up, kid! I want to see how you do when you're paddling for your life!”

“Carlos,” Rio intervened. “All of us need to work together if we're going to get through this.”

“Save it, Texas! You have no idea who you are talking to!”

“If I could just explain,” I put in, trying to appear calm. “This is Class 4 water. I would if I could, but I can't.”

“You'll try anyway. This will be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Fun for me to watch. You have a life jacket. What's the big deal?”

“Life jacket or no, it's too dangerous. Tell you what, I'll ride in the back of the raft.”

“You don't tell
me
anything,” Carlos hissed. “I tell
you
. You don't get it, Carolina. What do I need with you? One idiot is easier to keep track of than two. If you keep this up, I'm going to shut your mouth forever.”

The hit man pointed the big pistol at my heart.

“He'll do it!” Diego cried. “Dylan, he'll kill you!”

“With pleasure,” Carlos added.

“On second thought,” I said with a grim laugh, “I think I can paddle this rapid.”

Rio eased the canoe back into the water. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. “I know you can,
primo
. Just follow my route.”

The killer waved me into the canoe with his pistol. Rio saw to Diego's life jacket and the harness we had attached it to, pulling the straps tight. “Stay brave,” he told the boy.

Diego fought to keep from crying. “I'll try,” he promised.

Rio went to the mesquite and untied the raft. The rain beat down ever harder. He returned to the raft so deep in thought, he appeared to be in a trance. He looked fierce, and much older than fifteen. I realized how much I had been counting on him all the way down the river. What was he thinking, now that we were totally up against it?

Carlos had already taken the boy to the front of the raft, but was hesitant to sit down. Rio knelt on the shore, securing the coiled tie-rope at the stern. “Put your gun away,” he called to Carlos. “Neither you nor Diego has a chance of staying in the raft unless you do. Stay in the center of the boat, on the cross tube, and hold on the best you can.”

“With my back to you, Texas? That's not gonna happen.”

“If you're gonna sit on the side of the raft, sit in front of Diego, so your body will shield him from the waves. No bailing is required; this is a self-bailing raft. Your only job is to hang on to him!”

Carlos sat where he pleased, on the outside tube, then yanked Diego into place.

Rio launched the raft. It was already drifting up the eddy as he stepped forward into the boatman's compartment.

I pivoted the canoe and followed him up the eddy. “You can do it, Dylan!” he called. “I've got you covered. Keep an eye out for Diego in case he's in the river!”

“Got it,” I croaked. I felt weak all over. I couldn't even swallow, my throat was so dry. I suddenly noticed a blister from that last rapid. It was on my right forefinger, and had already torn open without me even knowing it was there. Suddenly it was killing me.

I took a deep breath, and another. I slid off the seat onto my knees. I braced them against the hull. “Keep low,” I reminded myself. “Keep your balance.”

Rio was at the top of the eddy. He waited until I wasn't so far behind him, gave me a thumbs-up, and pulled onto the current.

As I left the eddy water, the current took me so violently I nearly tipped over. Barely in time, I righted the canoe and paddled to catch up. This was going to go fast.

You can do this,
I told myself, but only if you believe you can. Your spray covers, front and back, will keep most of the water out. Get in tune with the river. Stay calm, be brave, you're going to live through this. Paddle strong, do your thing the best you're able.

All the while, I was visualizing the rapid, which I wouldn't be able to see until the last second. Enter right of center, try to walk the line between the wave train and the huge hole on the right side. After that, “read and run.”

Rio was closing fast on the brink. I saw Carlos stuff the pistol under his waistband. He passed one arm behind Diego's back and took hold of the grab line with both hands. Diego's hands were at his sides, with a tight grip on the grab line. He looked over his shoulder at me, his face a frozen mask.

I tugged on the cinches at the side of my life jacket. They were good and tight.

The river was bending hard to the left. I wondered if Rio was going to be able to enter right of center, where he intended. The overwhelmingly powerful current was pulling him left. Unless he could break out of it, he was going to be out of position. The raft would flip for certain as soon as he went over the edge.

Rio cocked the raft to the left and pulled hard to the right, hard as he could. I was afraid he had waited too long, and wouldn't have time to pivot the boat and take the drop straight on.

He was gaining on it, and finally he was right where he needed to be. At the last second he executed the pivot and straightened out. The raft disappeared over the brink with the bow pointed directly downstream.

I adjusted while I still could. The brink of the rapid was a horizon line clear across the river. I couldn't see over it, not yet. It felt like I was about to go over the edge of the world.

Suddenly I could see it all. I saw the disaster hole on the far left, with its monster backlash off the limestone slab. I saw the enormous wave train down the center. Rio was on it, and he was upright, four or five waves down. I saw a vicious hole underneath the brink on my right and the powerful whirlpool beyond it.

Most of all, I could see the tightrope I needed to walk between the wave train and the hazards on the right side. My path for the next fifty yards was no more than three feet wide. I was going to have to stay right on it.

Over the edge I went—down, down, down. I fought to stay off the wave train that Rio had ridden. Never had I seen the likes of those churning haystacks of violent whitewater. I had to keep right of that whole roller coaster.

With quick strokes and strong braces, leaning into my danger when the waves attacked from the side, this balancing act was taking everything I had.

So far, so good. I was fighting my way through an obstacle course. It was all I could do to avoid the reversals where the river was pouring over submerged boulders. Drop into one of them and I was done.

I caught a glimpse of Rio. He was done with the wave train and halfway through the tail waves. And now he was cocking the boat to start pulling for the Mexican shore.

Rio was still working right, and closing in on the shore. Me, no way. I was lucky not to be swimming. My canoe was out in the middle of the river and passing him by.

As soon as my cousin saw I wasn't going to be able to land, he leaned on the oars, pivoted the raft, and started pulling back toward the center of the river. I saw Carlos leap up with the gun and yell at Rio. Rio yelled back at him. Carlos pointed the gun, threatening to shoot. Rio ignored him and kept rowing. He was going to cover me no matter what.

I couldn't get any closer to shore. I had taken a scary amount of water into my open cockpit, and lost most of my maneuverability. With waves still crashing, a time-out for bailing was out of the question. If I quit paddling, I would swamp completely. As it was, I kept taking water, and the canoe was wallowing badly. Where was an eddy when I needed one?

As the river bent to the right, a cliff wall loomed on the Mexican side. Hundreds of feet high, it soared straight out of the river. If I couldn't get to shore before that wall, the cliff would make it impossible to hike back to San Rosendo Canyon. Carlos would be furious if he couldn't hike out to that ranch.

Try as I might, it couldn't be done. The river swept me past the cliff.

The sheer wall, about a hundred yards long, stirred the river into a frenzy downstream—a huge, boiling eddy.

I struggled with everything I had to reach the eddy water. At the last second I was able to catch it. I rode it upstream to a small beach where the cliffs ended. I got out and dragged the canoe onto the shore. Rio was about to shoot on by. I hollered and waved my hat and hollered some more.

Rio spotted me and pulled with everything he had, trying to catch the eddy.

He caught it. It would take them a minute to float upstream to the beach where I waited, full of dread. What was Carlos going to do now?

I sucked on my forefinger, which was bleeding, and noticed that the rain had stopped. I looked skyward and noticed something. The clouds were racing, chased by another air mass. Downstream, between two cloudbanks, a seam of blue sky was showing.

My eyes went back to the raft. Diego had come through the rapid safely. That was something to be thankful for.

Carlos was boiling with rage.