Nowhere Wild (19 page)

Below the confluence, everything did run faster. The second river entered from their left. Remnant snowmelt and the recent rains pushed the water into a gigantic standing wave as the two flows crashed into each other.

“Dig! Hard!” Jake shouted at Izzy as the river threatened to spin them end for end. Jake flipped the paddle from one side to the other, not so much paddling as using the paddle as a lever against the side to correct the path of the out-of-control canoe. He should have gotten out and scouted the approach. The voice in his head was no longer his grandfather's. It was his own.

“Which side?” Izzy yelled. Ahead, mist thrown into the air betrayed the location of the falls. They seemed much bigger than he remembered.

The right side seemed so much closer—calmer. An outcrop of rock created a swirling eddy that would allow them safe access to the shore. On the left, the water ran straight and fast. They'd have only one chance to cross it before plunging over the edge. The right side would have been the sensible choice—the easy choice. If he could see that, then Rick would have seen that, too.

“Go left!”

“Left?” Izzy glanced back at Jake as if he were crazy.

“Left. Hard! Now!”

He slammed the paddle against the stern. Izzy reached over the port gunwale, stuck the paddle into the water, and pulled. The canoe barely moved to the side. Panic seized him. He had waited too long. Jake rammed the paddle deeper into the current, nearly breaking it trying to lever the keel over.

“Paddle!” Jake ordered.

The port side dug into the water. White foam splashed over both of them. Jake thrust the paddle in again. The bow crashed through another standing wave. He ripped the paddle back out of the water and dug in again, prying the craft forward. He jerked the paddle out at the finish of the stroke and slammed it back in again. The exhausting process lasted perhaps a full minute. His shoulders burned from the exertion. His hands went numb from his grip on the paddle.

Izzy hopped out as they reached the pullout and yanked the bow onto a narrow strip of exposed rock that offered the slightest protection from the swift water. Jake rolled out after her, gasping for air and latching one hand on to the canoe to stop it from pinwheeling away from the bank and over the falls.

“How far?” Izzy said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“A few hundred meters,” Jake croaked. His lungs burned. He put his head on his knees to catch a full breath.

“I don't see any sign of Rick.”

“Good.” Jake had counted on Rick taking the easy side, not because Rick couldn't paddle across, but because Rick wouldn't have believed Jake could power the canoe across that flow. Jake had almost proved him right. If it hadn't been for Izzy's help, he never would have made it.

Jake rested a moment to let the lactic acid leave his shoulders while Izzy held tight to the canoe. Izzy grunted with effort.

“On three,” he said. “One . . . two . . . three.”

Jake began to haul the canoe from the water. A bloodcurdling scream from across the river stopped him mid-lift.

“Isabelle!”

Jake nearly lost his grip on the thwart. The hull was half-in, half-out of the water, with the bow clear and the stern still half a meter below his feet. Jake's eyes jumped to the other side of the river. Rick stood there, with the big silver canoe on his shoulders, the bow tipped up so he could see them. With a single, impossibly quick motion, he tossed the canoe from his shoulders and threw it to the ground. Thirty meters of roiling water separated them from one another. Even over the sound of the waterfall, the thud of the aluminum canoe hitting the ground rang clear.

“You son of a bitch!” Rick aimed his words at Jake this time. “You little bastard!”

Jake fumbled with his pack as it dropped to the ground. His frozen fingers slid on the wet gunwale. The tug of the current wrenched the canoe toward the falls. He leaned back without taking his eyes off Rick and wrenched the canoe onto the rocks.

“Go home, Rick!” Izzy shouted in a much more powerful voice than Jake would have expected from her. She let go of the canoe as it tumbled onto the rock.

Rick pulled something from the side of his pack.

It took Jake just a fraction of a second to realize what it was. He turned to Izzy, still standing defiantly behind him. His left hand held the center brace of the canoe, which now lay in his lap. He used his right to grab Izzy's tunic. With a sharp tug, he jerked her to the ground next to him. The shot from the shotgun reached them at the same time as the retort shook the water off the nearby trees. Steel pellets ripped through the side of the canoe and into the trees behind him. Jake pulled his feet back from under the canoe and pushed Izzy
behind a large cluster of roots. Another shot echoed as he dove after her. Splinters of wood and droplets of sap coated his back.

“Are you freaking nuts?” Jake shouted across the water. He rolled deeper into the trees and pulled Izzy with him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed a scrape on her knuckle. A drop of blood ran down her finger. Jake checked her as quickly as he could. The trail disappeared to their left. He held her close to the ground.

“When I say go, I want you to run down the trail about fifty meters. Wait for me there. If I'm not there in five minutes, head south. Follow the river until you come to a bridge. Follow that south, and you'll come to a highway. Head east. That'll take you to Thompson. Just keep going.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'll be there in five minutes.”

He slowly moved to the right of one of the rocks for a better look at Rick, who popped two spent shells from the broken-open shotgun. He stood in plain sight on the bank, one leg slightly ahead of the other, his jacket hitched on the knife sheath on his right hip. Even in the distance, he loomed large and frightening.

Jake removed the loop of strap holding his gun to his shoulder and checked the weapon for damage. A piece of shot had pitted the stock. He winced and ran his finger over the chipped wood. The shock of being a target passed, and then anger overwhelmed him. He hadn't been hit, but his prized possession had. The only thing he had left that his father had given him.

Jake slid farther forward until a small gap in the rocks allowed him to aim his gun.

“Ready?” he asked Izzy.

“Yes.” She paused. “Are you going to kill him?”

Until that moment, Jake hadn't decided.
If you leave a bear
wounded, it only comes back angry. And an angry bear does a lot more damage than a dead one
. His father's words held true, even in this case.

Jake nodded. “Go.”

Rick caught sight of Izzy's movement in the trees and lifted his gun. Jake raised his own to his shoulder, lining up Rick's chest in the crosshairs—and pressed the trigger.

Nothing happened. The trigger would not budge.

Rick snapped his barrel into place. Jake's eyes widened. He pulled his head back from his gun. It took him a moment to realize why it hadn't fired. He hadn't disengaged the safety. He watched in horror as Rick raised his gun into the firing position. Jake released his safety at the same time. He put his shoulder back against the butt plate of the stock just as the shotgun reached Rick's shoulder. The shots were simultaneous, and both off-target.

Jake cringed as more buckshot flew over his head and pinged off the rocks around him. Leaves sputtered off branches and dropped onto his neck. The retort of his own gun roared in his ears, drowning out the sound of the river. He checked down the path. Izzy had disappeared from sight. Rick had vanished as well. Jake crawled forward. Little cover protected Rick's side of the river—just a few flat rocks, an old stump, and the silver canoe. Jake ejected the spent cartridge from the chamber and slid another one into place. There were only two places Rick could have hidden, if he had not already fled back down the trail. If he was behind the stump, anything short of a .50 caliber round wouldn't punch through it, and Jake wasn't about to wait for him to poke his head back out. However, there was another way to slow him down. Jake lined up the gunsight on the keel of the canoe.

“Let's see you keep up with us now,” Jake said with a grimace.

Jake fired. The canoe shuddered and jerked. A large hole, about the size of a golf ball, appeared where the bullet pierced the aluminum. Jake ratcheted back the bolt and put another hole through the bottom. Four seconds later, he added a third one for good measure, slightly forward on the bow. Rick did not return fire.

Jake waited thirty seconds, cranked his bolt back, and slid another round into the breach. With his eyes still on the opposite bank, he moved toward his canoe. His pack, his tent, and their food were all still in there. Hidden by the rocks, he crawled back, stopping every few seconds to check for Rick. Only the holed bottom of the canoe looked out of place. The last shot had cracked the center of the keel, and any weight at all would cause it to fully collapse. Rick's canoe was out of commission. Jake hoped Bill's had fared better.

There weren't three holes in Bill's canoe. There were a dozen pinpoints of light coming through its port side, and half a dozen deep scratches from ricochets along the side as well. Jake crawled from cover to cover to grab his pack. He tossed it down the trail without drawing more fire, scrambled closer to grab the food canister, and rolled it down the trail as well. Still nothing moved on the opposite bank. Jake repositioned his body parallel to the overturned boat.

With no way to right the boat without exposing himself to fire from Rick, Jake weighed the pros and cons. Ten kilometers of bushwhacking versus ten klicks in a leaky boat. He slowly raised his hand to the top of the keel near the bow. He kept as low as he could, lifted up onto his knees, and yanked on the keel with his right hand while holding the gunwale steady against the ground with his left hand. He rocked it twice before it began to slowly tip over.

The shot ripped into the bow as the boat hung on the verge of completing the roll. Pellets smashed into the bottom of the boat. A random pattern of dots emerged in the fiberglass. A steel ball the size
of a BB lodged into the heel of Jake's boot. His arm had already been coming down to let the boat complete its rotation, saving Jake from serious injury. Shards of rock ripped into Jake's clothing. Pinpricks of blood, like nicks from a dull razor, marked his cheek. Jake dropped back down behind the canoe and the shelf of rocks. A second shot ripped into the canoe right where he had been just a few seconds earlier. His feet drove him into a low running position, knowing it would take Rick a few seconds to reload. He didn't stop to return fire. He grabbed the pack and the canister and ran after Izzy as fast as his legs could carry him down the trail.

They would have to make it out on foot. Rick was on the southern side of the river—the side they would have to reach for safety. Jake knew of only one spot to cross over, and if Jake knew it, he was sure someone like Rick knew it, too. It would be an all-out sprint to that spot.

They couldn't afford to lose this race.

Izzy ran down the trail, flinching with each shot, counting her steps until she figured she had gone far enough. An outcrop of granite blocked her view of the river. Two shots, almost simultaneous, reached her ears. The woods went silent, as if every bird and animal were watching, waiting to see what would happen next. The rock she leaned against hummed with the vibration of the falls, but the falls no longer seemed to make noise.

She wanted to call out to Jake, to see if he was all right. She opened her mouth to speak. Another blast cut her off. More shots followed in quick succession. The shots blended into a single volley. The last time she had heard so many shots, her sister had been killed. Now she feared the same for Jake.

A crashing noise on the trail broke her from her memory. She grabbed for a stick, ready to fight Rick off with her bare hands if he had somehow crossed the river. Instead, she released a huge sigh of relief and dropped the stick as Jake appeared, coming for her at a dead run. He skidded to a stop next to her. He adjusted his pack and secured the canister to the top of the pack frame.

“Is he dead?”

Jake shook his head. “We've got to go, and go fast. We've got to get to the bridge at the Narrows before Rick does.”

“How far?” she asked.

“Ten klicks, maybe twelve. We'll follow the river, but we gotta stay far enough away that Rick can't see us.”

“I heard a lot of shots.” She looked at his face. “Are you hurt?” She wiped some blood from next to his right eye. He pushed her hand away and wiped the back of his hand across his face. It came away smeared with blood.

“I'm fine.”

She looked back toward the falls.

“Don't worry about that. Just watch where you're going. We'll go as long as we can tonight. Keep the river on your right. Stay away from the edge. Let me know if you have trouble keeping up.” He looked at her shoes. She reached down and pulled them off. She handed them to him.

“Barefoot? You sure?”

She wasn't sure, but the blisters on her feet from the shoes were only going to get worse if she continued to wear them. Her feet had toughened considerably in the last year. She flexed her toes in the soft dirt of the forest while he stowed the shoes. The cool soil almost felt welcoming—healing. “I'll manage. Wish I had my mocs, though.”

Jake stuffed the shoes into the pack, then led them past the falls and into the forest.

She had no trouble keeping up. Jake had trouble staying ahead of her. He carried the pack with the canister strapped to the top and the gun in his hand. He struggled as the pack slid from side to side, forcing him to grab trees to keep his balance. After a few minutes of running, she spoke up.

“Slow down,” she said.

“You tired already?” He wiped his hand across his brow.

“No, you're going to run yourself into the ground before we get halfway there. Trust me, I'm a runner. Slow the pace. We'll make it
farther and faster,” she said, remembering the advice her mother had given her when she had first started training.

“I'm fine,” he growled.

Izzy shook her head. He didn't want to show weakness, and she understood that. He started off again, running. After ten minutes, he stopped and took a sip from his canteen.

“Another couple of hours and we'll bed down for the night.” Jake stood with his hands on his knees, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

“Sure.” Izzy's hands rested on her hips.

“You used to run?” Jake asked.

“Yeah. I won the city cross-country meet for my age right before the flu. Mom and I used to run half marathons twice a year.”

“You're only fourteen.”

“I'll be fifteen in November,” she said, annoyed. “I've always been small for my age. We started running 5Ks when I was six. I've run the Manitoba Half-Marathon three times. We were going to do the full marathon this year.” She paused. “So when I talk about pacing yourself, you should probably listen to me. I know what I'm talking about.”

“Oh.”

“Running barefoot isn't quite the same, though.” She pointed to her feet. “And I'm not in great shape anymore, so slowing down a bit wouldn't be a bad thing for me either.”

“Sure.” He rubbed his side. “We'll slow a bit.”

“Thanks.” She shook her head as he turned back to the east.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yep.”

Jake slowed their pace to a fast walk and kept it up for almost three full hours with just a short break for water. Darkness engulfed the forest. With a thick layer of low clouds and no moon, they
wouldn't be able to see well enough in the night to make any time once the sun completely disappeared.

Their only consolation? Rick likely wouldn't be able to travel then either.