Chapter 7 - Into the Dark Rapids
The sodden earth sheared off like wet cake. Margaret lunged backward, catching Chloe’s wrist just as the young woman slipped over the edge. With her other arm, Margaret swept Lily into her chest, locking the little girl tightly against her ribs.
"Mom!" David yelled, lunging forward with his arm outstretched, the weapon forgotten for a split second as human instinct clashed with his greed.
It was too late. The weight of the three of them dragged the remaining mud and roots downward. They tumbled down the steep, forty-foot embankment in an avalanche of loose shale, rotting leaves, and slick mud. Margaret curled her body around Lily, absorbing the brutal impacts of rocks and saplings against her back and shoulders, grunting in agonizing pain with every roll.
They hit the churning water of Miller’s Creek with an icy, breath-stealing shock.
The creek was swollen from days of autumn rain, roaring through the narrow ravine toward the wider river basin. The current tore Chloe from Margaret's grip instantly. "Chloe!" Margaret gagged as frigid water filled her mouth. She kicked violently, fighting to keep Lily's head above the swirling foam.
"Grandma!" Lily shrieked, water splashing across her pale face.
Up on the ridge, the silhouette of David appeared against the glaring headlights of his truck. He aimed down into the gorge, squinting through the gloom, but the raging white water offered no clear target. Two shots cracked in rapid succession, kicking up harmless geysers of spray twenty feet away, before the rushing current swept Margaret and the child around a bend and into the total darkness of the cedar swamp.
Margaret’s muscles burned with fire and ice. Her cardigan dragged her down like lead armor, but she refused to let go of the small girl clutched in her left arm. "Hold onto my neck, Lily! Don't let go!" she coughed, paddling desperately with one arm toward a cluster of partially submerged cypress roots near the northern bank.
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Her fingers scraped bark, slipping once, twice, before digging into a knot of ancient wood. Panting raggedly, her vision swimming with black spots, Margaret dragged them both out of the freezing torrent onto a muddy sandbar tucked beneath a canopy of dense brush.
Across the creek, downriver, an empty sneaker floated by—the exact pattern Chloe had been wearing.
