Jen's Legacy.
Another throw of fate's dice.

Royce got the edge of the plateau where it dropped sharply in multiple stages. There were three main drops to the river, mostly out of sight below him now, with sand screes below them, and dotted with angular sandstone fragments pried away from the rock face by frost. He remembered them clearly. He knew what faced him.

His rope was laid ready across the top of his pack as well as the two separate rope loops and carabiners he’d made ready that morning before he’d set out, preparing for just this descent, though to be carried out in a more sensible and leisurely way than he would have to do it now.

He rappelled down two major precipices, feeling the rope burning his shoulder and hands, pulling his rope free of the first carabiner, and then ran down the scree, leaping ten, fifteen, or twenty feet off others, to land in sand, before tying off again to a massive boulder and going over the second major precipice, dropping down the rock face another fifty feet to the sand at the bottom, burning his hands even more on the rope.

He landed again in soft sand, pulled his rope free again, coiled it, looped it over his shoulder, then scrambled down more screes; jumping off smaller benches to land in the soft sand below them, riding them down as a surfer would ride a wave, striding out as though in seven-league-boots, dropping tens of feet in seconds. He slid and leapt down at a reckless pace, taking risks, having difficulty stopping, but knowing that he must not fail in this task or another life; one far more precious than his own-- upon which he placed little value at this moment-- would soon be gone.

He was driven to do this, but was not sure what was driving him other than his own innate sense of what was needed and how scared, terrified, she would be; this unknown young woman who had displayed such courage of her own. She must not die in such a wasteful way. He knew nothing about her, but understood that she had been prepared to risk her life for that other girl, and such a selfless act did not deserve to see her die as her reward.

The last raft was just disappearing around the next bend below him when he got near the river and the last hundred feet of rock and sand, riding the scree down again into the boulders at the bottom.

He was in time; out of breath, but in time. His legs were trembling at the risks he’d taken, or from the adrenaline rush; and his hands were sore. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He had covered less than a mile to get to where he now was, while those rafts had swept around a broad loop in the river covering three times that distance. At least he was ahead of her, and she would float down from one rock to another, aiming always to get closer to the inner bank, where the current was less strong and the water shallower, if she could control her descent and survive the cold water. Once she got out of the river, she would only have changed one set of problems for another just as serious, except he would be here to help her.

Hypothermia was a poor way to die and if he could help her by whatever aggressive action was needed, he would.

He was not sure how much time he had, but at least he hadn’t seen her floating away below him in that bright yellow life-jacket.

Taking the coiled rope off his shoulder, he threw off his pack, and took off most of his clothes. He would have preferred to have taken off his boots rather than get them wet, but he needed them to protect his feet.

Without even thinking about it, but watchful, so as not to miss her, he tied knots at various places in his rope; not wanting to slip down a wet rope and lose it; with one heavy knot at the very end—the bitter end-- and waited near a quieter place of deeper water, ready to do what was needed. He tied his rope to a secure rock jutting out into the channel, and then looped it around his arm before he ventured farther out, feeling the water always wanting to sweep him off his feet as he made it to the edge of the swifter water, moving from rock to rock, concentrating on not losing his footing.

He had timed it more by accident, than well.

She was bobbing high in the water, coming at him liked an express train; her arms were flailing to keep her feet pointing downriver, being thrown around, trying to fend herself away from the rocks with her feet, but not very successfully, then spinning out of control just as that raft had. She was mid-channel near the extent of his rope, moving fast on the top of the waves.

If he had to go off-rope to swim to her, he would, and he would take his chances getting them both out, but he hoped that would not be necessary, or there could be two bodies going downriver.

He continued to wade out; swam to another rock, feeling the current catch him as he’d expected, noting how cold the water seemed to be after the heat of the plateau, and then scrambled to another to wait for her. He still had a few feet of rope to spare so he would be okay that way.

He observed her course down the river and where she would pass close to him. He positioned himself and tried to time it so that he didn’t jump in ahead of her or behind her, but gauged it to be as close to her as he could, where he could grab her by the neck of her lifejacket, or hang onto her somehow with both hands, while he still controlled his rope.

He watched, and then timing it as closely as he could, he leapt in, grabbing at both her lifejacket and her arm, before sweeping his arm around her waist and letting the current swing them both toward shore on his rope, having taken another turn around it once he’d got a hold of her, clambering over rocks, banging into others as the water pummeled them, taking to the water again, using his feet to come up to the next rock, always pulling closer into shore until he could find his feet.

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