Page 34 of Falling for the Enemy

I took advantage of a short lull in the wind to head across to the mess tent. Its great canvas walls billowed in and out like the sails on a pirate ship. I hadn’t been cold the entire trip, but something about the raw wind and rain pummeling me all at once gave me a chill. I bent down, covered my head with my arms and hurried toward the mess tent. Opening the flap against the wind was like holding an umbrella on a windy day. Once I yanked it open, the flap of canvas pulled me hard to the side. I stumbled and righted myself before I landed in one of the many puddles starting to form at the campsite.

Ava was trying to pull together some beans and eggs as the tent seemed to inflate and deflate around her like a balloon. Somehow, through the clamor, she heard me step inside. She looked back over her shoulder. “Are you hungry?” She seemed annoyingly calm considering we were sitting in the middle of a wild storm.

“I think I’m all right. When do you think Mia and Harold will get here?”

She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “They should be here soon, but that all depends on how much trouble they run into on the trail. Harold assured me they’d ridden through some pretty bad storms. He said the trail is dug so that water runs off toward the river instead of gathering up on the road.”

A loud snap outside finished with something sharp jamming itself into the canvas just above our heads. Ava peered up. “That was close. I haven’t looked at the river since I talked to Harold. It had only gone up a few inches back then, but those banks aren’t more than three feet high.”

“I think the campsite is built high enough to avoid a flood, even if it does breach its banks,” I said. “I suppose that’s why they picked this clearing for a camp. I’ve been on a fewexpeditions that were cut short before—food poisoning, running short on water supply and even a massive dust storm that came out of nowhere and covered all of us, our belongings and our equipment with a fine dust, but this is my first time in a squall. Never seen so much rain falling at once.”

Ava stirred the beans in the pot. “It’s a good one. That’s for sure. But I’ve been in worse, and like you said, we’re up high enough to avoid flooding.”

“Maybe it’s safer for us to all stick it out here.” The second I said it, another big branch smacked the mess tent. This time it tore a hole in the thick canvas. “Or maybe not.”

Ava lifted her finger. “Shh, did you hear that?”

“Uh, the hurricane force winds or the torrential rain?” I asked.

Ava rolled her eyes. “The distinctive, high-pitched rumble of a dirt bike.” She walked a wide berth around the hole and the branch that was now jammed through it.

“How on earth did you hear that?” I asked and followed behind her.

We hunched forward and made our way to the river. It was halfway up the banks, and while it was just a tributary, it was rolling along fiercely and churning up its own storm with waves and froth. The rickety bridge we crossed to get to camp was swinging and slithering side to side like a snake, the river moving quickly beneath it. Ava reached the top edge of the bank and took one step too far. The dirt beneath her foot collapsed. Her arms flailed as she tried to keep from slipping down into the rapidly moving water. My arm snaked around her waist, and we stumbled back together.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “This ground is soaking up water too fast. Even the camp could be in danger of sliding downhill if it doesn’t let up soon!” She had to yell to be heard through the chorus of noise around us.

Through the falling debris and heavy rain, the mud-covered dirt bikes came into view. Harold got off his bike. He didn’t think twice about jumping onto the wildly swaying bridge. He gripped it tightly and marched across like a pro. Ava and I tromped over to meet him. Our shoes grew heavy from mud with each step. We reached our end of the bridge as Harold stepped off. He was covered head to toe in yellow rain gear.

“We can take two back with us.” He spoke loudly. “Then we’ll turn right back around for the next two. We should have all of you out in three hours. The storm came in much faster than we expected, but we can get all of you back safely. I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll go get Pam and Milo,” Ava said. She ducked down and made her way back to the shelters.

“I’m worried about this river,” I said.

Harold nodded as he looked back at it. “The camp is built up high, so it’ll be fine.”

“What about this bridge?”

“It’s been here for fifty years and has seen much worse. It’ll hold. Ah, looks like our first two passengers have arrived.”

Pam reached the bridge with an enthusiastic gait, especially considering the weather, but her steps faltered greatly when she saw the unsteady bridge stretched across the swollen river. Water occasionally lapped up over the top of it.

“Isn’t there another way across?” Pam asked hopefully.

“Not unless you have wings,” Harold said with a laugh. Pam wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Milo took hold of her hand. “I won’t let go. Just hold on tightly.” He took the first step, gripping her hand as he moved. Pam followed. Ava and I both held our breath until they were safely across. Seconds later they were on the backs of the bikes. Harold waved and they took off.

“Two down, four to go,” Ava said.

“You mean six to go.” I squinted up at the sky. It was still as dark as charcoal, and there’d been only a few breaks in the wind and rain, none long enough to give the land and river a chance to absorb the extra moisture. “Guess I will have some of those beans. I think it’s going to be a long morning.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

AVA

The rain eased for about ten minutes, and for a second it seemed even the sun was going to come out and save the day, but as quickly as things looked brighter, they turned dark and ominous again. The rain began to pour from the gray sky, and that same annoying wind started kicking around debris. It was as if the jungle around us was a living creature, and the trees and ferns and shrubs had uprooted and were slowly marching toward us like in a fantasy movie. I was relieved when Harold and Mia returned for a second round to take Robyn and Evan back to the station. Norman pretended to be heroic or benevolent or chivalrous, but I knew he was balking at leaving because the walk across the bridge looked more horrifying by the minute. The river was now rushing over it. It was still just an inch of water sloshing over the wobbly planks, but Evan slipped on his way across. Robyn gasped and clutched the ropey railing with one hand as she reached the other out to Evan. I was just about to start across to help them when Evan made it back to his feet. The rest of the crossing went without incident, and seconds later they were waving goodbye as the dirt bikes rode off, leaving rooster tails of mud behind them as they went.

---