Page 5 of Marked by the Mountain Man

Eyeing a sturdy, gnarled tree, clinging to the cliff face, I climb halfway up its twisted length, my eyes settling on a black form and sunny blonde hair on the other side of the bank. Hadleigh lies face down. My heart stops. Is she alive?

I scream, “Hadleigh!” But the roar of the water drowns out my voice. Fuck! I’m on the wrong side of a raging river out of time. I notice how one branch of the tree I perch in drops out over the water, almost enough to give me a head start across the river. If I can make it far enough across the sketchy limb before it breaks, I’ll land in the middle of the calm water. From there, if I swim fast and hard, I can make it to the opposite bank and Hadleigh. At least in theory.

I call the sheriff’s department, looping search and rescue into the mix. As dark storm clouds build overhead, the wind pickingup, I scream my location, knowing it’s now or never if I want to help Hadleigh.

“There’s a flash flood alert, and the winds are picking up, so the bird’s grounded. Be prepared to stabilize her and relocate as far from the river as possible.”

“Yep,” I say, my mind a swirl of a thousand contingencies and possibilities. “Will let you know once we’re safe.”If I can stabilize her. If she’s still alive.

I replace my cellphone in an inside pocket of my coat that zips, making sure everything on my bugout bag is secured. Edging out on the limb, I hope for a headstart. But almost immediately, it sways and cracks beneath my weight. Before I can blink, the limb tips, sending me headlong into icy rapids.

Cycling through an Arctic washing machine, I get worked feet over head, swirling and twisting. I struggle to raise my head above water, gasping for air and surveying the messy chaos of the river.

I didn’t go in nearly as far as I hoped. Swimming with the current, I diverge diagonally, using the water to my advantage, fighting and churning through the tumbling rapids to get as close to the far bank as I can when I hit the calmer water.

I’ve got one shot at this.

God, I wish I’d gone to Seal School instead of joining the Corps. The amphibious training really could have helped me out right about now.

I fight the river, taking long strokes and pulling myself through the currents. After what feels like an eternity, I hit the calmer waters, spit out much further from the shore than I originally calculated.

Time to dig deep, power through. I sprint for the distant shore, holding my breath much of the way, using the pull for oxygen to my advantage to reach the water’s edge and Hadleigh.

New, faster currents grab my feet, pulling me under. I fight, coming up for a gulp of air and then another, realizing I’m back in the grip of the rapids, headed for the waterfalls below.

I struggle to surface, sprinting against the current, a bathtub toy in a whirlpool. I crash into a large boulder beneath the water, air bubbling violently from my lungs. But it gives me a moment and the right footing to push back towards the river’s bank.

I tangle myself in slower-moving logs and then boulders as I inch and crawl out of the water, dripping, teeth chattering, and sucking oxygen like a caught fish.

Chapter Four

HADLEIGH

“Hadleigh!”

A man screams my name from far off. Almost like he’s underwater. My body aches and pulses, shivering in the cool air. My feet remain in the water, bobbing and twirling, trying to drag me back in.

I lie face down in the sandy grit of the bank, coming back to my body slowly. One calf burns and aches, and there’s a slick warmth to it that I can’t explain. Memory washes over me. Andy’s tattoo shop. The two idiots in the parking lot. The SUV and the high-speed chase. I shake my head, coming back to myself slightly and rolling over. It’s a monumental task.

Roiling storm clouds gather overhead, the air picking up speed, furious and frantic. I force my eyes open, surveying a fast-moving storm pregnant with rain, thunder, and quite possibly lightning. God help me.

Memory washes over me. Earlier, the meteorologist on the radio predicted heavy rainfall, even flash flooding. Talk about the wrong spot at the wrong time.

I scan the calm water in front of me, noticing something out of place. I observe it almost as if I’m outside of myself. A man’shead, bobbing every now and again, above the water. Unlucky like me.

I blink hard, propping myself up on my elbows to watch him fight the raging currents. My eyes narrow, and terror grips me.Please, God, don’t let him be one of my abductors.But the men who took me didn’t have beards.Did they?I watch as he struggles in the white water, head shooting up for an unsatisfactory gulp of air. He’s headed for me.

But who in the hell is he, and what is he doing in the water?

I feel a strange ambivalence to his plight as I try to absorb what’s going on, my body rejecting the input of my senses. Lightheaded and weak, I stare at the large, deep gash in my right calf, running the full length from knee to ankle and oozing dark blood.

Abrasions and small cuts cover my legs, and my fingertips feel raw from holding onto rough bark and granite rocks. But remarkably, I didn’t hit my head, I didn’t break a bone, and I didn’t pass out … though I came within inches of unconsciousness.

The current below sweeps up the man; he’s done for. A single tear drips down my cheek. Watching this should bother me more than it does, as the man struggles. But my senses are fuzzy, my brain foggy. Life feels like a movie happening on a screen, not real action, in real time, with real consequences.

His head disappears, and I wait, eyes scanning the water. “Come back up. Come back up.” I hear myself whispering the words as though from a distance. My pulse increases as the rawness of what unfolds before my eyes sinks in.

But is the man even real? Or did I dream him up? Is any of this real?

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