D. L. Thomas
Backlash
To Heidi, Madison, and Quentin for their never-ending love and support.
Chapter 1 — LEWIS
Quinn Lewis’s lean, muscular body exploded from the water like a trident missile launched from a barely-submerged submarine. His lungs went into overdrive as every muscle in his body screamed for more oxygen. The thundering just behind his heels told him that his pursuers were right with him, and wouldn’t be giving up. Lewis’s legs pumped harder and harder as he sprinted the last ten yards to the river bank and through the finish line in a new record time of 3 hours, 28 minutes. Second and third place were less than ten seconds back — the closest Lewis had come to relinquishing his title in the last seven years of the Cascade Downriver Challenge.
The Challenge is an adventure race from high on Washington’s Mt. Adams to the south bank of the Columbia River. The race begins with a treacherous downhill mountain bike course, which has enough blind, hairpin turns to destroy dozens of bikes as they fly off course into century-old pines. The competitors who survive the bike course must jump into their whitewater kayaks to navigate Cyanide Creek. Dropping quickly through seven distinct class IV+ rapids before disappearing into a lava tube, racers must then paddle a half mile to locate a roped section, where they harness up and climb to the surface. A six-mile run down an old logging road leads to the final test: swimming across the frigid waters of the Columbia River.
Lewis was happy to have edged out the Williams Brothers, Terry and Jerry — they had beaten him a couple months before in Vancouver’s 24-hour Crest to Coast. “You two sure don’t make it easy on an old man,” Lewis said as he shook their hands.
“Old man? You are a year younger than us,” Terry answered back. Or was that Jerry? Lewis had a hard time telling the twins apart.
Lewis grimaced as he tried to rub the pain from his left knee, which he had injured in an accident while setting up an emergency communications system in Antarctica the month before. “I’ve been feeling at least twice my age lately,” he quipped. “Next year I’ll be doing this thing with a cane.”
Lewis hung out at the finish line for the next two hours to cheer on fellow competitors as they completed the race. He knew many of them and quite a few were close friends. The barbeque after the race was a great place for catching up with people; delicious burgers and ice-cold beer turning into tales of adventure from the past year. Some of Lewis’s stories were actually true. Unknown to most of those who listened, the fabricated parts were actually added as a matter of secrecy, or due to national security. In many cases, the truth was simply too terrifying to tell.
The festivities came to a halt when one of the race officials began speaking through a blow horn. “Thornton Williams! Are you here?” He paused and scanned the small crowd. When nobody came forward, the official continued. “Has anyone seen Mr. Williams since the race began this morning?” A few people, including Lewis, raised their hands.
Lewis had seen his friend, who most knew as Thorn, a couple times on the bike leg as they worked down through the switchbacks. At that point, Lewis was in fourth place while Thorn was dueling it out for fifth with a competitor Lewis didn’t recognize. Two others remembered seeing him towards the end of the bike, noting that he was looking pretty tired when they passed him. Thorn was usually one of the top competitors and Lewis thought it odd that he would have dropped back so early in the race. The race log confirmed he had completed the bike leg nearly 45 minutes after Lewis, almost in last place. Another competitor, who had only recently been introduced to the sport of adventure racing by Thorn himself, remembered passing him early in the kayak section. Thorn had not checked in at the top of the rope section.
Race officials took down the details, assuring everyone they would pass the information on to Search and Rescue personnel, who would arrive in the next couple hours. That wasn’t good enough. Lewis knew it would be well past dark by the time a proper search was mounted, and his friend was in need of help. He was going to get started now.
Lewis retrieved a 100-foot section of climbing rope and a few other supplies before heading down to the waterfront to look for a way across the river. He immediately spotted a trailer renting out stand-up paddle boards. Lewis paid the kid manning the trailer for a two-hour rental and, after quickly signing a few forms, headed straight to the water, promising to be back before nightfall.
The paddle board was designed for racing, making the river crossing much faster and less tiring than the earlier swim. Lewis had spotted a couple of race volunteers on ATVs, cleaning up on the other side of the river. He paddled hard, straight towards them. It took only ten minutes to cross the river and another four to convince one of the volunteers to loan out his ATV and walkie-talkie.
After throwing his gear into the storage compartment on the back of the ATV, Lewis set off up the narrow trail at nearly full speed. The trail looked surprisingly different going up than it did coming down. Lewis had to slow at a couple of intersections to make sure he was going the right way. Most of the trail was narrower than the ATV but Lewis barreled on, branches whipping his face and body as he bounced up the trail, fighting to keep the vehicle on the path. He slid around a familiar-looking corner and nearly launched right into Cyanide Creek before skidding to a stop, less than a foot from a sheer, 40-foot drop to one of the gnarliest rapids of the entire run, Skull Dropper, which immediately preceded the pool at the entrance to the underground lava tube.
Lewis looked up and down the creek as he shook the feeling back into his hands after the harrowing ride. Up or down? Lewis debated on which way to look first. The rapids above were certainly technical, but Thorn was an excellent kayaker. If he had made a serious mistake, Thorn should have either gotten himself out or drowned by now. If his friend was still alive, it was more likely that he was trapped in the cave.
With the decision made, Lewis radioed in his intentions, confirming that the cave’s exit system was still in place, and that assistance would be ready if he found Thorn. He grabbed the climbing rope and a small waterproof flashlight from the ATV. Jogging along the top of the cliff, he followed the creek downriver for 200 yards before jumping towards the calm pool below. The weight of the climbing rope pulled his body slowly off-kilter as he descended, causing Lewis to stick out his left leg in an attempt to maintain balance. This seemed like a terrible mistake the moment he hit the water — his legs were nearly ripped off before he could force them back together. The ice-cold water quickly numbed away the pain, allowing Lewis to efficiently side-stroke into the mouth of the cave.
Total darkness enveloped him as the current pushed him around the series of S-turns that he remembered from the race. Lewis turned on his light and began scanning ahead. “Thorn!” he called. There was no answer. The current made it an easy swim to where the underground river formed a final pool, ending at a caved-in section of the lava tube. It was at the rock pile on the other side of the pool where he and the other racers had exited their kayaks, and climbed the fixed ropes up to a narrow chute that led to the surface above. Only now the ropes were gone for some reason.
Something else was different too. The opening to the chute looked larger; it also didn’t seem to be as high. Suddenly, Lewis understood what had happened. “Thorn!” he yelled again as he swam to the rock pile, lugging the waterlogged climbing rope he’d packed from the ATV. He climbed onto the rocks and quickly confirmed his fears: A semi-truck-sized chunk of the wall above had sheared off and was now crumbled atop the original pile of rocks. Lewis could only hope that his friend hadn’t been standing here when it happened.