'Toss me another bag," he said, "then sling your bags over your backs so we can hold hands. The current's getting strong."
They formed a human chain with Joe at the lead carrying the flashlight, Rick in the middle, and Con at the rear. As Con entered the river, she felt it tug at her legs, and she gripped Rick's hand tightly. The pelting rain was no longer refreshing, and her breath smoked in the chill, dank air. The slippery mud sucked at her feet.
About halfway to safety, Con called out. "Hold up a min-ute, my sneaker's come off in the mud." Aware of what a disaster losing a shoe would be, Con released Rick's hand to search for it. Leaning over to grope for her shoe, Con ex-posed her torso to the force of the current. It pushed her over. She struggled to regain her footing as the river forced her off the crest of the ridge. The river bottom was farther down each time her feet sought it. As more of her body submerged, the current had more to push. It took only a few seconds before she was completely in the river's power.
"Con!" screamed Rick, as he fought to get loose from Joe's grip.
"Use your head!" yelled Joe as he straggled to keep Rick from diving into the current. As he fought Rick, he found Con with his light. "We've got to guide her to the shore. Two people in the river will only make things worse."
Keeping the light beam on Con's terrified face, Joe rushed with Rick to the bank. Twice, Rick slipped and was saved by Joe's strong hand. Once on shore, they raced to catch up with Con.
"Con," yelled Joe, "swim toward the light, but don't fight the current. Come in at an angle." Soon they were jogging parallel with Con, following her slow progress to safety and shouting encouragement. They could see that the duffel bag was both help and a hindrance to her. The air trapped inside helped to keep her afloat, but the bag interfered with her movements. Foot by foot, she came closer to the shore, and Rick prepared himself to rush in and help her the moment it seemed feasible. Then, when Con was only ten yards from Joe and Rick, a tributary barred their way. They watched helplessly as the side stream pushed Con farmer from shore. They kept their light on her as she dwindled into the distance, finally to be swallowed by dark-ness.
AS CON STRUGGLED to keep afloat and reach the shore, the light had been her star of hope. She knew Joe was directing it, but she could see only the light. It had grown brighter and brighter before it had begun to fade. Now it was gone, and hope was gone with it.
The duffel bag slowly filled with water and lost its buoyancy. Con thought of its precious contents as it turned into a deadweight—warm clothes, a flashlight, two blankets, a water bottle, a pan—so many useful things, all irreplaceable. Now the possessions that were supposed to sustain her were dragging her toward death, tempting her with the peace of oblivion.
The memory of Rick and Joe and the peaches made her choose life. Con freed herself from the bag and it sank into the depths. Still, the river sought to claim her. In total darkness, she had no sense of where to go. All she could do was try to keep her head above water. Con was a strong swimmer, and she was smart enough to conserve her energy. As long as she did not fight the current, it was relatively easy to stay afloat. The river was strong, but not particularly turbulent. She also realized that death was patient. She would eventually tire, as swimming in the chilly water sapped her energy. Con was beginning to feel the onset of fatigue when something bumped into her. She could not tell what it was, but she instinctively grabbed hold of it. The object was very large, and it bobbed slightly under her weight.
She had difficulty maintaining a hold on its wet knobby surface, which seemed inflated like a huge rubbery bal-loon. After a few puzzled moments, she realized that the object must be the bloated corpse of a dinosaur. I'm prob-ably hanging on to its belly. Con groped around for a limb to grab hold of and soon found one. From its size, she imagined it was a forelimb. Rigor mortis had made it as stiff as a tree branch. She grasped it, and the corpse shifted with her weight. Her macabre raft would not per-mit her to get out of the water, it rolled when she tried to pull herself up, but it did allow her to rest. The rest would buy her a little more time. Maybe an hour or two, she thought, wondering if it was worth the effort to hold on. Yet, she did hold on. Con and the dinosaur floated together, beyond hope—two lost souls in the inky Styx.
26
AS THE WATER SLOWLY NUMBED HER BODY, CON WON-
dered if she were already dead. This is surely not Heaven, she thought. Yet neither did it seem quite like Hell. It re-minded her more of the Hades of the ancient Greeks—sun-less, chill, and dreary, a place without any passion except regret.
The corpse she clung to abruptly stopped, jarring her loose. It began to deflate, venting a putrescent stench. The odor acted as smelling salts, reviving Con's senses. She re-alized her feet were touching mud. As her mind cleared, Con decided she was either stranded on a shoal midstream or washed close to a bank. Her eyes gave her no clues as to which. She moved to her left, and the water became deeper. She retreated to the right, then moved farther in that direc-tion. The water became shallower. Slowly, she felt her way, measuring her progress by the depth of the water. When she could no longer touch the dinosaur, the river reached her waist. Its current was strong.
The prospect of safety made the threat of being swept away all the more terrifying. The river bottom was as slip-pery and treacherous as when she had first slipped and, this time, there was no light to guide her. Worse, she was near the end of her strength. If the river overpowered her again, she knew she would quickly drown.
For a while, Con's fear paralyzed her, and she stood trem-bling as the current clawed at her legs. Then, with difficulty, she composed herself and started inching her way in the dark. Sometimes, she took a wrong path, and the water became deeper. When that happened, she retreated to strike out in a new direction. In this blind, blundering manner, she found where the water was shallower until, at last, her feet sank into only muck.
Con fell to her knees, then collapsed on the mud. Rain pelted her and, as she rested, the river swelled until it washed over her legs. With effort, Con crawled a few yards up the embankment, then collapsed again. In her exhaustion, the only emotion she felt was a dull form of relief. Only grad-ually did some strength return to her. She sat up and removed her remaining shoe. Tying its laces together, she hung it around her neck. Con's sole resources consisted of that single shoe, a tee shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of panties. The pockets in the shorts were empty except for a few seashells. Con stood up and let the driving rain wash the mud from her. Then she began to falter uphill. Her only orientations in the dark were up and down; otherwise, she had no idea where she was headed. "Up" promised escape from the river and, perhaps, relief from the muddy cascades that flowed over her feet. Using her bare feet as groping hands, she climbed with little steps. Moving felt good, despite the effort it required. It brought a bit of warmth, and it gave her a sense she was doing something. Slowly and cautiously, Con made her way in the dark. Occasionally, she stumbled into the remains of a small scrubby tree or bush. Every time she felt the wood, it crum-bled in her hands. It's only charcoal, she surmised. Once her foot touched a rock. She bent over and picked it up. Flat and rounded like a cobblestone, it fit well in her hand. A tool, she thought, and a weapon, too. Recalling the nightstalker, she took comfort from the stone, as would her ape ancestors. It offered a defense against claws and teeth, however meager. Con did not step on the dinosaur—she bumped into it with her chest. For a terrified instant she thought it was still alive, but her free hand soon told her differently. The creature was stiff and lifeless. She explored the body that barred her way. It was very large. She encountered a leg and traced her hand along its length until she reached a huge foot ending in large clawed toes. Such a foot was burned into her memory. It belonged to a Tyrannosaurus. She felt her way toward the head and as she did so, her feet detected that the dinosaur's corpse blocked the flow of water down the hillside. She squatted down and discovered that there was a cavity formed between the corpse and the ground. The Tyrannosaurus had collapsed on its side with its back turned uphill. Its lower abdomen, stiffened by projecting bones that formed the front of its pelvis, made a shelter from the rain. Con dug in the rain-softened earth with her hands to enlarge the cavity. Eventually, she excavated a space in which to wedge her body. She crawled out of the rain, curled up, and fell into the merciful arms of sleep. CON STOOD BEFORE an immense pink cake decorated with white confectionery roses. There were nine lit can-dles on top. The smell of burning wax blended with the aroma of vanilla and sugar. "Make a wish! Make a wish!" called voices around her. Con made her wish, the same one she had made for the last three years. She blew out the candles. "Cut the cake! Cut the cake!" called the voices. Con was very hungry, and though the cake smelled wonderful, she hesitated. As she held the knife poised over the cake, her eyes were on the door. She was waiting for it to open and make her wish come true. Con's dream dissolved, leaving only hunger and mem-ories of vanilla and disappointment. The memories faded as the hunger grew. She awoke. Her feet were cold. She looked at them and was surprised that she could see them. They were black with mud.