When they reached the low spot, it was clear the older woman had a problem. Short to start with, the water was well up to her shoulders. ''You stay here,'' Kris told her charge, then moved up to help Karen. Holding the elderly woman between them, they got her across the hundred meters of what could only be called a running river now. As a gawky teenager, Kris doubted there was any reason for a girl being six feet tall. Tonight, Kris would have gladly added another four inches to her stature.
Once across, Kris handed the lantern to Karen and immediately turned back. ''I'll go with you,'' Karen offered.
''No, you two get to the trailhead. There's still a patch of dry land there. Dry yourselves off.''
''In this rain?'' the old woman cackled. ''You're dreaming.'' But Karen got her charge moving. Kris took it slow going back, refusing to believe that the current had gotten faster, the water deeper, in just the time since she'd made the last trip.
Again, Kris put one arm around the mother's shoulders, the other on the top wire of the fence. ''Watch your step,'' she told the mother and child. They went slow, planting each forward step firmly before removing weight from the back leg. Kris was lifting her trailing foot when the woman beside her went down.
In a second, Kris knew she was losing her. She grabbed for whatever she could and got a fistful of coat collar. Kris locked her hand down on the wire, grabbing a barb. Metal cut deep into her palm, but Kris squelched a scream that would have robbed her of air as she was dragged under by the burdened mother.
The fence had been meant as a guide, not a support. As Kris and her charge hit it, the poles nearest to them gave up their hold on the muddy ground. Kris fought to get a foothold, to get her head above water, to get a breath, to hold on to the wire, to hold on to the woman. Somehow she managed them all.
By the time Kris got one foot to hold, she was a good twenty meters downstream. Holding on to the wire and the mother, Kris knew a single foot could not hold, but the several one-legged hops she did manage let her get her head above water for a moment and breath into her lungs.
Now Kris concentrated on getting her second leg down. She did a double hop and sank both feet into the mud. Still, the pull of the current on her and the mother was too much. Kris was dragged downstream for another three hops before she got her stance just right to fight the power of the river. In place, Kris got her own head above water, then pulled the mother toward her, raising her head into the night air.
''Can you breathe?'' Kris yelled into the woman's ear.
''Yes.''
Despite the wild ride, the woman was still holding her child above the water. ''The baby?''
''She's coughing.''
''Good.'' Kris turned to face the raging water. Feet firmly planted, leaning into the current at nearly forty-five degrees, Kris worked the barb out of her palm with the fingers of her bleeding hand, then moved her grip on the wire over a hand's width to the left. She risked a side step of a few centimeters. Then another. Moved the hand past the next barb, got a good grip, then moved a few centimeters over. Checked her grip on the woman. Then repeated.
The water was cold. Kris's bleeding hand quit screaming at her. Now her problem was making sure the cold flesh was holding fast to wire and collar. Feet leaden, Kris pulled them from the mud and moved them over. Careful. Careful. Ignore the knotting in your calves, the ache in your thighs, the numbness spreading throughout your body.
A month passed, maybe a year, as Kris made her way, step by step, across the raging current. Despite the passing of eons, the sun did not rise to throw even gray light on Kris's struggle.
Only when the water was down to Kris's waist did she risk settling the woman in place behind her. ''Thank you,'' the mother said breathlessly. The baby sneezed. That was thanks enough for this whole damn project.
It took less than a week to get to ankle-deep water. Karen and Sam were waiting for them. ''I was worried when you didn't show,'' Karen shouted in Kris's ear. ''Are you all right?''
''Now. I think,'' Kris answered, and was grateful for an arm from Sam. The rancher took a look at Kris's bleeding hand. ''We'll see if we can't use some of those medical supplies you brought.''
The medic examined Kris's palm, like a bleary-eyed gypsy fortune-teller. Then he gave her a shot, cleaned it out, and bandaged it. ''That's going to give you a problem going hand over hand up a rope,'' he told her. ''I'll see that you get a lift up.''
''This little thing?'' Kris said, making a fist. ''Ouch.'' It hurt like hell and didn't get very tight.
''You get a lift,'' the medic said and turned back to his fever patients. They'd rigged a lean-to using the tarps and some wood that had been part of the barn until recently.
Eighty people milled around in the space between the cliff and the rising water. Five small kids, now fed, had a game of tag going, chasing each other through the water and around the adults. That brought smiles from even the sick ones.
Kris looked around for what to do next.
Off to her left there was a rattle as rocks came off the cliff. A second later, a dark-clad body followed, hitting the cliff and bouncing into a stunted pine. Kris and Sam headed for it as Kris's commlink came to life. ''Kris.''
''I know, Tom. You lost another.'' It was Akuba, the dark-skinned man that Kris had dragged upriver. The fall had crushed the life from his body. Behind Kris, mothers corralled kids and pulled them away from this sign of their mortality, possibly all their mortalities.
''We're about twenty meters from the top,'' Tom shouted from the commlink. ''There's no good way up. Akuba, Jose, and Nabil were trying three possible routes.''
''Akuba's didn't work,'' Kris finished for him as she turned to face the ranchers. Several men and women knelt in the mud, praying. Kris hoped their god was listening. Sunday around the prime minister's residence was a day for providing a church-based photo op to the media. That was all Father expected and all Kris understood of church. Tommy was probably up there, hanging on to a rock, and praying. Kris hoped Someone was paying attention to all the words.
''I know,'' Tom went on. ''Jose and Nabil are still climbing. They didn't even look back when Akuba slipped. God, and I thought marines were tough.''
''Keep in touch,'' Kris told Tom and cut the link.
''We'll know in a few minutes,'' she shouted to all the interested parties and turned back to Akuba's body. From his jacket, a small chain had slipped out, the medallion on it covered with flowing arabic letters. Kris knew that Islam forbade images. ''Allah is great,'' she whispered gently as she closed the man's eyes. Kris wondered if there was some sort of prayer she should have said over Willie, her dead wanna-be hero. Another thing she'd better learn to do if she intended to stay in this line of work.
If she didn't drown today.
''Kris, Kris,'' came fast from the commlink. ''I think Nabil's in trouble. Stay there. Don't move,'' Tom shouted on-line. ''Let Jose get to the top, for God's sake, man, don't do it.''
Kris tried to picture the struggle taking place above her head. When you delegate a job, you've got to live with what happens, she reminded herself. She ordered herself to silence. The last thing Tom or any of them up the cliff, needed was someone yakking at them from the safety of the bottom.