All the previous options ran through Beck’s mind again, but he knew there was only one real choice. The absolute priority was to not go over the falls. And there was no way he could stop the Ptarmigan doing exactly that. His chances were better off the raft than on.
And so he ditched the rucksack – it would only hold him back – and dived into the river. Hands above his head, feet together, he entered the water as cleanly as an Olympic swimmer. He was swimming for his life before he even broke the surface again.
Back at school Beck had always been good at the crawl. But he had never before needed to win a race quite so badly. His body fell straight into a rhythm. You breathed in every time your left arm came up out of the water. By the time it had hit the water again you had buried your face beneath the surface, streamlining your whole body like the bow of a submarine while you breathed out again and the water flowed over you. You stroked with your right arm, up and down, and then the left arm was coming up again and the cycle repeated itself. Stroke-stroke-breathe-stroke-stroke-breathe . . .
But Beck had felt the river pulling at him the moment he entered the water. It seemed that every cell of his body wanted to head down towards the falls. He knew he was making more progress in that direction than he was towards the bank. He was blinded by the water flowing over his face but he could make out that much. He was kicking with his feet but his heavy boots hampered him. All he had to propel him was the strength of his arms.
And then a wave washed over him; he was completely submerged, and this time there was no coming up. A new current seized hold of him. It had been lurking beneath the surface, ready for him, and it was twice as strong as the current above. He felt it whisk him away while his body twisted and turned, trying to head back to the air again.
Water roared in his ears and he had no idea which way was up or down. In theory, he knew, the thing to do was blow out some bubbles. Air always knew which was up and the bubbles would rise. But that depended on you being able to see the bubbles. All Beck could see was confused shades of light and dark, and he really didn’t want to waste any of the precious air in his lungs.
Something slammed into him and he cried out in pain. His shout gurgled in his ears. That was half his air gone anyway. But Beck knew it could only be a rock, and rocks were stable. They didn’t get swept away by the current. He tried hard to cling onto it, but already the water was pulling him away. He felt himself scrape along more rocks and then suddenly he was out in the air again, coughing and spluttering.
Beck spat the water out of his mouth and breathed in so deeply that the air whistled. The water pitched and heaved around him but there was a rock right by him and he could cling onto it. Gradually he took in his surroundings.
The current was just as strong. It still dragged at him. Even hanging onto the rock, he was making a bow wave. The roar of the falls was deafening – they were just a couple of metres away. So why wasn’t he being swept over? Because, he realized, a semicircle of boulders stuck out from the side of the river, right on the edge of the falls. Water swirled into a little whirlpool there, and he had been swept in with it.
And if he wasn’t very careful, he would be swept out again too. He tried to adjust his grip on the slippery rock and almost lost it altogether. Oops! Beck realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere as long as he stayed in the water. All he could hope to do was climb out.
He glanced up as he clung on. The banks were a couple of metres high. Well, he could climb that high if he could get to them.
He gripped the rock and heaved with his arms, while his feet scrabbled against the side. But his boots could find no grip and he fell painfully against the sharp edges. He tried again, and again the current almost swept him away.
Beck lay against the side of the rock and made himself breathe calmly. He could do this. Before the cold of the river gave him hypothermia, before his strength gave out and he was swept away and dashed to pieces at the bottom of the falls, he could do this . . . if he could just work out how . . .
‘Hey! Beck!’ a familiar voice called. At the same time something hard hit him on the head. ‘Whoa! Sorry . . .’
Beck looked round and almost had his eye poked out. The tip of a branch was waving right in front of his face. He looked towards the far end of the branch.
Tikaani was lying on his front, on the river bank, reaching out as far as he could safely go. And he was holding the branch out to Beck.
‘You’d better take it,’ Tikaani called, his voice rising with buried panic, ‘’cos I don’t know how long I can hold on here . . .’
Beck didn’t hesitate and grabbed the branch for all he was worth.