19

Whistling past the rock face, Connor and Amber barely had time to contemplate the drop before they plunged into the bottom of Dead Woman’s Fall three seconds later. Hitting the river’s surface at over fifty miles an hour, Amber was torn from Connor’s grip and lost amid the churning waters.

The swirling current pinned Connor beneath its surface, where he was spun, twisted and battered against submerged rocks, knocking the wind out of him. He kicked wildly with his legs, desperate for air, but the white water blinded him, and he was deafened by its thunderous roar. Totally disoriented, Connor soon gave up all hope of escaping the watery clutches of Dead Woman’s Fall. Blaze hadn’t been lying when he’d said that few people survived the Batwa tribe’s ordeal.

With his lungs burning for oxygen, Connor felt his body involuntarily start to suck in water. As he fought the overwhelming urge, his feet briefly touched down on the riverbed. Calling on the last of his strength, he thrust himself upward. A moment later he broke the surface and snatched a lungful of glorious air . . . before being swamped by another rush of water and forced under again.

The torrent roiled and seethed around him, but glimmers of sunlight guided him back to the surface now. Coughing and spluttering, Connor swam with the current, struggling to get his breath back and control his panic. The river’s rapids blasted him like fire hoses from all directions, mere seconds before another wall of white water engulfed him. Then he was spat out again, bounced off a rock and borne relentlessly through the next series of rapids.

Weakening with every wave and collision, Connor was on the point of drowning when the torrent suddenly eased and the rumble of Dead Woman’s Fall began to recede into the distance. He floated limply on his back, slowly recovering his breath and strength. His body felt battered, bone tired and bruised, but he was alive. I must be a witch, he thought, managing a weak laugh at his miraculous survival. Then his thoughts immediately turned to Amber.

He spun around in the murky water, looking for her. The torrent had by now calmed into a wide river bounded by steep banks of red earth, green bushes and tall trees. But there was no sign of her in the water or along the banks. Connor began to despair. He’d failed to protect Henri and now Amber. He knew his snap decision to jump off the ledge had been risky. However, faced with certain death at the hands of the rebels or a slim chance of survival in the waterfall, he’d chosen the latter.

And now he was paying for that decision—with Amber’s life.

Wearily, he began to swim for the bank. Then out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of red hair trailing in the water and spotted an inert body floating downstream from him.

“Amber!” he shouted, paddling frantically in her direction.

There was no response. He kept going, despite the gnawing exhaustion in his limbs. Seeing a log drifting along with the current, a dozen or so feet ahead of him, he thought about using it for a float. Then the log swished its long scaly tail, propelling itself toward Amber’s body. With primal horror Connor realized it was a crocodile.

“Amber!” he screamed as another croc slid from the bank into the river’s murky waters.

She weakly lifted her head, smiling when she saw Connor waving at her.

“Crocodile!” he cried in warning.

Her smile evaporated as soon as she spotted the ominous snout and pair of slit-eyes gliding toward her. With furious strokes, she made for the bank. But the crocodile was closing in fast.

Connor swam for all he was worth. His daily pool training with Charley, which he’d begun in preparation for his previous assignment, was once again paying off as he cut through the water like a fish. He dug deep, calling upon hidden reserves of energy.

Amber was nearing the bank when the crocodile shot forward with a final burst of speed. Connor plunged on, determined to protect her, however impossible the odds.

Focused on its immediate prey, the crocodile didn’t notice Connor’s approach from upstream. As it opened its jaws to sink its teeth into Amber’s trailing legs, Connor dived forward and wrapped his arms around the crocodile’s snout. Praying Gunner was right about the weakness of their opening jaw muscles, Connor clung on with all his might, his legs wrapped around its body.

Unfamiliar with being the victim of an attack itself, the crocodile momentarily froze, and Connor found himself eye to eye with the prehistoric beast. It studied him with cold carnivorous intent. Then the crocodile wrenched its head away, its unimaginable brute strength trawling Connor through the water as it attempted to shake him off. But Connor refused to let go—he had to give Amber enough time to escape the river.

Besides, once he released the crocodile, he would become the prey.

Enraged, the crocodile dived beneath the surface. Connor barely managed to snatch a breath before he was dragged under with it. The crocodile rolled him, its tail whipping, its body writhing. Connor lost all sense of orientation. His arms became numb as he clung on for dear life. But it was no use. He was weakening with every passing second, and his lungs screamed for air. Forced to let go, Connor kicked himself away from the crocodile’s jaws and came up gasping.

The crocodile vanished.

“Where’s it gone?” he yelled, looking wildly around him.

Amber, who’d managed to crawl up onto the safety of the bank, scanned the river. Then she spotted a ripple on the surface moving toward him at high speed. “There!” she cried.

The water being shallow enough for him to touch the muddy riverbed, Connor half swam, half ran for the bank. He was waist-deep when the crocodile burst out of the water, its ferocious jaws open wide. It clamped down hard on Connor’s back.

“NO! Connor!” Amber screamed as he was dragged back into the river and disappeared beneath the surface.