Michael Elliot went missing on the Starling River six days ago. His kayak was found by Search and Rescue. It was caught in a whirlpool in the part of the river known as the Black Hole. No one knows why he went out on his own. No one knows why he didn’t tell anyone he was going. And now no one knows if he’ll ever come back.
The waters of the Starling aren’t very forgiving. No one knows that better than I do.
But if the Starling ever loved a person, that person is Mike Elliot. It wouldn’t swallow him up. Not his river.
I’m in one of the counselor cabins, sitting on Mike’s bunk. The wall beside it is plastered with photos of summers past, Mike smiling out from every one of them. Pictures of Mike on the river, sitting around campfires, arms around other Clearwater campers. There are even a few pictures of me here, standing with Mike, the two of us in PFDs and helmets. Mike is grinning his bright white smile, and I’m staring up at him like he’s some kind of superhero. I guess I always sort of thought he was.
Oh, Mike. What happened to you?
The vigil ended an hour ago. People said a few nice things about Mike, about what a great person he is, about what a fighter he is. How strong he is. His dad asked that we all not lose hope. That we pray for Mike to be found safe and sound. People cried.
I didn’t cry. Because I couldn’t understand it. Even now, looking at his picture, I can’t figure out what happened. Mike taught me everything I know about river kayaking. Taught me how to be safe on the water, how to respect the river. Why would he just take off on his own and not tell anyone? It doesn’t make any sense.
“What are you doing in here?”
I jump, slamming my head into the bed above me.
“Whoa!” Raina runs over, placing her hand on my head where I bumped it. “Sorry, Nate. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m okay,” I say, brushing her off.
She sighs and sits in the chair at Mike’s desk. Her eyes roam over the pictures. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
I nod.
She shakes her head and rubs her neck. “I just talked to him last week,” she says. “He was sitting right where you are.”
My back stiffens, and the bed is suddenly electric. I feel like I’m trespassing. “He was here already? But camp doesn’t start for a couple weeks.”
“All the counselors come up early. Mike earlier than most. Gives us time to plan activities, plan day trips and stuff. Mike couldn’t wait for this year to start.”
My hands cling to the quilted bedcover. He sent me an email a couple weeks ago saying how excited he was for me to take on the Nebula. I was excited too. Because I knew he was going to get me through it.
My eyes wander back over the pictures and along his desk. The cupboard behind Raina is filled with clothes—Mike’s clothes. He’d already moved in for the summer.
“You’re not going all the way back to the city tonight, are you?” Raina asks.
“No, Mr. Evans opened up the green-shirt cabins for us.”
Raina nods. “You want me to walk you back?”
I shake my head.
“Sure?”
“I can find my way,” I say.
She bites her lip and looks over at the pictures. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me on my own, but she nods and stands up, squeezing my arm before she leaves.
I stare at the picture of Mike and me in matching life vests and helmets. What happened, Mike? Why would you go out there by yourself? A lump begins to swell in my throat, and I have to look away. It’s not like Mike to do something so reckless. So dangerous. Only an idiot would try to take on the Black Hole alone.
The memory of the white, frothing, furious water washes over my mind, and my stomach surges so that I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Mike is no idiot.
I notice a black case on the far edge of the desk. It’s Mike’s river knife.
I snap it up like it’s going to run away on me. Mike’s river knife is here. He went out on the Starling and left his river knife behind?
I pull it out of the sheath, staring at the glinting blade.
Brings me luck, his voice echoes in my mind.
Mike would never leave his knife behind.
My heart hammers in my chest. The thud, thud, thud of my blood pumps behind my ears.
Mike went out onto the Starling six nights ago, but he hadn’t planned on it.
I sheath the knife and tuck it into my pocket. Then I race out of the cabin and sprint toward the green shirts’ campsite.
Mercy and Owen are sitting on the porch of one of the cabins. “Where’d you go?” Mercy asks when she sees me.
“Nate,” says Owen, getting to his feet, “are you okay?”
I pull the knife from my pocket and hold it out.
“What’s that?” Mercy asks.
“Mike’s river knife,” I say, panting.
“What?” Owen’s eyes go wide. “Where’d you get that?”
“It was in his cabin. He left it behind.”
“Nate,” says Mercy, “you stole Mike’s river knife?”
“No! Don’t you get it?” I yell. “Mike would never go anywhere without this thing! He would have never gone out on the river if he didn’t have his knife with him.”
Mercy and Owen look at me like I’ve lost my mind. But I haven’t. I’m finally starting to understand.
“Something made Mike head out onto the Starling that day,” I tell them. “Something unexpected. And I bet that something chased him into the Black Hole.”
Owen looks worried, his eyes darting to Mercy. She stares at the knife in my hand. “Like what, Nate?”
I have no idea.
But I’m going to find out.
Even if I have to face the Starling’s worst waters again—for Mike, I will.