34

The river roiled in the darkness, and the thunder of it shook her. She sank to the ground, and could not move.

The rain felt its way into her clothes, but she did not shrink from it. Her body was numb as she stared at the grinding water. She could not cross this river. It was too powerful, too wide.

She was beaten.

She had been foolish. And yet—she knew her son was in danger, and she knew Paul was in danger, too. She knew something terrible was happening.

She climbed to her feet, and stepped to the edge of the water. She wrenched a branch from the ground, and tossed it into the water. It vanished at once, then reappeared in the dark river, the black arm of a swimmer who was already lost.

The forest beyond the river was a black wall. She could do nothing but stare at it, and at last she turned away.

She found the road again. She returned slowly, aware that each step took her away from Len. Rain stroked her cheeks like the unwanted sympathy of neighbors, and she stiffened herself against it. She would be silent in her defeat. No one would know what a chasm had opened inside her.

Two lights caught her. Twin smears of light gleamed on the patchy surface of the road. The rumble of an engine grew loud, and a hand reached down for her.

“You’re all wet,” said Ed.

“You made it,” she gasped.

“It wasn’t all that difficult when it came down to it,” said Randolph.

“I take it the bridge is out,” said Ed calmly.

Mary shivered.

“We’ll have to take a look,” Ed continued.

The bulldozer clattered forward, and when they reached the river none of them spoke for a while.

“That bridge was here for fifty years. Maybe longer. But there’s no reason for it to go just because of that. Big old timbers can be as strong as big new ones.” Ed pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip. “We’ve come this far like a bunch of fools. We might as well drive this thing across the river.”

“That’s a very dumb thing to do,” said Randolph.

“That hasn’t stopped us yet,” Ed responded.

“We don’t have any idea at all how deep that river is. Look at all that. The water’ll swamp the engine, and we’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“Won’t happen,” said Ed, gripping Randolph’s shoulder. “You see that white water up there? It’s not too deep, if you don’t mind driving over a bunch of boulders.”

Randolph jerked the machine with a clank, and gunned the engine. “It’s a terrible thing to do,” he said in a resigned voice. “We’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

The bulldozer chattered along the river bank, heaving to one side, and then another, as it surmounted white boulders. Randolph fought the machine into position, and the engine surged. “I’ve never done anything as stupid as this,” he called.

The bulldozer rocked backward, eased forward, and the treads clattered across stones. The metallic chatter of the treads was joined by the rush of water. The steel teeth glistened, and the machine staggered deeper into the river.

It boiled around them. Icy water stung their feet, and the engine sputtered. The bulldozer eased sideways sickeningly with the force of the river. Its nose headed downriver, and Randolph struggled.

“You’re doing fine,” called Ed over the thunder of the river.

“We’re doing terrible!” called Randolph.

Ed helped him pull the machine around, but they seemed to be making no progress across the river. Water streamed between their feet, and the engine vomited first a stream of black, then a stream of white as the machine stuttered.

The bulldozer fought its way over a submerged stone, and Randolph jerked gears, racing the engine, the machine going neither backward nor forward. “The middle of nowhere!” called Randolph.

They inched ahead, and once again the machine stumbled, and water shot between their legs. Water shivered off the gleaming treads, and they hung on tight as the bulldozer slipped and staggered toward the far bank.

A terrible force slammed them. Mary nearly fell, but hung on to the back of the seat. A black log nosed them, and ground against them until it forced its way past.

They were out of the water. The bulldozer threw mud behind it as they looked up into the rain. The machine fought the steep bank, but shimmied sideways.

“It’s all right,” cried Ed.

Randolph tensed, pushing the machine forward, but the bank was too steep, and they slipped sideways.

“We’ve made it. You can stop now.”

Randolph did not seem to hear. The engine bellowed, and he crouched, fighting the bank.

“Let us off,” cried Ed.

Randolph eased back in the seat. He looked up at Ed with a disgusted expression. “We almost made it.”

“We’re here. You did beautifully.” Ed slapped his shoulder.

Randolph sat at the controls of the machine, staring into the rain. “We almost made it.”

Ed took Mary’s arm and pulled her up the bank. “There,” he puffed. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“How far is it?”

“Not far,” Ed said, fighting a branch out of their path. “Leave him,” he said to her unspoken question. “He’s developed an attachment.”

Mary slipped on the roots of a tree, but kept herself from falling by grabbing the festoons of redwood branches that hung all around them. “Surely there’s a path,” she muttered.

“Of course there’s a path. I’ll let you know as soon as I find it. And I’ll tell you what else. When we get to the cabin, we’ll have a nice long sit before a nice big fire.”

“Yes, we will.”

“And we’ll have something nice and hot to drink.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“And we’ll ask these people why the hell they can’t call when they’re supposed to.”

But he was hurrying, in spite of the cheerfulness in his voice.

“You don’t believe it, do you?” she murmured.

“Sure I do. I think we’ve just been overexerting ourselves out on the river a little bit, putting out just a little more concern than the situation absolutely calls for.”

But he was nearly running, now, gasping as he spoke. “We’ve just been overreacting to your very normal concerns.” He stumbled, but caught himself. “And once we got committed to a course of action, we were just too stubborn to chuck it and say forget this.”

She hurried after him, because if she lost sight of him she knew she could never find him again in the darkness.

“We’re just overreacting to the reputation of the place,” Ed gasped, “and we just got carried away, what with the bulldozer and our own natural determination to—”

He stopped.

“What is it?”

“I thought I heard something,” he whispered.

“I can’t hear anything.”

They were both trembling, and Ed gripped her arm. “Listen!”

Again and again through the hiss of the rain: the distant sound of a whistle, or of metal twisted out of shape in a pair of tongs. Or of an animal of some kind, an urgent cry, again and again, tirelessly, the shriek of a horse or a cat, a brilliant spear of sound thrown repeatedly through the darkness.

A human scream.