Page 54 of Duty Devoted
Lauren stared at the makeshift bridge. The trunk had to be two feet in diameter, but it glistened with moisture and moss. “That doesn’t look stable.”
“It’s not.” I studied the trunk’s position. One end rested on a flat boulder on our side, the other wedged between two larger rocks on the far bank. The middle sagged slightly, and I could see where smaller branches had already been stripped away by thecurrent’s spray. “But it’s our best option. The river’s only going to get worse as more runoff hits it.”
She took a breath, squaring her shoulders. That little gesture—the way she gathered her courage—made my chest tight. “Okay. How do we do this?”
“I’ll go first, test its stability. Once I’m across, you follow. Move steady, don’t look down, keep three points of contact when possible.” I moved closer to demonstrate. “See how the bark’s been worn smooth here? Avoid those spots. And here—” I pointed to a section where a branch had broken off, leaving a jagged stub. “Watch for hazards like this.”
“Three points of contact,” she repeated, studying the trunk with that same intense focus she’d shown when examining patients. “Like rock-climbing.”
“Exactly. And, Lauren?” I waited until she met my eyes. “If something goes wrong, if you fall, don’t fight the current. Go limp, protect your head, and look for something to grab.”
Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe, at the intensity in my voice. “Okay.”
The trunk was slick with moisture and moss. I tested it with my weight, feeling it shift slightly but hold. The roar of the water below was deafening, spray hitting my face as I began to cross. The bark was rough under my palms, but slippery. Each step required complete focus.
Halfway across, the trunk dipped lower, bringing me close enough to the water that spray soaked my legs. I could feel the raw power of the current in the way it made the massive log vibrate. One slip, and the river would have me.
I made it to the far side and immediately turned back. “Your turn. Slow and steady.”
Lauren stepped onto the log with the same determination I’d seen when she was focused on a patient. Fear flickered in her eyes, but she moved forward anyway. One careful bear-crawlstep at a time. Her movements were controlled, deliberate. She was doing perfectly—weight centered, hands steady, eyes fixed on the far bank where I waited.
She was doing perfectly. Until she wasn’t.
Maybe it was a loose piece of bark. Maybe the trunk shifted. Maybe the universe just decided we’d had things too easy. Whatever the cause, I saw the moment her foot slipped. Her eyes went wide as her arms windmilled, fighting for balance that was already lost.
I lunged toward her, hand outstretched, and managed to grab her wrist just as gravity won. Her weight yanked me off-balance, and then we were both falling. I had just enough time to pull her against me, trying to shield her from the force of the collision, before the muddy torrent rushed up to meet us.
The impact was like hitting concrete. Water so full of silt and debris it felt solid, driving the air from my lungs. The current grabbed us instantly, spinning us like we were nothing. I kept my grip on Lauren’s wrist, pulling her against me as we tumbled through liquid chaos.
Something hard slammed into my ribs—a branch or rock—sending white sparks across my vision. Water forced its way into my nose, my mouth, tasting of earth and rot. We were moving so fast, tumbling over and over. No way to tell which way was up. The water was so dark with silt that even with my eyes open, I couldn’t see anything but brown murk.
My lungs screamed for air. Beside me, Lauren had gone limp, and terror spiked through me harder than any physical pain. I wrapped my arm around her chest, kicking desperately toward what I hoped was the surface.
We broke through, both gasping. I got half a breath before the current sucked us under again. This time, I saw the boulder coming—a dark mass in the brown water—and managed to turn so my back took the impact instead of Lauren’s skull. The forcedrove what little air I’d managed to get right back out. Pain exploded through my spine, but I kept my grip on her.
Surfaced again. Breathed. Under. Tumble. Pain exploding through my shoulder as we glanced off something sharp. Lauren’s fingers dug into my arm—at least she was conscious. Fighting.
I tried to spot anything we could grab on to, but the world was a brown blur of violence. Trees, rocks, debris all mixed together in a lethal smoothie that wanted to pulverize us. My body was already screaming from multiple impacts. How much more could we take?
A tree rushed past, its branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. I grabbed for one, missed, grabbed again. My hand finally closed solid on rough bark. The current tried to rip us away, but I held on, muscles screaming, tendons feeling like they might snap. I managed to pull us into the marginally calmer water in the tree’s lee.
“Grab on,” I shouted over the roar, guiding Lauren’s hands to a thick branch. She gripped it, coughing up brown water, her whole body shaking. “We need to work our way to shore.”
The tree had lodged against the bank about ten meters downstream. We moved hand over hand, fighting the current that wanted to rip us away. My body felt like one giant bruise, and I could taste blood from where I’d bitten my tongue.
Lauren’s breathing was ragged, punctuated by coughs that brought up more muddy water. But she kept moving, kept fighting. When we finally reached shallow water, we half crawled, half collapsed onto the muddy bank.
For long minutes, we just lay there gasping like landed fish. My ears rang from the water’s roar, and every breath felt like knives in my chest. Definitely had a bruised rib. Maybe two.
But we were alive.
“You okay?” I managed finally, pushing up on my elbows to look at her.
She was on her hands and knees, still coughing up river water. Her shirt was torn, and blood seeped from her palms where the bark had torn them open. But she was alive. Breathing.
“Define okay.” Her voice was hoarse, barely audible over the river’s continued rage. “How about you?”
I did a quick inventory of my own damage. Ribs definitely bruised. The sharp pain with each breath confirmed it. Shoulder on fire—but I didn’t think it was dislocated. Various cuts and scrapes, but none that needed immediate attention.
