Flood
Chapter 3: “Blaze”
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THE SIGHT OF THE BROKEN TREE CRASHING INTO HER FRIEND carried a surreal horror that wrapped its hands around Monica’s neck and squeezed with all its might, and for a moment she thought her throat had swollen shut. It had all been so fast, like the tree had been hurled down the mountain by some furious giant far above and she was helpless to stop it. Now, against all her training, experience, and desire, she couldn’t move.
A sudden piercing shriek snapped her back to reality and Monica whirled to face Patricia, whose face was aghast. She had seen what happened, too.
“Stay here!” Monica commanded, and then leapt into the rhododendron thicket. She immediately felt the stinging wrath of the wooden talons. She shoved her way forward but the gnarled den of roots ripped at her boots, nearly tearing the gear off her body. She kicked her legs backward and yanked them free from the tiny snares. With a few swings of her arms, she managed to crawl out of the vegetation and stumble to the riverbank.
“Blaze!” she cried. The quivering cable hanging over the river remained empty, devoid of her friend’s presence.
Monica turned to the far side of the river where another ranger was standing. He, too, was staring in horror into the swirling depths, trying to see where Blaze might be.
“Do you see her?” Monica radioed.
The thickly bearded ranger on the distant shore shook his head.
“No!” he called.
Christian “Wilde” Webber was rushing and weaving through his own mess of trees and bushes, stopping to scour the surface of the river for any sign of Blaze. He leapt over a jutting root, only to land on a patch of mud and slide into the water.
“Wilde, careful!” Monica called.
He immediately twisted his upper body and caught the long tentacle of a root, working himself back onto land.
Monica maneuvered back into the bushes, moving steadily downstream. The low ceiling of emerald rhodo forced her to crawl like a cat, weaving through the nest of branches and narrow trunks. The canopy above her blotted out so much daylight that she strained to see the ground right in front of her face.
She emerged from the patch of woodlands, her knees were throbbing in new pain, long threads of scarlet blood dribbling down her shins. Monica ignored the bleating pangs and located a break in the overgrowth along the river’s edge. She stumbled in, the water immediately swirling around her calves.
“Blaze!” she called again.
No answer.
Where are you, Allison!?
Fifty yards away, the lumbering mass of the fallen tree continued its downhill trek, smashing into rocks and other broken timber in a cacophony of cracks and thuds. Allison had to be in here somewhere. There was no way she was still under that tree, even if she had been trapped beneath it—
A yellow-helmeted head bobbed to the surface, right in the middle of the foaming flume.
“Blaze!” she cried.
Monica squinted to see Allison’s condition, but almost as suddenly as she appeared, her head vanished into the spraying water once again.
“No!” she yelled, and her eyes darted in nearly every direction. Blaze was in there, somewhere. She’d seen her and somehow had to get to her.
Monica turned upstream, where the rescue cable was still strung between the two banks. It was nearly thirty yards away, too far to use.
She looked down at her gear. Did she have a life vest?
Yes.
Monica twisted the valve to automatically inflate the small flotation device that was strapped around her synthetic shirt. With a hiss it puffed into shape, squeezing her chest. She reached to her back, tugged at a velcro strap, and pulled a retractable hiking pole loose.
She stepped into the depths.
Nothing she had felt in her life could compare to the fierce muscle of the current. Even in low water, the Little River was swift enough to topple a sure-footed hiker, but this torrent was something else entirely. The force of millions of gallons of water was funneling into a solitary chute, and the river had great and powerful hands that took hold of her legs like vices and pulled with all their might, yearning to hurl her down and drag her along the rocky course for miles and miles.
Monica wavered under the assault and jammed the hiking pole into the dark water. It caught and she found her balance. Only then did she lift her foot and take a step. Just as her boot left the streambed, the current grabbed it. She yelped and tightened her grip on the trekking pole with a shivering hand.
How was she ever going to get to Blaze?
Monica lunged forward and planted her foot. She looked up, searched for a sign of Blaze, but found nothing.
“Go, go” she urged herself, and marched forward, one slow step at a time.
A yell sounded from across the river—it was Wilde, running back up the bank, his long beard flapping in the wind. He reached the end of the security cable and began removing it from the tree.
He’s moving it toward us, she thought, and a warm rush of hope surged through her.
She took a careful step just as another violent crack! sounded up the river, and Monica turned her head in time to see a dead branch the size of a stepladder careening down the flume straight at her. Its bark was black and laden with broken, spiked arms—
Monica drew a breath and ducked under the surface. The current hit her full in the face, but she twisted away and shot out her arms, grabbing for anything to pull herself down. Her fingers found a swollen rock and hauled her body down while the branch skidded right over, its jagged edges scraping at her helmet. Monica waited until it passed, then erupted from the depths, gasping. She wiped her eyes and saw the log pinballing downstream, slamming into one rock after another until it disappeared entirely.
She pushed herself onward with all her strength, working against the drag of the current. Jab with the pole, she thought. Test its hold. Step once. Step twice. Repeat.
“Allison!” she called.
Jab. Test. Step.
Yet another eardrum-piercing crack exploded upriver. Succumbing to the relentless abuse of the last few days, a thick tulip poplar plummeted to the earth. Before it could smash into the water and chase them away, the trunk slid into the tight ‘V’ shape of two other trees on the far shore, and the stout body settled into a black bridge spanning the width of the river.
Monica exhaled, the corners of her vision dark with oxygen loss.
Keep going.
She gasped her way toward a pair of rocks that protruded from the raging cascades like gray fingers.
“Blaze!” she called.
Monica stole a moment to glance at the far shore where Wilde was still at work. He had successfully moved the cable anchor downstream. The rescue wire hung low and precarious over the water, given the great width between its endpoints. Wilde clipped himself in and began to test the wire and whether it would hold him high enough over the water or not.
Panting with effort, Monica reached the first rock. The side was impossibly slippery, and the current shoved her along, and her feet nearly gave out on the slick, mossy stones strewn along the creek bed.
Jab.
The trekking pole continued to hold strong, and Monica steadied herself as she ducked under the slab.
Then she cried aloud.
Leaning against the other side of the monolith, her trembling fingers barely holding onto the wet surface, was a person. It was Allison Blaze, and her face was streaked with blood.
Monica immediately drove the hiking pole deep into the soft, muddy bottom, and propped herself against it, adding a little leverage against the rushing river. She hooked Blaze’s armpits with her hands and hoisted the limp body, trying to keep her head out of the water.
“Allison, I’m here!” she said, pulling her friend’s body close to hers.
At first, the woman appeared to float freely in the current. But as her face rotated into clearer view, she could see that Blaze was conscious, her eyes blinking and staring up at the sky as if stunned.
“Allison, can you hear me?”
Blaze blinked and a bulb of red blood dripped down her cheek.
“Hi,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching as if to smile.
“Can you move?”
Blaze’s lips quivered and the smile vanished. “I– I– I think so.”
“Okay,” Monica said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Monica bent her knees and shoved upward. The water rushed past her, but Monica pushed back against the relentless torrent. A splash hit them and Monica shook the drops out of her eyes in time to see blood running off Blaze’s face, revealing a purple cut under her left eyebrow. A fresh bubble of crimson appeared again.
“Can you put pressure on that?” she said, pointing to the wound.
“Yeah,” Blaze answered, her voice distant.
Monica dug her boots into the riverbed, twisting each foot to gain even a little leverage, and pushed upstream. “I’ve got you,” she said, her voice hoarse with effort.
“I’m dizzy,” Blaze moaned, her hand falling from her head.
“Hold that!” Monica said, grabbing Blaze by the wrist and forcing her hand back to the wound. “Hold it tight!”
Blaze yelped in pain, but kept her palm in place.
The forest once again burst into deafening noise with another crack! and Monica looked just in time to see a tree plunging into the river. It was one of the two forming a ‘V’ around the tulip poplar. The trunk crashed down, sending a geyser high into the air, but this time it was jolted forward as the second tree, the one it had been supporting moments ago, tumbled after. The two bobbed a moment, buoyed by the rushing waters, then began to slide right toward them.
“Wilde!” Monica shrieked, turning to the shore.
He was already midway along the cable, winching himself along in their direction. At the explosive sounds, Wilde let out a little slack on the line connecting him to the security wire. He slid a short way, then swung to a stop.
Thud!
Upriver, the first of the two poplars slammed into the remains of a beaver dam and wedged to a halt.
“Hurry!” Monica cried.
Wilde lowered himself to the surface of a dead tree, its bark bright with slimy moss. His boot slid right off like ice and he wobbled in the air, then kicked to propel himself forward.
Blaze moaned. Her entire arm was red from holding the horrible cut. Monica gritted her teeth and felt her friend’s mass increase as she surrendered to the menace of the current.
“Just a second more, Allison!”
Blaze mumbled, but Monica couldn’t hear or understand it over the roar of the wild stream.
With a high whining sound, Wilde floated overhead, the winch crying against his weight. He set his feet on the slab of sandstone and crouched, extending his arm.
“Give me your hand!” he yelled.
Monica put her lips right by Allison’s ear and said, “Reach up!”
Blaze’s arms twitched with effort, but fell to her side.
“Come on, Ranger!” Monica shouted. “Put your hand up!”
Lifting her friend’s lifeless appendages, Monica hoisted her as high as she could. She felt a drizzle of water as Wilde slapped his hand around Blaze’s wrist, closed his fingers, and pulled.
Blaze hardly budged.
“Help me with her!” Wilde yelled.
“I am!” Monica answered.
Yet again, a vicious crack! split the air.
Monica didn’t need to see it to know what was coming. Beneath her, tiny vibrations signaled that the whole tonnage of the two trees was careening down the valley straight toward them.
“On three!” Wilde called.
He counted, and at his word they both lifted, screaming in effort. Blaze rose only a foot out of the water and sagged back down, nearly slipping out of Monica’s grasp and under the surface.
“What are we going to do!?” she yelled, gazing up at Wilde who was now in terrible danger just as Blaze had been. If he couldn’t get free, he too would be mowed down by the wooden bulldozer driving straight toward him. Where would that leave her, holding Blaze as she bled out?
“Try again!” Wilde answered.
“No time!” Monica yelled. “Get out of there!”
But Wilde reached down again. “One more try!” he said. “Tell her, one more for me!”
Monica brought her mouth to Blaze’s ear.
“Pull with everything you have left, Ranger!” she commanded. “Everything!”
Blaze moaned but the sound was silenced by a sickening boom! as the logs crashed closer.
“One!” Wilde yelled.
She squatted to lift Blaze’s knees.
“Two!”
“Give me strength, Lord!” Monica whispered.
“Three!”
Dipping under the water for a moment, Monica pushed against the creek bed with every bit of remaining power, shoving Blaze’s legs out of the river.
“Come on!” she heard Wilde shout.
“Grab him!” Monica cried to Blaze. “Grab his hand!”
Then her arms started to give under the terrible strain.
She closed her eyes and prayed.
I can do all things through Him!
Above the banshee hiss of the river, another explosion of lumber and stone blasted their ears. The trees were about to crash right into them.
She stumbled a moment, nearly falling forward. Then everything became shockingly light.
Her burden had vanished!
She opened her eyes to see Blaze’s boots sliding onto the stone slab. Wilde crouched over her, a thick carabiner in his hand. He tossed Blaze’s exhausted body over his shoulder like a bag of cement, spun, and leapt off the jutting rock into the air back toward the shore.
For a moment they seemed to float there, suspended seven feet above the violent, squalling stream, as if they might never fall to the Earth again. Monica stared, open mouthed, waiting. The world slowed to a crawl, if only for a moment.
Then Wilde began to fall like a missile and the safety tether caught with a neck-jerking snap and the two swung forward, sliding over the tightly woven cable. Blaze remained draped over his shoulder, her head hanging and arms limp.
Are they clear? Monica thought.
The oncoming projectiles rushed into view and she twisted and dove toward the underside of the enormous slab. The impact shook the entire world and her ears burst with a tinny whine while the sediment plate shuddered and beat against her helmet. She ducked under the swirling rapids as the trees rolled over like the treads of a tank, their massive black surfaces churning and carving in a relentless march. For a moment the world was complete darkness, and she held her breath in the murky depths. Monica wondered if this was, indeed, the end, and whether all her efforts to be wise and safe had been for nothing.
Then the mighty trunks hung in the air after careening over the ramp-like rocks, spinning in a patient gyre, until they slammed back down with such tremendous force that the ground shook as if from the footsteps of a dinosaur.
Monica broke from the surface, leaning on her hiking pole, gasping. She wiped the spray from her face, turned toward the shore, and smiled with joy. Wilde and Blaze were safely on the ground, and her friend was sitting up and conscious, holding the wound above her eye as Wilde prepared a bandage.
“Thank you, Lord,” she said.
But she quickly fell to shivering from the power of the river, and sidled up to the boulder and leaned against it, shaking.
“I–I’m so cold,” she moaned, her teeth chattering.
Would Wilde be able to make a second journey out here to help her? Could Blaze be left alone for that long?
The sound of the high-pitched whistle of the wire met her ears again and she lifted her trembling head to the sky. Wilde hung from the safety cable just above her. He lowered himself, crouched on the rocks, and offered a hand.
Monica took it and felt herself lifted to safety. By the time Wilde had clipped her to the cable she was crying, and she did not stop even when her feet returned to the earth.
