So I keep quiet while the search drags on.
Two hours crawl by. Dry bags are dumped out, gear boats torn apart, tents turned inside out—twice. Sweat glues my pajama pants to my legs as the sun climbs higher overhead, and I wonder if any of us will have the energy for the Devil’s Stairs after all this.
When I shade my face with the hood of my sweatshirt, Pam offers me her bottle of sunscreen. “Want some? You’re going to burn.”
I take it gratefully. “Sure, thanks.”
She nods, her hands smoothing out the smears of white on her arms. “You bet. No sense getting sunburned on top of everything else,” she adds in a matter-of-fact voice I find deeply reassuring. I remember she’s a vet and find myself imagining her with Bambi. I’d trust Pam with my dog any day.
Suddenly, Macy’s voice bellows, “Listen up! You can all head back to your tents and change now. We’re going to go ahead and break camp.” She pauses, her tone turning professional. “We weren’t able to locate the satellite phone. But I can assure you that I’ve been on countless stretches of the Garnet River more than fifty times over the past three summers, and we’ve only had to use the Sat phoneonceon the lower stretch—when a teenager did a backflip out of the raft and landed on a rock. And he was fine!”
My chest goes tight. The story is somewhat reassuring, but it also reminds me how far we are from anything—seventy-five miles of river between us and the nearest road, the nearest cell tower, the nearest anything. There’s no way out of here but downstream.
“But … who do you think took the phone?” Deborah asks.
All four guides force smiles, but there’s no mistaking that they’re even more rattled than they were before. Allie and Nikki stare at them, stone-faced and silent.
“Nobody took it,” Josh responds, finally. “We’re pretty sure we accidentally left it behind, actually. I really apologize, but these things happen.”
As he says those words, I catch Macy’s eyes shooting daggers into mine. It’s almost threatening. And I get the message.Do not say anything about the noises you heard last night.
I drop my gaze. The phone was there yesterday—Bryan and Gracie both said so. Someone opened the dry box and took it, on purpose.
After a moment, I nod at Macy to show I understand. But I can’t stop myself from asking the question burning in my throat, even though it’ll make me look like an idiot. “We can’t go back, somehow … for a new satellite phone?”
Everyone looks up at the towering canyon walls and the river pulsing just one direction—downstream. “Not unlessyou packed a helicopter,” Josh says, but there’s no sarcasm in his voice.
Nikki and Allie give each other matching smug but aghastI-knew-itlooks. Even with my suspicions about them gnawing at me, I have to admit that Allie is probably right. Without a way to contact the outside world, all of us are alone out here in a way we didn’t sign up for.
I swipe at the sweat crawling down my neck and head for my tent with the others.There’s no emergency, I tell myself.
Not yet.
“Multi-day rafting trips create an unusual intimacy among strangers. Cut off from civilization, participants often form intense bonds—or intense conflicts—within the first forty-eight hours.”
—The River Guide’s Almanac
11
By the time we break down and pack up camp, prepare and load the boats, and paddle out toward the frothing mouth of the Devil’s Stairs, we’re five hours past our planned launch time of nine a.m.
Instead of Macy, Josh guides our raft today, steering the oars at the rear. “We’ll pull some wraps from the cooler for lunch and eat right here on the water—ifwe survive this rapid,” he jokes.
If Josh expects laughter, he doesn’t get it. Maybe he’s just parroting the usual patter, like a Disney Jungle Cruise ride operator—but after this morning’s search for the missing satellite phone, the joke feels more ominous than funny.
“Isn’t thatyourjob, River Jesus?” Pam deadpans as she adjusts the strap on her Ray-Bans. “Keeping all of us alive? If I fall out, I expect you to walk on water and rescue me.”
This joke draws a few laughs, and I smile at Pam, grateful for the humor. Because I’m pretty sure things are about to get tense all over again. The river is narrowing quickly, the entrance to Devil’s Stairs opening before us. Right away, I can tell the waves are higher than they looked from the portage trail last night. We’ll be the first raft totraverse the rapid, followed by Bryan’s passenger raft, then Macy and Gracie in the two neon-green gear boats.
I glance over my shoulder and see that everyone in Bryan’s boat—including him—looks stiff and on edge. After seeing his rafting skills yesterday, I’m secretly grateful to be paired with Josh.
“Oh Lord,” Deborah calls out as the first stair-step swells, yanking us forward.
“Okay, ladies,” Josh booms, “Donotstop rowing when we hit the first wave, or wewillflip. All right, all right!”
Everyone on the right side of the raft springs into action.
“All forward, now! Give me everything you got!” Then, as the boat drifts sideways, he shouts, “Keep us straight, Deborah and Kaia! Follow their lead, everybody!”