At first I think it must be Leo’s, but then I see the shape of a yellow cooler, dry bags, life jackets, and more paddles. This is the second gear raft—and it has its guide oars intact, unlike our orange passenger boat. When I hit the floor and roll to my side, coughing up more water, the surface is firm and bouncy instead of spongy. Like maybe our other raft had been dragging with a slow leak.
I try to bring the fuzzy faces around me into focus. Each wears the same exhausted, terrified, but hopeful expression. They’re the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. Allie, Deborah, Pam, Imani, and—I can’t quite process what I’m seeing—a woman at the back of the boat, in the guide position.
It’sMacy.
Tears I was sure had run dry pour down my cheeks, burning raw skin as I stare at her, disbelieving. This isn’t possible. None of this is possible. Am I hallucinating? Am I dead? Is Leo Marsden stabbing me in the neck right now, and this is where my mind has gone to escape the awfulness?
No.I’m alive. I’m right here breathing, in and out, despite the pain in my lungs.
My eyes stay locked on Macy, who gives me a lopsided half-smile as Pam and Deborah help me sit up, tucking me between Imani and Allie in the center of the raft.
The right side of Macy’s head is a matted mess of hair, and blood has dribbled down to stain the top of her swim shirt a watery red. A deep, gory cut runs from her ear to her mouth, where wire sliced so deep I can see the muscles of her cheek dangling through the wet, gaping flesh. A flap of skin hangs loose beneath her chin, revealing glistening pink tendons beneath. Her ear is nearly severed, held on by a thin strip of tissue.
She survived the wire. Barely.
But she’s alive.She’s alive.We all are.
Relief and joy spread through me, as bright and beautiful and impossible as the rays of sun peeking over the edge of the canyon.
“How did … what … where’s Leo?” I sputter, eyes moving over the faces of the women around me.
“Who’s Leo?” Macy asks, her voice ragged. “You mean … Bryan?”
I glance at Allie. There clearly hasn’t been time to explain everything we’ve unraveled.
“We’re pretty sure Bryan’s real name is Leo Marsden,” Allie begins, talking rapidly. “You know … from the Camas Creek murders.”
Macy stares at her in disbelief, but just shakes her head. “Whoever the fuck that guy is … he’s downriver now,” she says, her voice stilted and almost unrecognizable as she tries to keep the cut on her mouth from moving too much. “He would’ve come past you just before we did.”
I realize, with a chill, that itwasLeo’s raft I first glimpsed with my eyes open underwater. That’s why I’d been sure I saw his raft leaving. He’d sailed right past me, probably figuring I’d drowned in that hole. If I hadn’t played dead the second Parker’s voice whispered in my ear, I might be dead right now after all.
In that moment, I know I won’t waste any more energy debating whether that voice is really Parker. Because what I know for certain is this: That voice loves me. It wants to protect me. And it knows that deep down, I actuallydowant to keep breathing—despite the pain.
“Tell me what happened,” I say, trying to focus. I don’t even know where to start with the questions spinning through my brain.
“Macy got him on the run,” Pam crows, pushing her slick wet bob behind her ears. “He’s not going to mess with us now,” she adds firmly.
Macy leans on the oars to pull us into a calmer pocket of water beside the canyon wall, and I can’t tell if she’s grimacing or if it’s just the new set of her mouth. “I wish I could’ve done more. I knocked him into the water for a few seconds, with one of these.” She indicates the long, sturdy guide oars in her hands. “But that’s all I could do.”
I try to picture the scene, but there are too many holes. And something inside me balks at celebrating victory yet.
This feels too convenient. He planned this horrifying “opus” for way too long to give up now.
When I see Allie’s expression, I know she’s thinking the same thing. There’s no way that Leo just high-tailed it out of here after getting knocked into the water—by a guide who called him “Flip-Flop” and made him carry the groover. A woman, no less.
Macy noses the raft against a narrow cove, effectively anchoring us where the water is almost devoid of a current. I can hear birds again, I realize—swallows, and the distinctive chatter of chukars—as Macy lets the oars drop against the locks.
“I can row for a while in the guide position if you want to rest?” Deborah offers between chattering teeth, but Macy shakes her off.
“We should all take some time to get warm, get a little food in us, drink water. Get our strength back. We’re safe for now … he has no real way of getting that raft back upstream by himself.” Macy nods toward the swift current beyond our pocket of calm. Then she holds up two liter-sized water bottles. “I grabbed everything I could when I went back to our camp at Anvil Falls.”
How the hell was she able to get back to that camp? I stare in disbelief at the assorted gear in our boat.
“Oh, thank god,” Deborah says, her voice quavering. “Thank you, Macy.” As she takes a water bottle from Macy, she winces. “Can we do anything with the first aid kit … for you?”
Macy shakes her head and shoots me another lopsided smile. “Nah. I know I look like shit, but it could have been a lot worse. If Kaia hadn’t seen that wire when she did … if I’d ducked half a second later … well … you know.” She tries to smile again, and winces. “I’m gonna ride the adrenaline. Let’s get Imani’s arm cleaned and bandaged withsome real supplies. And there’s some Mylar blankets in that purple gear bag for the rest of you,” she adds.
My heart constricts. Not only am I still alive, but not alone anymore. Five of us are here, alive, together, breathing.