She turned to forge ahead, ankle deep in water, but Tyler didn’t move. She stepped back to take his arm. “Tyler, we can do this. As soon as we find a good place to hide, we’ll rest. But we can do this!”
“Your dog!” His gasps turned to sobs. “I hate them! I hate them!”
“So do I. But don’t let them fucking win!”
The curse shocked the boy into action. He began to move, slowly, his head hanging and his feet dragging through the water. Hugging the narrow bank, she picked up the pace, slipping and splashing through reeds and over rocks, but somehow staying on her feet. Up ahead, the roar of water grew louder as the creek rushed toward a drop. For safety, she scrambled farther up the muddy bank, clinging to roots and saplings while down below, the creek gathered force in its descent. Up ahead, she could see it disappearing over a steep, rocky drop.
Behind her, she heard a scream. She turned back just in time to see Tyler pitch down the bank, flailing and grabbing at branches before he fell into the water and swirled through the rocks.
She leaped down into the rapids. Although the water wasn’t deep, the current tugged at her legs and she could feel her balance giving way. She seized an overhanging branch and pulled herself slowly back upstream toward him.
He was struggling to stand up, but each time he slipped and fell back into the relentless current. Finally he draped himself over a boulder in the middle of the brook and hung on in exhaustion, mere metres from the waterfall. He raised a ghost-white face to her.
“Hang on! Don’t move!” she shouted over the din of the water. She inched her way up, from one branch to the next, all the while trying to think of the best way to get him safely to shore. She came alongside him and leaned out over the water. Her fingertips touched his, but she knew it wasn’t enough. If he were pulled from her grasp by the current, he would be swept over the falls before he could even try to stop.
“Hold still,” she said. “I’ll get you, but I need …” Her gaze fell on two large rocks by the water’s edge. She tugged and shoved and rolled them little by little into the brook until they formed a chain of obstacles leading from the shore to Tyler.
“Work your way around your boulder and behind these rocks. Don’t try to stand. Hang onto the rocks. I’ll get a branch to help you to shore.”
He looked up at her, his whole face twisted with pain and panic. “I can’t feel my right foot.”
“It’s probably just cold,” she replied. “Crawl on your knees. The important thing is to keep these rocks downstream from you.”
He crawled around the boulder and wedged himself between it and the next rock. Water sucked at his clothes and his lips were turning blue. He stretched a pale, trembling hand toward the next rock. “I … I can’t.”
She broke off two branches of deadfall and splashed out into the water to brace them between the rocks, strengthening the bridge. Then she grabbed the top of his backpack and guided him to the bank. Tyler collapsed to his hands and knees. “I still can’t feel my foot,” he managed through clenched teeth. She bent down to examine his foot, but could see no signs of blood or injury around the shoe. When she touched it, however, he screamed in pain.
“Can you bend it?”
“Hurts too much.”
“Wiggle your toes?”
He wrinkled his brow in concentration. “Yes,” he said after a few seconds.
“That’s good. I think at worst, it’s sprained. I’ll splint it and make you a crutch.”
It took her fifteen minutes to fit him up with a splint and crutch fashioned from the branches she had torn loose. She tried not to think about their pursuers, and the gains they were making. When she hauled Tyler to his feet, he was able to hobble a few steps, but how they were going to manage the rugged terrain, she didn’t know.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t walk.”
“Let’s see what’s below these falls,” she said. “If I have to, I’ll carry you.”
“You can’t carry me. I’m almost as big as you!”
“You’d be surprised.” He was probably right, of course, but she wasn’t about to let him know. “And I know how to make a stretcher too.”
“I’ll sit here while you check out what’s ahead.” He started to ease himself down.
“No you won’t! Come on, lean on me.”
By bracing himself against her, he managed to hop forward. Their progress was excruciatingly slow, and all the while, she imagined she could hear crashing through the bush behind them. When they reached the bottom of the falls, the ravine opened up. Inky blue sky, a yawning drop, and beyond it the sparkling silver sea.
And down at the bottom of the hill, like a gap-toothed smile, a string of little houses clustered around a tiny bay.
Chapter Twenty-One
As the police Zodiac steered back into Conche Harbour, Chris spotted the trademark fedora of Matthew Goderich. The journalist was pacing at the dockside, and he rushed forward before Chris or anyone else could disembark.
“The body — is it Amanda?”
“No comment!” Sergeant Amis snapped. “Let us get off the goddamn boat first.”
“But it’s a body, right?”
“I can confirm that human remains have been discovered, yes, but until we have more information —”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Man or woman?”
Amis hesitated. He studied Matthew, and Chris could almost see him weighing his options. News travelled fast between the close-knit communities up and down the coast, and keeping secrets was nearly impossible. In the end, Amis fell back on standard prattle.
“We’ll be issuing a statement at —” he glanced at his watch “— ten a.m. tomorrow, and until then I request that you keep this information confidential until we have a chance to speak to the parties affected.”
Matthew wasted no further effort on him, but instead spun around to fall into step beside Chris. “Is it Amanda?” he whispered as they walked down the wharf.
Chris shot him an oblique glance. “No.”
A spasm of relief passed over Matthew’s face. “Phil, then?”
“Matthew, don’t ask me! You know I can’t say.”
“Oh my lord, poor man.” Matthew faltered and grabbed the side of a pickup truck for support. “How did he die? Suicide?”
“Goderich!”
Matthew held up a conciliatory hand. “I know. Ten a.m. But where’s Amanda?”
“We don’t know,” Chris said. A wave of sorrow and fatigue crashed over him, tightening his chest. “Out there somewhere.”
“Alone?”
Chris hesitated.
In the silence, Matthew sucked in his breath. “Or with the kid! She’s with Phil’s kid, isn’t she? Oh Jesus, a nightmare for her all over again!”
“I didn’t tell you anything.”
“You think I’m an idiot? Goddamn it, Tymko! I’m on your side here. She’s my friend. Phil’s my friend. You think all I want to do is plaster some sensational story all over the headlines?” Matthew turned and stormed off toward the collection of trailers and tents that had sprouted up around the RCMP mobile command post on the hill above the village. He threw the last words over his shoulder. “Does his wife know? Someone will have to talk to her.”
“Don’t you dare!” Chris shouted,