Read Online Dead River by Cyn Balog - Free Book Online

on the Androscoggin, made clothing forms. You know, mannequins and stuff. It closed down in the 1950s. But two years ago they were demolishing all the factories to make way for some condos. And somehow a bunch of the forms ended up in the river, and during the dam release, with the water churning the way it was, they looked like dead bodies.”
    Of course, dead bodies had to be in there somewhere. But it is kind of interesting. I find myself saying “Really?” and wanting to hear more.
    “Yeah. Funny thing was, all the guides were jumping in to save them. So we were soaked before we even started. And it’s not fun to spend three hours soaked on this river in earlyMay.” He laughs. “The good thing was, I’ve never had it any worse than that first time.”
    Well, that’s a good sign, at least. Surprisingly, I feel a bit of calm trickle over me.
    “Okay, Chief,” Justin says from the back. For some reason he calls guys in a position of authority Chief; I guess it’s in preparation for his police job. Either that or he likes to pretend he’s part of an Indian tribe. “We’re all set.”
    The calm doesn’t last; my heart buckles in my chest as we push off. For a second I look longingly at the pier, but only for a second, because soon we’re in the middle of the river. No turning back. I grip the paddle in my hand so hard that I’m surprised my fingers don’t make dents in the handle. I’m so stiff, afraid to even breathe because that might throw my balance off.
    After a few minutes, I loosen up a little and exhale. I manage to take my eyes off the river ahead for a moment or two to take in the shimmery, light green buds appearing on the trees and enjoy the fresh, clean smell of new spring growth. Actually, it’s not bad. Just coasting , I tell myself. Great scenery . We dip and toss, but only gently. Michael leans his oar over the side and begins paddling, so I do, too, imitating him perfectly. I almost forget that there are rapids up ahead, until Michael calls out, “Spencer Rips is first.”
    “Spencer who?” I ask, but then I see it. Peaks of white on the river ahead. At one point, the rushing water seems to disappear into a void, only to show up farther downstream. A waterfall . I want to hide at the center of the raft, butinstead, I follow Michael and just brace myself as we dip into the wave. A wall of icy water hits me square in the face and I bite my lip, tasting grit. Angela lets out a shriek—not of fear, knowing her. And I’m right, because two seconds later she shouts, “Awesome!” I swallow, thinking that this is how different my cousin is from me; never in my life could I consider eating dirt to be awesome. I don’t think my paddling does much, but I keep doing it, because everyone else is, and what if it’s all that’s keeping me from an icy swim in the Dead?
    A few tense minutes later, the river evens out. I exhale slowly and Michael looks back, smiling. “No sweat, right?”
    Justin claps me on the back. “You did it.”
    I did it. Yes!
    Michael relaxes and says, “So, as I was saying, this job is crazy. That was the first of many, shall we say, interesting excursions on the Dead.”
    Now I’m all ears. Almost relaxed, even. “Like what?”
    “Well, there were the dudes who insisted on rafting completely naked, except for their helmets and paddling jackets. And the ladies who were part of a reality TV show. They thought it was a sightseeing tour of the river. One of them chipped a nail and all hell broke loose.”
    I laugh.
    “Yeah. Robert was all like, ‘Put a sock in it and get your arses on the raft.’ And he took out a knife and started waving it at them.”
    “Robert?” I ask. “You mean Robert Skiffington? Pat’s uncle?”
    “Yeah. He’s crazy. He used to jump into the river in the winter without a wet suit. And after the ride, he’d run around base camp screaming and laughing and peeking in the tents of the female campers.” He laughs. “The Australian outback