Read Online Scorpion by Ken Douglas - Free Book Online

had more give than a log should have. He turned away from the rocks and rapids up ahead and stole a quick look at it.
    And screamed.
    The log had a face.
    It was Loomis, eyes stone wide in death. He let go of the body, flaying the water and fighting for air. Then something smacked into him. He grabbed onto it, and screamed again. This log had a face, too. But the need for survival overcame his terror and he grabbed onto Jackson’s limp body and sucked in a huge lungful of air.
    Then he was in it. The river churning and boiling all around him. He fought for air, fought to stay afloat and fought through the gaps, using Jackson’s body as a cushion against the rocks. He did it without thinking, his will to survive stronger than the revulsion of hanging on to the dead man.
    And even with the body he was still taking a beating. He had to get out of the river. Several homes lined the riverbank at various places, but yelling for help was out of the question. He was in the river canyon twenty feet below. No one would hear.
    He tried to form a mental picture of what lay ahead. Not the rapids and the rocks, he knew those, but the places on the side that he might be able to get to, places out of the river rush. There was one, not far ahead, sort of a side pool, blocked by a huge rock that rose from the river. He’d actually seen fishermen in it as he’d rushed by with Jackson in the past.
    If he missed the pool there was a section of the river after the next group of rocks that had several overhanging branches on both sides of the river. He remembered having to duck to keep his head as he and Jackson had rafted under them.
    He started to make his way to the right as the river rounded another bend. If he could stay far enough to the right, but not so far that he smashed into the giant rock. If he could summon enough strength for a few good kicks, and if his timing was spot on, he might be able to swim into the pool.
    It was coming up faster then he anticipated and he was too far to the right. He was going to crash into the giant rock. Frantically he pushed Jackson in front of him, using the body as a shield, as the raging river threw them toward the rock. The dead body careened into the it and he smashed into the dead body. He heard bones crunching and cracking as he lost hold of Jackson. The river picked him up and flung him sideways. He hit the rock back first and slid along it, clawing and scratching for a hold. Then he was past the rock and he kicked and swam for the hole into the pool, but the river was too fast and he didn’t have the strength.
    He sucked in a lungful of air as the river drew him under. Now he was going down the river without any protection and he was only halfway through this group of rapids. If he made it through them, he would have nothing but rushing river for a few hundred yards. He’d be able to grab onto the overhanging branches by the riverbank. Then he was in it again, swimming and dodging, holding his breath, lungs bursting, adrenaline flowing. His body took over, it was all reflex now. His experience and memory of the river, its twists, turns, rocks and hazards, all buried in the subconscious that took over. Sheriff Earl Lawson was only along for the ride, the animal within was running the show.
    He was an eel, sliding through a narrow passage, then he was a great fish, powerfully swimming toward the next opening in the rocks where he became an eel again. A few times his animal judgment was off and he’d scrape along a rock as he struggled through a slim opening, and once he smashed into a smooth shaped boulder his animal self didn’t remember. But he managed to keep his breath, despite the crash, and then he was through it, floating down the rushing river, headed for the next group of rapids.
    He fought the pulling river as he pulled in air and he swam toward the side. The next group of rapids would be the last. If he didn’t make it this time he was history. He knew it and the animal within