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knew it. Just as he thought it was all over he saw an overhanging branch within his reach. He gave it his last and his best effort as he thrust his arms out of the water and grabbed onto it.
    He didn’t know how long he’d been hanging onto the branch, a few seconds or a few minutes, but he had to do something. His arms were straining, he was still in the water from the waist down, and the river was sapping what little strength he had left. He tried to pull himself up and he managed to almost chin himself, holding his eyes level with the branch, knees in the river, stomach muscles screaming as he struggled to get out of the water, but he couldn’t do it and he sagged back down. He didn’t have the energy or the strength left to pull himself up onto the branch.
    The water was rushing around him, dragging him, tugging on him, calling him. He was holding on, breathing like a machine, in and out, taking in vital oxygen for one last try, and then it dawned on him that he’d never be able to pull himself up on that branch, but it wasn’t the only way out, there was another way, a simpler way. All he had to do was inch his hands along the branch toward the riverbank.
    The wet cold cut through to the bone, the driving river was pulling at his heavy legs, his arms were screaming, his hands aching and his fingers were numb. He was about used up. He was fighting just to hold on. He was afraid if he let a hand go he’d fall back in the river, but he knew that if he didn’t move quickly he’d fall back in anyway, and the river would finish him, so he slid first one hand, then the next toward the riverbank.
    It was slow going, but he was making progress. He was getting out of the river. Then he couldn’t move anymore, something was holding him back. He started to panic, but fought it away. Then he realized what it was. His feet had hit bottom. He was safe. He’d made it. Soloed halfway through the rapids, with a dead body for a raft.
    He stumbled out of the water, grabbing onto the tree’s root system for support. He was out of the water. Now he only had a twenty foot embankment to claw his way up. He thought about Maria. He thought about the money. And he thought about climbing that cliff. Not so high. Not so hard.
    He wormed his way around the tree and started to climb, digging his damaged hands into the soft earth, pulling on small branches, clutching onto small stones, grabbing any and every purchase he could. He moved slowly and deliberately. He didn’t want to fall back into the river.

Chapter Five
     
    “ You want to hang around or do you want to get out of here?” Broxton asked, coming up behind Maria. His voice cracked with the words. He sounded like a little boy fighting tears, and her heart went out to him.
    “ The quicker I’m gone, the better, but I’m the senior flight attendant. I should stay till they release us.” She regretted the words as soon as they’d left her lips, but she really couldn’t leave. Her life had been split between Earl and the airline and the airline had been the better half. Still Broxton was a man in pain and after their experience on the plane she felt a certain kinship with him. She wished there was something she could do.
    “ I understand,” Broxton said, with sagging shoulders.
    He was looking down, at the floor, and she imagined that he was feeling twice rejected. She wanted to fold her arms around him and hug him into her like she would a lost child. She wanted to tell him everything was going to be all right. There were other women out there, she wanted to say, and someday soon he’d meet one and then the heartache would be gone. Instead she said, “I’m ready to go, if you are. I just have to make a quick phone call.” She had to call Earl, but she shivered with the thought that it wasn’t going to be the kind of call he was expecting.
    “ But you said.”
    “ I think the airline can probably get by without me right now. They probably won’t even notice I’m