Keeping the light beam on Con's terrified face, Joe rushed with Rick to the bank. Twice, Rick slipped and was saved by Joe's strong hand. Once on shore, they raced to catch up with Con.
'Con,' yelled Joe, 'swim toward the light, but don't fight the current. Come in at an angle.' Soon they were jogging parallel with Con, following her slow progress to safety and shouting encouragement. They could see that the duffel bag was both help and a hindrance to her. The air trapped inside helped to keep her afloat, but the bag interfered with her movements. Foot by foot, she came closer to the shore, and Rick prepared himself to rush in and help her the moment it seemed feasible. Then, when Con was only ten yards from Joe and Rick, a tributary barred their way. They watched helplessly as the side stream pushed Con farmer from shore. They kept their light on her as she dwindled into the distance, finally to be swallowed by dark-ness.
AS CON STRUGGLED to keep afloat and reach the shore, the light had been her star of hope. She knew Joe was directing it, but she could see only the light. It had grown brighter and brighter before it had begun to fade. Now it was gone, and hope was gone with it.
The duffel bag slowly filled with water and lost its buoyancy. Con thought of its precious contents as it turned into a deadweight—warm clothes, a flashlight, two blankets, a water bottle, a pan—so many useful things, all irreplaceable. Now the possessions that were supposed to sustain her were dragging her toward death, tempting her with the peace of oblivion.
The memory of Rick and Joe and the peaches made her choose life. Con freed herself from the bag and it sank into the depths. Still, the river sought to claim her. In total darkness, she had no sense of where to go. All she could do was try to keep her head above water. Con was a strong swimmer, and she was smart enough to conserve her energy. As long as she did not fight the current, it was relatively easy to stay afloat. The river was strong, but not particularly turbulent. She also realized that death was patient. She would eventually tire, as swimming in the chilly water sapped her energy. Con was beginning to feel the onset of fatigue when something bumped into her. She could not tell what it was, but she instinctively grabbed hold of it. The object was very large, and it bobbed slightly under her weight.
She had difficulty maintaining a hold on its wet knobby surface, which seemed inflated like a huge rubbery bal-loon. After a few puzzled moments, she realized that the object must be the bloated corpse of a dinosaur.
26
AS THE WATER SLOWLY NUMBED HER BODY, CON WON-
dered if she were already dead.
The corpse she clung to abruptly stopped, jarring her loose. It began to deflate, venting a putrescent stench. The odor acted as smelling salts, reviving Con's senses. She re-alized her feet were touching mud. As her mind cleared, Con decided she was either stranded on a shoal midstream or washed close to a bank. Her eyes gave her no clues as to which. She moved to her left, and the water became deeper. She retreated to the right, then moved farther in that direc-tion. The water became shallower. Slowly, she felt her way, measuring her progress by the depth of the water. When she could no longer touch the dinosaur, the river reached her waist. Its current was strong.
The prospect of safety made the threat of being swept away all the more terrifying. The river bottom was as slip- pery and treacherous as when she had first slipped and, this time, there was no light to guide her. Worse, she was near the end of her strength. If the river overpowered her again, she knew she would quickly drown.
For a while, Con's fear paralyzed her, and she stood trem-bling as the current clawed at her legs. Then, with difficulty, she composed herself and started inching her way in the dark. Sometimes, she took a wrong path, and the water became deeper. When that happened, she retreated to strike out in a new direction. In this blind, blundering manner, she found where the water was shallower until, at last, her feet sank into only muck.
Con fell to her knees, then collapsed on the mud. Rain pelted her and, as she rested, the river swelled until it washed over her legs. With effort, Con crawled a few yards up the embankment, then collapsed again. In her exhaustion, the only emotion she felt was a dull form of relief. Only grad-ually did some strength return to her. She sat up and removed her remaining shoe. Tying its laces together, she hung it around her neck. Con's sole resources consisted of that single shoe, a tee shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of panties. The pockets in the shorts were empty except for a few seashells. Con stood up and let the driving rain wash the mud from her. Then she began to falter uphill. Her only orientations in the dark were up and down; otherwise, she had no idea where she was headed. 'Up' promised escape from the river and, perhaps, relief from the muddy cascades that flowed over her feet. Using her bare feet as groping hands, she climbed with little steps. Moving felt good, despite the effort it required. It brought a bit of warmth, and it gave her a sense she was doing something. Slowly and cautiously, Con made her way in the dark. Occasionally, she stumbled into the remains of a small scrubby tree or bush. Every time she felt the wood, it crum-bled in her hands.
