The Lucky One(100)

“Thibault?”

Thibault forced his way through the last few steps. The rain whipped around him and the waning light made it difficult to see. He slowed to a walk, trying to catch his breath.

“What happened?” he shouted.

“Ben’s gone!” she shouted back.

“What do you mean, gone? What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Nana cried. “Clayton was here and Beth came out looking for Ben . . . and then the two of them took off toward the creek. I heard something about the tree house.”

A moment later, Thibault was sprinting toward the woods, Zeus at his side.

The rain and wind lashed the branches on either side of them, cutting their faces and hands. The path had been blocked by dozens of fallen limbs, forcing Beth and Keith to push through bushes and vines to get around them. Twice, Beth stumbled and fell; behind her, she heard Keith fall as well. The mud was thick and viscous; halfway to the tree house, Beth’s shoe came off, but she didn’t stop.

The tree house. The bridge. The flood. Only adrenaline and fear kept her from throwing up. In her mind’s eye, she could see her son on the bridge as it suddenly gave way.

In the shadows, she stumbled again over a half-decayed tree trunk and felt a searing pain in her foot. She rose as quickly as she could, trying to ignore it, but as soon as she put weight on it, she crumpled to the ground again.

By then, Keith had reached her side and he pulled her up without a word. Keeping an arm around her waist, he dragged her forward.

They both knew Ben was in danger.

Clayton had to force himself not to succumb to panic. He told himself that Ben was intelligent, that Ben would know danger when he saw it, that he wouldn’t press his luck. Ben wasn’t the bravest kid. For the first and only time in his life, he was grateful for that.

Even as they struggled through the underbrush, Beth hobbling beside him, Clayton couldn’t ignore what he was seeing. Far beyond its banks, almost at their feet, he saw the creek, running wider, stronger, and faster than he’d ever seen it.

Thibault had been running hard, charging through mud and water, forcing himself not to slow but finding it more difficult with every step to keep up his desperate pace. Branches and vines snapped at his face and arms, scissoring him with cuts he didn’t feel as he blasted through them.

As he ran, he ripped off his raincoat and then his shirt.

Almost there, he kept telling himself. Only a little bit farther.

And in the distant reaches of his mind, he heard the echo of Victor’s voice:

There is more.

Beth could feel the bones in her foot grinding against one another with every step, sending flashes of fire throughout her lower body, but she refused to scream or cry out.

As they drew near the tree house, the creek widened even more, the current curling and whipping into circles. Brackish water broke into tiny waves around heaps of fallen branches along the fast-disappearing banks. The turbulent water was filled with debris, enough to knock anyone unconscious.

Rain came down from the sky in sheets. The wind toppled another branch, and it crashed to the ground only yards away. The mud seemed to suck the energy from both of them.

But she knew they’d reached the oak tree: Through the downpour, she could make out the rope bridge, like the ragged mast of a ship finally sighted through a misty harbor. Her eyes swung from the ladder to the rope bridge, toward the central landing. . . . The waters of the creek were racing over it, debris collecting against it. Her gaze traveled from the rope bridge to the tree house platform, taking in the awkward angle of the dangling bridge. It hovered only a foot above the water because the platform had nearly been ripped off the tree house’s ancient structural support, clearly about to give way.

As if in a waking nightmare, she suddenly spotted Ben in the rushing creek, clinging to the rope bridge below the tree house platform. Only then did she allow herself to scream.

Clayton felt fear flood his veins as soon as he saw Ben grasping the fraying edge of the rope bridge. His mind raced frantically.

Too far to swim to the other side, and no time.

“Stay here!” he shouted to Beth as he raced toward the tree ladder. He scaled it and set off on the bridge at a run, desperate to reach Ben. He could see the tree house platform sinking. Once the force of the current touched it, it would tear away completely.

On his third step, the dry-rotted planks broke and Clayton felt himself smash through the platform, breaking his ribs on the way and free-falling toward the water. It was all he could do to grab the rope as he hit the raging water. He struggled to tighten his grip as he went under, his clothes dragging him down. He felt the current pulling at him, and the rope tightened. He held on, trying to get his head above water, kicking wildly.

He bobbed to the surface and gasped: His broken ribs exploded in pain, making everything go black for an instant. In a panic, he reached for the rope with the other hand, fighting against the current.

As he held on, ignoring the pain, branches rammed his body before spinning off wildly. The current crashed over his face, obscuring his vision, making it difficult to breathe, making it difficult to think of anything but survival. In his struggle, he didn’t notice the pilings beneath the central landing lurch under the strain of his weight, beginning to lean with the ferocious current.

Beth hobbled to her feet and tried to walk. She got three steps before falling again. She cupped her mouth and shouted across the creek.