Marc Zicree - Angelfire

No Colleen.

My throat, already raw from yelling, constricted. God, no. I careened past Goldie on the narrow track, nearly tripping over him.

Doc was shouting Colleen’s name. When I thought he would dive into the river after her, she surfaced not two feet from him, gasping for breath.

“My boot! I’m caught!”

At that moment, in one of those flukes of the cosmos that can only have been carefully choreographed, the sodden tree limb Magritte had dallied the rope around collapsed, ripping Goldie off his feet. He pitched, screaming, toward the sinkhole, the rope still twisted around his hands.

There was no decision to be made: I turned back and lunged after him, got hold of the rope, braced my feet among the rocks and threw my whole weight against it. He scrambled upright and joined me; together we brought the struggling mare closer to shore.

Only yards away there was an explosion of sound and movement. Big T flew up out of the river, steaming and shivering. Through his quaking legs I could see Doc, still up to his thighs in the current, his frantic grip all that kept Colleen from going under.

Beyond them the smooth, misty flood was cut by something that I might have taken for a large log except that logs are rarely so purposeful and never move against a current.

“Jesus-Buddha,” Goldie prayed, and I knew he’d seen it, too.

So had Colleen. “Let go of my hands!” she shrieked, now fighting Doc as before she’d fought the river.

He shook his head. “No!”

“Just one! If I can reach the snag, I can lose the boot!” “I will lose you !”

“ No . No, you won’t. Viktor, please !”

He shifted his grip, freeing her left hand. She disappeared beneath the water, only her right arm in Doc’s grasp.

The dark disturbance in the stream slipped closer, parting water and mist. It seemed to gain bulk as it approached, ride higher in the water.

A ball of light sailed out to the water’s edge and began bobbing along it, well away from Doc and Colleen. It was Magritte, trying to distract the thing.

Goldie’s grip on the pack line faltered. “Oh, Maggie, be careful,” he breathed.

She didn’t need to be careful. Whatever was in the water, her brightness and motion made no impression on it; it had focused on Colleen’s struggle.

I glanced at Goldie. “Let go.”

He gave me no argument. We released the pack line in unison, letting the floundering mare slide. She staggered backward, lost her balance, and toppled into the deepest part of the sinkhole. Then she swam, not toward shore, but out into the current. We were already in motion, headed toward where Doc fought to maintain his hold on Colleen. I drew my sword, my eyes on that dark presence making its way toward shore. We were just above Doc on the bank when Colleen broke the surface, flailing and gasping for air. He locked his arms around her and wrenched her from the water.

Farther up the bar, just offshore, a horse’s scream rent the heavy mists. The river boiled. I didn’t have to look to know that our sacrifice had been accepted by whatever god swam the currents.

By the time Goldie and I slid down to the river’s edge, Doc was carrying Colleen to shore. Coatless and bootless, she lay limp in his arms, the heaving of her chest the only evidence that she was alive. We reached down to drag them the last few feet onto relatively solid ground, supporting them up the treacherous bank to a safe place among the rocks.

“Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God.” Colleen ground the words out through chattering teeth.

I held out my arms, intending to take her from Doc, but he ignored me.

“She’ll become hypothermic if we don’t warm her. These wet clothes…”

I swung around, looking for the horses. They were just up the rocky ridge where Enid and Magritte had corralled them, and now worked at calming them down. I hoped he wasn’t singing to them. Goldie and I moved toward them in unison.

“We’ll need dry clothes,” I told him. “Doesn’t matter whose. And we’ll need a tent. Something to use as a windbreak.”

We helped Enid tether the horses, then broke out tent, clothing, and med-kit. There was no choice location, but we managed to set the tent up among the rocks in a place that offered some natural protection from the icy wind. Magritte had rounded up a sleeping bag and wrapped it around Colleen where she huddled in the lee of a tangle of driftwood, Doc feverishly checking her pulse, her eyes, her hands.

The moment I had the tent up, Doc was there, cradling Colleen as if he feared she might break. She looked awful. Her face was white, her lips blue, her eyes huge and glazed. Her entire body quivered uncontrollably. I watched him ease her into the tent, then handed in the pile of clothing and the med-kit. Doc asked for a knife and disappeared inside.

I turned to Goldie, eager to give myself something to do. “Let’s go assess our situation. I want to be ready to move as soon as they’re done.”

He nodded and moved, grim-faced, toward where Enid tended the horses.

The situation wasn’t dire, but we had lost some supplies, including food, fresh water, and horse fodder. A tent was gone, as were some of our household utensils. I was glad Colleen had instructed us to spread the critical items out across the pack animals-for this very reason. We had less of everything than before, but we still had some of everything. I tried not to think about the horse.

I returned to the tent then, to stand guard. I kept my mind occupied with planning. Colleen’s voice, rising softly through the fabric in answer to Doc’s questions, was reassuring, but only served to underscore my inability to do anything for her.

“Open your eyes, Colleen.” The tenor of Doc’s voice suggested that the danger was far from past. It jogged me out of my fragile confidence.

“So tired,” she murmured.

“You must stay awake.”

“Okay. Okay… Oh … Oh, I’m cut.”

“It’s all right. I’ll make you a patch.”

“That’s a big cut, isn’t it?”

“Then I will make it a big patch. Can you straighten your legs?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Try.”

“Hurts… Oh, no! Not the jeans! Don’t cut the jeans! I’ll try!” She whimpered. “There… oh, sonofa bitch , that hurts!” “Good work, boi baba .”

There was a moment of relative silence, then Colleen moaned, “Oh, God, Viktor! I can’t feel my skin!”

A shaft of river ice twisted itself into my gut.

“It’s still there, I promise.” His voice was soothing, falsely light.

I distracted myself with memories of thawing out after my dunk in the skating pond. I had survived that chilling experience. Colleen would survive this. She was tough. Tougher than I was, by a long shot. But I had done my thawing in the warmth of my home, pampered with warm blankets, hot tea, and a fire.

And I hadn’t been in the water as long as she had. Goldie slipped over the rocks and came to stand beside me. “How goes it?”

“Slow.”

“Should we start a fire?”

I shook my head. “I think the best thing is just to get her out of this damned ice swamp.”

“I’d be afraid to start a fire out here, anyway,” Goldie told me. “Too much gasoline.”

I sniffed. Among the other odors, the gasoline was almost buried, but not quite. “Good God, I’m glad you

caught that. I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, with all the other wonderful aromas-”

“Colleen!” Doc’s voice was tinged with alarm.

“Colleen!”

I took a step toward the tent.

Goldie stopped me. “He’s a doctor, Cal. What’re you going to do that he can’t?”

There was a stinging slap and Colleen gasped.

“Forgive me,” Doc said.