Michael Smith - Rivers

“This is all so damn insane.”

“Not yet it ain’t,” Charlie said. “We got a little ways to go.”

There was a gust and the U-Haul swayed and Mariposa squeezed Cohen’s arm with both hands.

“We’re gonna have to wait on this wind,” Cohen said.

The rain pelted the windshield and the headlights gave little notice and something big smacked against the side of the U-Haul and they all jumped.

“All we gotta do is get right over there and it’s home free,” Charlie said. “About a mile up is one left turn and then another two or three miles to 49.” He pointed out in front with the flask. At the end of the headlight beams there was a bridge that was being washed over by an overflowing creek. The water rushed across the bridge and tree limbs and mounds of leaves and chunks of earth moved along with the strong current. The bridge rails were low and they leaned and wobbled with the flow, beaten nearly to death.

“No way,” Cohen said. “That thing’s about to go. You can’t even see it.”

“You can’t see it but it’s there. I been over this one before.”

“Then why’d it take so long to get to it?”

“ ’Cause it ain’t my first choice.”

“We can’t go over that,” Mariposa said.

“Can and are.”

Cohen put his hand on hers. Squeezed a little. “You just remember, Charlie, if we get washed away, you don’t get the money.”

Charlie drank from the flask. Thought about it.

The U-Haul rocked constantly in the wind. The creek seemed to rise even farther as they watched and no one could see the bridge or the other side of it.

“We got to wait,” Cohen said. “It’s a goddamn river.”

“Please,” Mariposa said.

“Just hold on,” Charlie answered.

“Hold on, hell,” Cohen said. “Back the hell up and let’s either sit or go another way.”

“It’s fine.”

“Goddamn it ain’t fine,” Cohen yelled and reached across Mariposa and shoved the old man. Charlie dropped the flask and shoved back and they began to wrestle with Mariposa in the middle and she yelled at them to stop and she yelled at the fierce night. They grabbed and pulled at one another and then Charlie stuck the pistol against Cohen’s ear.

“Don’t do it again, Cohen. I swear to God,” Charlie said.

Cohen didn’t move. Mariposa went quiet.

“Now settle down. Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Mariposa said.

“Shut the hell up.”

She wrapped her arms and rocked back and forth and watched the water run across the bridge and the road.

“Put it down,” Cohen said, the tip of the pistol touching his earlobe.

“I’m gonna put it down,” Charlie said. “And no more shit. You got it? We’re gonna sit. Watch. And then we’re going across that bridge.”

He removed the pistol from Cohen’s ear and Cohen sat back. Mariposa leaned over on Cohen and dropped her head in his chest. She began to talk, “God get us out God get us out God get us out.”

“Don’t do it,” Cohen said with a tight jaw and Charlie ignored him.

Cohen lowered his head and leaned on her. His forehead resting on the back of hers. His teeth clenched in frustration. Another swoon and the U-Haul seemed to want to give way and Cohen realized he had done it again. He was going to lose another one in a place where she shouldn’t be.

One side of the bridge railing bent way back, then broke free and disappeared into the current. Charlie turned to him and in the dim glow of the dash light his drunk, crooked grin seemed like something out of the underworld. He raised his pistol to remind Cohen that he hadn’t put it down.

Cohen shook his head slowly.

Charlie said, “Hang on.” He shifted the U-Haul into drive and stomped on the gas.

The truck plunged into the current and they felt the surge immediately. “Goddamn,” Charlie said, surprised by its strength and he dropped the flask and gripped the steering wheel tightly and the truck pushed to the left and toward the missing rail. Charlie stayed on the gas and the engine made a gurgling noise and then the bridge buckled underneath them and the back of the U-Haul dropped and the three passengers were suddenly reclined and looking up, as if someone had pulled a chair out from under them. Mariposa screamed and Charlie kept turning the steering wheel as if that somehow mattered. The back end swung around but the front end was caught on something and kept the truck from taking off downstream. Water poured into the floorboard and the headlights looked up into the vicious sky and Cohen shoved Mariposa back and leaned across and shattered Charlie’s nose with his right fist. Charlie roared like a wounded bear and he dropped the pistol onto the floorboard. Cohen went for it but then the U-Haul bed broke loose from the cab and flipped on its side and was gone with the current.

The cab fell to the driver’s side and Mariposa and Cohen were on top of Charlie, their bodies frantic and tangled and fighting at one another and Charlie’s nose bleeding freely. The pistol was there somewhere but Cohen went for Charlie instead and in the frantic mass he got his hands around the old man’s throat and he squeezed and Charlie’s arms were pinned by Mariposa’s body on top of him and Cohen’s body on top of hers. Cohen squeezed and tried to hold on as the cab dislodged and floated downstream and then it crashed into something and they all banged against the windshield and dashboard. Cohen’s hands came off Charlie’s neck but Charlie was hurt and spitting and coughing. The rushing water rocked the U-Haul and Mariposa and Cohen fought to get their bodies turned and their heads up and Charlie stayed pinned against the door. Mariposa got her feet on Charlie and stood on him and was down and grabbing at him again when the pistol fired. Cohen reared and expected to feel a burn somewhere but he didn’t and then he grabbed at Mariposa and expected her to tumble but she didn’t. Cohen got on his knees and he reached for Charlie but Charlie’s body had gone limp and he wasn’t fighting anymore. Cohen grabbed Charlie’s wrist and found the pistol in his hand and a bleeding hole underneath his chin. He took the pistol from Charlie’s dead hand and the water rushed into the cab and by the time he and Mariposa pulled themselves together and realized what was going on, the cab was half filled with water.

Cohen set his feet on the steering wheel and he held Mariposa around the waist. She was panicked and crying and he said be quiet, be quiet, just be quiet. Their heads were at the passenger door and the water was to their waists and rising and Cohen pushed at the door but it wouldn’t open. He said help me and they pushed together, grunting and crying out, but they couldn’t get it open and the water was at their chests now.

He told her to stop and put her head down and he fired the pistol twice and shattered the window and glass exploded and fell around them and so did the rain.

“Get out,” he told her and he lifted her by the legs and she climbed up and out of the window. The wind nearly pushed her off and into the surge but she held on. Cohen dropped the pistol and reached down in the water for Charlie. He felt around and pushed open his coat and got his hands on Charlie’s belt and he found the bowie knife. He jerked it from Charlie’s belt and raised up and stuck it into his coat and then he pulled himself up and out. They lay flat across the door, and Cohen realized that the cab was stuck against a fallen tree. Somehow the headlights still shined and he saw that the tree might stretch across to the bank. The water rose around the U-Haul and the rain came like bullets. Mariposa slipped and screamed and was nearly gone and he reached out and grabbed her by her long, beautiful black hair. He held on to the truck door through the broken window and pulled her hair and her legs were in the current and he fought to hold on and she got her hands up and grabbed his wrist and they managed to get her back up onto the cab door. They put their heads down and hooked their arms inside the door and held on like hell.