Gillian was scrambling down the other side of the ridge, slithering, the wet snow adhering to her like lumpy frosting.
Heart pounding, out of breath, she stood on the bank of the creek. Below her, at the edge, she could see fragile ice ledges reaching out like petals over the rushing water. Spray had frozen like diamond drops on overhanging grasses.
But nothing living. Gillian frantically scanned the surface of the dark water.
"Are you there?" she shouted. "Can you hear me?"
Nothing. Rocks in the water. Branches caught against the rocks. The sound of the rushing creek.
"Where are you?"
She couldn't hear the crying anymore. The water was too loud.
Maybe the kid had gone under.
Gillian leaned out, looking for a wet head, a shape beneath the surface. She leaned out farther.
And then-a mistake. Some subtle change of balance. Ice under her feet. Her arms were wind-milling, but she couldn't get her balance back. . . .
She was flying. Nothing solid anywhere. Too surprised to be frightened.
She hit the water with an icy shock.
Everything was freezing confusion. Her head was under water and she was being tumbled over and over. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, and she was completely disoriented.
Then her head popped up. She automatically sucked in a huge gasp of air.
Her arms were flailing but they seemed tangled in her backpack. The creek was wide here and the current was very strong. She was being swept downstream, and every other second her mouth seemed to be full of water. Reality was just one desperate, choking attempt to get enough air for the next breath.
And everything was so cold. A cold that was pain, not just temperature.