Down the River; Part 2

Lunch ended quickly and soon the boys were racing down the river, with Sam and Matt leading the way. Soon the group came to a sign reading, Warning: White Water Rapids. Approach At Your Own Risk. This was met by another cheer from the troop as butterflies rose in each stomach.

Sam approached first, carefully aiming for every gap. As more boys dropped into the fast water, it became apparent that something wasn’t right. This wasn’t anything like the videos the troop had watched in preparation sessions. The water was too high and too fast. Gaps were difficult to see and the scrape of rock on the fiberglass bottoms of the kayaks could be heard over the roar of the river. Not thirty seconds into the rapids, there was a broken, gasping yell from Matt who was helplessly floating with the river, having lost his kayak. Jim watched as Matt would fall below the waterline, only to resurface several seconds later.

Jim paddled hard, trying to maneuver his way towards Matt, ignoring his own safety. As he came within feet of his flailing scout, there was an ear-splitting crack as Jim’s kayak hit a hidden boulder. Jim was thrown forward as his kayak came to an immediate stop. His powerless figure landed limply in the water, disappearing quickly under the surface.

Still ahead of the pack was Sam. Through his tear filled eyes, Sam caught a glimpse of the bottom of the treacherous rapids. Adrenaline surged through his veins as he paddled harder towards the next gap. His renewed determination propelled him hard and fast—too fast.

In his firm surge towards the gap, he had overshot it. Abandoning safety, he leaned towards the gap in a panicked attempt to fix his mistake. Without warning, his kayak tipped over, holding him in a death grip under the water. Frantically he flailed under the water, freeing his legs from the kayak. In a blind frenzy, his arms found the slippery surface of a fallen log in the water. Straining to keep his head above the water, Sam took a huge gulp of air, plunged his head under, summoned all of his strength, and pulled himself along the log towards the bank.

After a moment to catch his breath, he got up and scrambled up the bank to the top of the rapids. He searched hopefully for any sign of a scout, kayak, or leader, but found nothing. His mind racing, Sam ran down the shore to the bottom of the rapids. This time his hopeful search turned to a discovery of despair. Floating down the river was the lifeless body of every member of the group. Sam panicked and raced towards one of the bodies, caught on a rock near the shore.

Sam reached his friend and pulled him out of the water, turning over the body in his arms. It was Matt. Praying for a miracle, Sam checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

He held Matt’s face to his cheek, feeling for breathing. Still nothing. Sam dragged his friend up the shore and began performing CPR. Two emergency breaths. Fifteen compressions. Breath. Fifteen. Breath. Fifteen. Sam eyes burned with tears as he desperately tried to revive his best friend. Just when it seemed hopeless, Matt suddenly coughed and vomited several times. Despite his joy, Sam remembered that Matt could choke on or drown in his own vomit. Quickly, Sam turned him over and hit him on the back.

But he didn’t heave. No more coughing. It was over just as quickly as it had begun. Sam desperately felt for a pulse. Still nothing. No breathing. Springing into action, Sam began CPR again. But this time there was no vomit. No coughing. No hope.

Sam turned, beyond tears, beyond feeling, and walked aimlessly. Within minutes, he collapsed.