The raft had begun to turn abruptly toward starboard and, as it floundered in the grasp of the strong current, it began to whirl-slowly at first-and then with ever-increasing rapidity. It was like some sort of crazy merry-go-round. It spun dizzily, and Chuck dropped to his belly, clinging to the lashings with grasping fingers.
“Everybody down!” he yelled. He saw the two doctors drop to their knees and reach for the safety of the lashings. Masterson and Gardel were already flat on the deck, holding tightly as the raft gained speed. Arthur staggered for a few seconds, tottering like a drunkard, and then dropped down next to Pete, who had wrapped one fist around a lashing near the end of the raft.
“Denise!” Chuck shouted. “Get…”
He watched the girl stagger around the raft, her knees buckling, her hands groping blindly. She stumbled forward, and Chuck struggled to get to his knees, the whirling motion making him sick inside. The raft suddenly shook itself free of the whirlpool, was captured in a cross current that sent it zooming forward in a straight line. Another current caught it and deflected its forward motion, slapping it to one side like a billiard ball.
Chuck was up now, reaching forward for Denise, who fell to her knees and began rolling toward the edge of the raft.
“Denise!”
The currents were enjoying themselves now. They were playing catch with the raft, tossing it back and forth like a beanbag. The raft tilted precariously, and Denise rolled rapidly to the edge. There was a blur of movement, and her long legs flashed in the sun, her hands groping for some kind of grip on the deck.
And then she was over the side! Her blonde head disappeared beneath the water, bobbed to the surface like a yellow cork and was swept away suddenly as the current found a new plaything. In ten seconds flat she was thirty feet from the raft, with the distance widening every second. Chuck ran across the raft, stopped near the edge to kick off his shoes, and then dived into the water.
The water was cold. It closed over his head like an icy tomb. He felt the powerful grip of the current yanking at his legs, saw the blue depths eddying before his eyes. He thrust his arms downward and shoved himself up to the surface. His head broke water and he opened his mouth wide, sucking in a great gulp of air. Far off in the distance, like a speck of sunlight against the water, he saw Denise’s golden head.
He reached out with one arm, pulled against the water. His other arm came up over his head, completed the stroke, pulled. Up, over, pull. Up, over, pull. He kept his legs going like powerful pistons, never relaxing his struggle against the current. His arms ached from the strain of fighting the water, and his body was numb with the icy coldness that embraced him, but he kept swimming. He was aware of a jumble of voices back on the raft, but they merged together into a meaningless hum in the background. The voices and the raft were not reality. The only real thing was the water and it had to be fought.
Denise hadn’t uttered a sound. She kept her head above water, her arms flailing at the blue surface of the lake, her lips trembling with the cold. Chuck’s mouth fell open as he saw her head disappear beneath the surface. He quickened his stroke, saw the blonde hair bob up again, to disappear almost immediately afterward. A few more feet now-a few more feet.
He wanted to quit. Every muscle in his body protested against the strokes he was taking, every nerve fiber screamed shrilly whenever he moved. Denise’s head came up for a third time. She opened her mouth, and he saw her eyes wide with terror.
And then she went under again.
He dived immediately, the blue-green curtain closing about him. The water was clear and he saw her drifting down, down, her short hair flowing around her head like seaweed. He lashed out with his arms, feeling the pressure on his eardrums as he went deeper and deeper, swimming rapidly after the descending girl. He reached out with one cold hand, felt the clammy touch of her hair as it contacted his fingers. He closed his hand then, grabbing her hair in a firm grip, lashing out with one arm, kicking his feet frog fashion as he looked to the surface far above him.
The sun laid a pale golden sheen on the surface of the water, almost like a metallic lid to a cool, dim coffin. He kept his eyes on the surface, trying not to think of Denise’s weight tugging on his arm, trying to forget the aching shriek of his lungs, the frantic pounding of his heart.