The Storm

Chapter Eight

Downstream … Fast!

W e picked up speed as we headed downstream in the current. The boat motor was hardly of any use, other than keeping us centered mid-stream. Henry had what I had heard about from war veterans, “The thousand-yard stare,” where you are totally focused on a distant object. Henry’s target was what there was just ahead. We were passing large oaks and cyprus trees with breakneck speed as the underbrush lining the river passed us in a blur. The current had become rough now and not just fast. I tightened my grip. I was hanging on for all I was worth, watching carefully, that I would release my grip off the side of the boat if we brushed past a partially submerged log or stump. At least I had the presence of mind to keep an objective fear of getting hurt out here in nowhere-land out of my mind. Cypress logs and debris, along with stubbed up tree trunks that had been sticking up for years through the channel waters, had made navigation as tricky as a starship going through an asteroid belt. “Keep your eyes peeled for debris, Zach, and yell if you see something, Son,” Henry hollered out. I was certainly going to do that! Time whizzed by as fast as the waters propelled us, as I glanced at my watch. Wherever we're going, we are going to get there fast, and I would gladly put in to shore ASAP! This was close to white-water rafting, except that the water was a muddy brown. I looked back at Henry again, and, at the same time, he had this look of concern and a small grin on his face.

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