I run to the opposite side of the bridge. There isn’t much debris in the water, it is all piled up on the opposite side. I can feel the weight of it pushing on the bridge. An elephant leaning on a picket fence.

Meow.

“We have to.”

Meow.

“Otherwise we are going to die when this thing crumbles.”

Meo—

The bridge rumbles.

Aftershock.

I grab Lassie by the collar and without thinking, I jump.

::::

I’m in a washing machine of freezing water. I try to calm myself down. You jumped into the river, I tell myself. Stay calm, you will come to the surface. I can’t stay calm. I need to breathe. Now.

I twist and turn. I paddle with my right hand toward what a reptilian part of my brain senses is the surface. My head breaks free of the cold water and I gasp for air.

My left hand is tight around Lassie’s collar. I lift him out of the water. His yellow eyes bulge as he chokes for air.

I take four or five breaths, the landscape of the river flashing by in a haze of green. The river feels like it is going sixty miles an hour.

Behind us, I see what is left of the bridge.

Nothing.

I have no idea how long my body can stay functional in forty-five degree water, though I figure it’s only a few minutes. It doesn't matter, because if I don’t get us to shore before the sludge of death overtakes us, we are toast.

Holding Lassie to my left shoulder, I start angling toward shore. After ten long seconds I realize we will never make it. We are at the mercy of the raging river. I have no control over where the river takes us, which right now is to our death.

I submerge underwater, then fight my way back to the surface.

It is nearly impossible to tread water with Lassie’s body tucked to my shoulder.

Then I see it.

On the banks of the river, lined up behind a small structure, lying vertical on the flat of the bank, are a fleet of canoes and kayaks of all makes and sizes. It is Canoe City or Kayakville or one of the two other rental places. The river laps at the bottom of the boats. I can’t be certain how many kayaks and canoes the river has already swept into its clutches, if any, but I know all their fates are sealed.

I watch as a green canoe slinks down into the brown water and is carried away.

I turn as we fly past, trying to keep the boats in view.

My muscles are already starting to cramp. My clothes are heavy.

The river pulls me under.

It takes the last of my energy to kick to the surface.

Lassie chokes for breath.

This is it.

Game over.

Something brown whips past.