Randy’s tank had thirty minutes of oxygen. After forty-five minutes, Sheriff Cantrell told Hubert McClure to unlock the handcuffs on Ronny’s wrists.

“Maybe this should have been your call,” Cantrell said, turning to Walter Phillips, “but I did what I thought best.”

“I’ve got no problems with that,” Phillips said.

“You should have let me try,” Ronny screamed, jerking his wrists free from the metal. The cuffs clattered against the rocks at his feet. “Neither one of you had any right to stop me.”

“And have three bodies in there?” Sheriff Cantrell said. “No, thanks.”

Most everyone had left now. A few reporters lingered, but they were having trouble getting anyone to talk.

“I can’t believe this happened,” Allen said, breaking the silence between us. Like me, he wanted to believe it hadn’t happened, couldn’t have happened. He wanted to believe there was still some possibility, no matter how remote, that Randy might yet emerge alive from the pool.

Brennon and his crew had spread the dam’s middle section across a sandbar. They studied and pointed as if it were a military map for an upcoming battle. In a way it was, for Brennon was already planning for the next morning. No one but his crew listened. The Kowalskys had gone back to their motel in Seneca. Walter Phillips stood yards away with Ronny and Sheriff Cantrell.

“I need to speak to Phillips a minute,” Allen said.

“I’m going to the car,” I said.

“I’ll just be a minute.”

“I can’t stay here another minute,” I said and made my way across river rocks to the trail end.

The sun had made the ascent less slick than the coming down, but several times I grabbed rhododendron and mountain laurel to keep my balance. The car was unlocked, parked facing a stand of white oak. I got in and stared through the windshield at shapes left by the breeze, the way there was first a space between leaves and then not.

Ten minutes passed and still no sign of Allen. I wrote a note that I was walking back to the motel and left it on the seat. I walked fast, and soon the thin mountain air quickened my breathing. I tripped on a root and turned my ankle but kept going.

I was almost to the blacktop when Allen pulled alongside and opened the passenger door. I kept walking, the open door matching my pace.

“Please get in,” he said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because we’re in this together.”

Allen put his foot on the brake and waited until I’d sat down and closed the door.

“They’re meeting down there at ten tomorrow morning,” Allen said, releasing the brake.

“Why?” I asked.

“Brennon is wanting to try again.”

“Who does he think he can get into that pool, Ronny? Joel?”