Separated

Day 15 – Into the Rapids

The river swallowed Daniel whole.

Icy water rushed over his head, shoving him downward, dragging him into the current’s grip.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Just cold.

Just pressure.

Then—instinct kicked in.

He twisted, kicking toward the surface—

His head broke through, gasping for air, lungs burning.

The world spun around him—rushing water, blurred trees, gunfire lost to the roar of the rapids.

Then—

Erin.

She was ahead of him, arms thrashing against the water, struggling to stay afloat.

Daniel kicked hard, reaching for her—

Before the river yanked them apart.

Shit.

Daniel fought against the current, but the river was too fast, too strong.

Branches and debris slammed into him, bruising his ribs. His fingers clawed at the water, trying to steer, but he was at the mercy of the rapids.

Then—

A sharp turn in the river.

The current threw him sideways, slamming him into something hard.

A half-submerged tree.

Daniel grabbed at the slick bark, muscles straining.

The force of the water tried to rip him away.

But he held.

Barely.

Gasping, he pulled himself toward the trunk, his fingers scrambling for a better grip.

Then—he scanned the river.

"Erin!"

No response.

No sign of her.

Just endless, rushing water.

Daniel clenched his jaw.

He had two choices.

Neither option was good.

But staying here meant dying in the water.

So Daniel moved.

The bank was muddy, uneven. It took Daniel ten minutes just to crawl out of the water, his body aching.

He collapsed onto the damp grass, chest heaving.

Alive.

For now.

After a few minutes, he forced himself up. Drenched. Exhausted. Missing his rifle.

He had his knife and his revolver, but that was it.

And Erin was gone.

Daniel took a slow breath.

"Think," he muttered.

She could be anywhere.

Downstream. Lost in the woods.

Or worse.

Daniel shoved that thought away.

She was a fighter. She’d make it.

And if she didn’t—

Well.

Then he’d find the ones responsible and make sure they regretted it.

Daniel moved along the riverbank, scanning for tracks.

The sun was sinking—maybe an hour left of daylight.

He was already planning where to make camp when he saw it.

A set of footprints.

Small. Too small to be his.

And fresh.

Daniel’s pulse spiked.

He crouched, fingers tracing the muddy indentations.

Erin.

She had made it to shore.

She was alive.

And she was close.

Daniel picked up the pace.

The tracks led him into the trees, following a narrow trail of broken branches and crushed underbrush.

She had been moving fast.

Running.

Daniel’s grip tightened on his revolver.

Then—

A noise.

Rustling.

Someone moving through the brush ahead.

Daniel raised his gun.

"Erin?"

Silence.

Then—

"About time," a voice muttered.

She stepped out from behind a tree, bruised, exhausted—but alive.

Daniel exhaled, lowering the gun. "You alright?"

"Peachy," Erin muttered. Then she glared at him.

"You’re an idiot for shooting that guy."

Daniel sighed. "He was gonna kill us."

"Yeah, well, now all his friends want to kill us, too," she shot back.

Daniel didn’t argue.

Because she was right.

And that meant they were still in a world of trouble.

They found a small clearing, set up a crude fireless camp, and took stock.

Their supplies were pathetic.

And worst of all?

The militia was still out there.

Daniel stared at the dying light through the trees.

"We can’t stay here," he muttered.

Erin nodded. "So what’s the plan?"

Daniel’s jaw tightened.

They had only one option.

Keep moving west.

Away from the militia. Away from the mountains.

Toward something—anything—that wasn’t death.

Daniel took one last glance at the river behind them.

Then he turned away.

And didn’t look back.