The River by Gary Paulsen Read Free Book Online Page B

was afraid. He did not know what he was afraid of at first, he was just afraid, and then, finally, he remembered Derek.
    It had hit him.
    He had seen it hit Derek.
    He rolled on his side. His body felt stiff, mashed into the ground, and the sudden movement made his vision blur.
    There.
    He saw Derek—or the form of Derek. He was facedown on his bed, his right hand out, his left arm back and down his side. Blurred, he was all blurred and asleep—how could he be all blurred? Brian shook his head, tried to focus.
    Derek was still asleep. How strange, Brian thought—how strange that Derek should still be asleep in the bright daylight, and he knew then that Derek was not sleeping, but did not want to think of the other thing.
    Let’s reason it out
, he thought, his mind as blurred as his vision. Reason it all out. Derek was reaching for the radio and briefcase and the lightning hit the tree next to the shelter and came down the tree and across the air and into Derek and he fell…
    No.
    He was still asleep.
    He wasn’t that other thing. Not that other word.
    But Brian’s eyes began to clear then and saw that Derek was lying with his head to the side and that it was facing Brian and the eyes weren’t closed.
    They were open.
    He was on his side not moving and his eyes were open and Brian thought how strange it was that he would sleep that way—mashed on his stomach.
    He knew Derek wasn’t sleeping.
    He knew.
    “No…”
    He couldn’t be. Couldn’t be . . . dead. Not Derek.
    Finally, he accepted it.
    Brian rose to his hands and knees, stiff and with great slowness, and crawled across the floor of the shelter to where Derek lay.
    The large man lay on his stomach as he’d dropped, his head turned to the left. The eyes were not fully open, but partially lidded, and the pupils stared blankly, unfocused toward the back of the shelter.
    Brian touched his cheek. He remembered how when the pilot had his heart attack he had felt cool—the dead skin had felt cool.
    Derek’s skin did not have the coolness, it felt warm; and Brian kneeled next to him and saw that he was breathing.
    Tiny little breaths, his chest barely rising and falling, but he was breathing, the air going in and out, and he was not the other word—not dead—and Brian leaned over him.
    “Derek?”
    There was no answer, no indication that Derek had heard him.
    “Derek. Can you hear anything I’m saying?”
    Still no sign, no movement.
    So, Brian thought—so he’s what? He’s knocked out. He got hit and he’s knocked out and if I wait and make him comfortable he’ll come out of it.
    That was it. Just knocked out.
    Derek’s head looked twisted at an uncomfortable angle and Brian moved Derek’s body onto its side and set his head—the neck felt rubbery and loose—on his rolled-up jacket for a pillow. As he did he saw the briefcase and radio.
    The radio.
    There it was, right there on the briefcase; and if there was ever a need for it, it was now.
    He picked it up, turned the switch on.
    “Katie One, this is Katie Two, over.”
    His mother’s name. It was a small thing, a way to include his mother. They used her name as the call sign and Derek had shown Brian how to use the radio, the correct procedure in case of an emergency.
    Like now.
    “Katie One, this is Katie Two, over.”
    Nothing. He turned the squelch control down and listened for the hiss of static, but there was nothing. Not even noise.
    Again.
    “Katie One, this is Katie Two, over.”
    Dead air. He saw, then, that next to where the antenna came out of the case, there was a small discolored spot on the plastic. It was a burn mark. The radio was made to be used outdoors, tough, with a weatherproof case around it, and when he opened the outside case he saw that the lightning had hit the radio as well as Derek and him.
    There was a jagged line burned in the plastic on the back and even without opening the case and seeing the inside he knew the radio was blown.
    What to do? Think. He