"No." He was looking at the standing waves of churning water. There were rapids, big boulders, sinkholes. Maybe if they had helmets and body protection, they might try to go into the current. But without helmets they would die.

The car tilted to the right, then came back up. But he had the feeling that sooner or later it would roll onto its side and sink. And he had the feeling it would sink fast.

He looked out the window and said, "Does this look familiar? What river is this?"

"Who cares?" Sarah yelled.

And then Evans said, "Look!"

Trooper Rodriguez saw the SUV bouncing and spinning down the river and immediately hit his car siren. He grabbed the bullhorn and turned to the picnickers.

"Folks, please clear the area! We have a flash flood now. now. Everybody move to higher ground, and do it now!" Everybody move to higher ground, and do it now!"

He hit the siren again.

"Now, folks! Leave your things for later. Go now! Go now!"

He looked back at the SUV, but it was already almost out of sight, headed down the river toward the McKinley overpass. And right beyond McKinley overpass was the cliff's edge, a ninety-foot drop.

The car and its occupants wouldn't survive it.

And there was nothing they could do about it.

Evans couldn't think, couldn't plan-it was all he could do to hang on. The SUV rolled and turned in the churning water. The vehicle was sinking lower, and the water now sloshing at knee height was freezing cold, and seemed to make the car more unstable, its movements more unpredictable.

At one point he banged heads with Sarah, who grunted, but she was not saying anything either. Then he banged his head on the door post, saw stars briefly.

Ahead, he saw an overpass, a roadway held up with big concrete stanchions. Each stanchion had caught debris floating downriver; the pylons were now wrapped with a tangled mat of tree branches, burned trunks, old boards, and floating junk, so that there was little room to pass by.

"Sarah," he yelled, "unbuckle your seat belt." His own belt was now under the chilly water. He fumbled with it, as the car rolled.

"I can't," she said. "I can't get it."

He bent to help her.

"What are we going to do?'

"We're going to get out," he said.

The car raced forward, then slammed into a mass of branches. It shuddered in the current, but held position. It clanged against an old refrigerator (a refrigerator? Evans thought) that bobbed in the water nearby. The pylon loomed above them. The river was so high, the road overpass was only about ten feet above them. Evans thought) that bobbed in the water nearby. The pylon loomed above them. The river was so high, the road overpass was only about ten feet above them.

"We have to get out, Sarah," he said.

"My belt is stuck; I can't."

He bent to help her, plunging his hands into the water, fumbling for the belt. He couldn't see it in the mud. He had to do it by feel.

And he felt the car begin to move.

It was going to break free.

Sanjong was driving furiously along the upper road. He saw Peter and Sarah in their SUV, riding the current toward the bridge. He saw them crash against the pylon, and hold precariously there.

The traffic on the bridge was swarming away from the park, passengers panicking, honking horns, confusion. Sanjong drove across the bridge, and jumped out of his car. He began to run across the bridge, toward the car in the water below.

Evans hung on desperately as the SUV rolled and spun in the churning water. The refrigerator clanged against them, again and again. Branches stuck through the shattered windows, the tips quivering like fingers. Sarah's seat belt was jammed, the latch was crumpled or something. Evans's fingers were numb in the cold. He knew that the car wouldn't stay in position very long. He could feel the current pulling at it, dragging it laterally.

"I can't get it open, Sarah," he said.

The water had risen; it was now almost chest high.

"What do we do?" she said. Her eyes were panicky.

For an instant he didn't know, and then he thought I'm an idiot I'm an idiot and he threw himself bodily across her, plunged his head underwater, and felt for the door post on her side of the car. He dragged a three-foot length of the seat belt away from the post, and brought his head back up, gasping for air. and he threw himself bodily across her, plunged his head underwater, and felt for the door post on her side of the car. He dragged a three-foot length of the seat belt away from the post, and brought his head back up, gasping for air.

"Slide out!" he yelled. "Slide out!"

She understood immediately, putting her hands on his shoulder and shoving as she slithered out from the belt. His head went back under the water, but he could feel her getting free. She moved into the backseat, kicking him in the head as she went.

He was back up above the water, gasping.

"Now climb out!" he yelled.

The car was starting to move. The branches creaking. The refrigerator clanging.

Sarah's athleticism stood her in good stead. She slipped through the rear window, and hung onto the car.

"Go for the branches! Climb!" He was afraid the current would take her if she held onto the car. He was scrambling back into the rear seat, then squeezing himself through the window. The car was pulling loose, trembling at first, then distinctly moving, rolling around the debris pile, and he was still half out the window.

"Peter!" Sarah shouted.

He lunged, throwing himself forward into the branches, scratching his face but feeling his hands close around large branches and he pulled his body clear of the car just as the current ripped it away, dragging it under the bridge.

The car was gone.

He saw Sarah climbing up the debris stack, reaching up for the concrete railing of the roadway. He followed her, shivering from cold and fear. In a few moments, he felt a strong hand reach down and pull him up the rest of the way. He looked up and saw Sanjong grinning at him.

"My friend. You are a lucky one."

Evans came over the railing and toppled onto the ground, gasping, exhausted.

Distantly, he heard the sound of a police siren, and a bullhorn barking orders. He became aware of the traffic on the bridge, the honking horns, the panic.

"Come on," Sarah said, helping him up. "Somebody's going to run over you if you stay here."

Trooper Rodriguez was still getting everybody into their cars, but there was pandemonium in the parking lot and a traffic jam on the bridge. The rain was starting to come down hard. That was making people move faster.

Rodriguez cast a worried eye at the waterfall, noting that it was a darker brown, and flowing more heavily than before. He saw then that the TV crew had gone. The van was no longer atop the cliff. That was odd, he thought. You'd think they'd have stayed to film the emergency exit.

Cars were honking on the bridge, where traffic was stalled. He saw a number of people standing there, looking over the other side. Which could only mean that the SUV had gone over the cliff.

Rodriguez slipped behind the wheel to radio for an ambulance. That was when he heard that an ambulance had already been called to Dos Cabezas, fifteen miles to the north. Apparently a group of hunters had gotten into a drunken argument, and there had been some shooting. Two men were dead and a third was injured. Rodriguez shook his head. Damn guys went out with a rifle and a bottle of bourbon each, and then had to sit around drinking because of the rain, and before you knew it, couple of them were dead. Happened every year. Especially around the holidays.

FLAGSTAFF.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 11.

4:03 P.M.

"I don't see why this is necessary," Sarah said, sitting up in bed. She had electrodes stuck to her chest and legs.

"Please don't move," the nurse said. "We're trying to get a record."

They were in a small, screened-off cubicle in the Flagstaff hospital emergency room. Kenner, Evans, and Sanjong had insisted she come there. They were waiting outside. She could hear them talking softly.

"But I'm twenty-eight years old," Sarah said. "I'm not going to have a heart attack."

"The doctor wants to check your conduction pathways."

"My conduction pathways?" Sarah said. "There's nothing wrong with my conduction pathways."

"Ma'am? Please lie down and don't move."

"But this is-"

"And don't talk."

She lay down. She sighed. She glanced at the monitor, which showed squiggly white lines. "This is ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with my heart."

"No, there doesn't seem to be," the nurse said, nodding to the monitor. "You're very lucky."

Sarah sighed. "So, can I get up now?"

"Yes. And don't you worry yourself about those burn marks," the nurse said. "They'll fade over time."

Sarah said, "What burn marks?"

The nurse pointed to her chest. "They're very superficial."

Sarah sat up and looked down her blouse. She saw the white adhesive tags of the electrodes. But she also saw pale brown streaks, jagged marks that ran across her chest and abdomen. Like zigzags or something- "What is this?" she said.

"It's from the lightning."

She said, "What?"

"You were struck by lightning," the nurse said.

"What are you talking about?"

The doctor came in, an absurdly young man, prematurely balding. He seemed very busy and preoccupied. He said, "Don't worry about those burn marks, they'll fade in no time at all."

"It's from lightning?"

"Pretty common, actually. Do you know where you are?"

"In Flagstaff hospital."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Monday."

"That's right. Very good. Look at my finger, please." He held his finger up in front of her face, moved it left and right, up and down. "Follow it. That's good. Thank you. You have a headache?"

"I did," she said. "Not anymore. Are you telling me I was struck by lightning?"

"You sure as heck were," he said, bending to hit her knees with a rubber hammer. "But you're not showing any signs of hypoxia."

"Hypoxia..."

"Lack of oxygen. We see that when there's a cardiac arrest."

She said, "What are you talking about?"

"It's normal not to remember," the doctor said. "But according to your friends out there, you arrested and one of them resuscitated you. Said it took four or five minutes."

"You mean I was dead?"