It all happened so quickly that those on the opposite shore had little enough time to react, let alone notice that the man in black had vanished before their eyes. Garcia had heard Zorro's shout, leaving Reyes to the lancers as he rushed to catch the little one as she flew through the air toward him. He'd caught her easily enough, cradling the small girl in his arms like a frightened kitten, and then the loose sands beneath his boots had given way, and it was only by the grace of the good Lord that they'd managed to avoid a second dousing. By the time that the girl was safely in the arms of her grateful parents, and all were on somewhat stable footing. It was then that Reyes had made the observation that Zorro was not among them.
In fact, the only sign that he had indeed been there at all was the presence of the great black stallion on the opposite bank. An ear splitting whinny pierced the air as Garcia edged closer to the water, craning his neck to see as far downstream as possible, but with no luck. No whip. No branch. No Zorro, and when he turned back, no horse, only a flash of black over the top of the road, and the fading sound of hoof beats in the distance. Garcia shook himself out of his temporary stupor, shouting orders as he rushed toward his own horse.
"Mendoza, Sanchez, take the family to the mission. Corporal, come with me."
He mounted swiftly, adrenaline fueling his strength, and without checking to see that his orders were obeyed, he urged his gelding up the trail to the ridge. The canyon walls were steep and unstable with no clear road, only sharp rocks and scraggly brush, and the rising river only complicated matters, as did the rain, which was beginning to fall. The snake canyon was narrow and steep for many miles, if there was any chance of finding Zorro it would be toward its mouth where the river widened and slowed, if he survived its dangers, and there were many.
The brown water below moved swiftly, foaming white as it spun around and through the boulders. If Zorro managed to avoid the rocks, there was still the undercurrents that could drag even a grown man down and spin him like a top until he drowned. And tree branches and vegetation which could just as easily trap and kill. When Garcia was a small boy, he'd witnessed the drowning of a man from his village, and had seen the body when it was retrieved. He wished never to witness such a thing again.
The thunder rumbled overhead as the dark clouds dimmed what was left of the evening light. His eyes strained against it, searching for a patch of black against the river below. The rain began to fall harder and the wind grew stronger, but Garcia ignored it as he urged his horse into a faster gait. Zorro would survive.
He must.
He was cold. A mind numbing cold that sank into the marrow of his bones, pressed into his ears and nose and throat, stealing the breath from his lungs with icy tentacles. Zorro choked weakly against it, but the action only served to make his lungs tighten. His body spun violently without warning, and there was a pain in his skull and a churning of his stomach. He floated for a moment, suspended with no sense of which direction was up and which was down. It was surreal, like a dream. And then his boot struck an unyielding force, and he spun again, and his shoulder struck something and then his back, and the resulting pain was enough to shock him into awareness.
His lungs screamed for air. He pressed both feet against the rock and pushed hard, using the force of the current to propel himself to the upward. His head broke the surface, and he coughed up the water from his lungs, sucking greedily at the sweet air. A cord pulled taunt against his throat and he gasped as it cut his air. He fumbled blindly against it, and it gave way with a tug and a burn against his skin. His gloves joined his hat, vanishing beneath the murky waters, followed by his boots. Free of the weight, he turned onto his back in an attempt to keep his face above the water, as the current swept him along like a piece of driftwood. Needles struck his exposed skin as the rain beat down from the billowing clouds above. Twilight had fallen, and it would soon be night. He must find a way out of the river, before the light, or his strength, faded completely.
He could make out the edges of the canyon against the sky. They appeared impossibly high and imposing, like the walls of a very large box. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, forcing his mind to focus, pressing back the fear. The situation was not lost yet, though it would be if he gave in to despair. He blinked against the spray of the river and turned his focus to the river, but it all he could make out in the dim light were edges and blurred shapes. If only he could see, he might be able to find a way out. A flash of lightning lit the twilight as if in answer to his prayer, and his heart fell even as a deafening boom of thunder echoed through the canyon.
The stream had swelled up the sides of the canyon, swallowing the ledge that had held the road. There was nowhere to climb even if he'd found a way to brace himself against the current. Something large and solid bumped against his shoulders from behind. He reached out to push it away, and gave a small laugh instead as he felt rough bark and splintered wood beneath his fingers. With a burst of strength, he pushed forward, catching the log. He felt a sharp pain and then a warm trickle against his face as he wrapped his arms around the waterlogged wood. The effort sapped his waning strength, and he let his body relax, attempting to conserve what little energy remained. There was little he could do, but to hold on and pray for a miracle.
A faint whinny carried on the wind, and he smiled despite his exhaustion.
"Hold on."
The murmured words lost in the roar of the river and the storm.
Just a little while longer.
A/N: sorry for the delay. Slow internet turned into no internet - and my days were filled with small kids with more energy than I have. I will finish this - never fear.
