Backlash

Quinn Lewis’s lean, muscular body exploded from the water like a trident missile launched from a barely-submerged submarine. His lungs went into overdrive as every muscle in his body screamed for more oxygen. The thundering just behind his heels told him that his pursuers were right with him, and wouldn’t be giving up. Lewis’s legs pumped harder and harder as he sprinted the last ten yards to the river bank and through the finish line in a new record time of 3 hours, 28 minutes. Second and third place were less than ten seconds back—the closest Lewis had come to relinquishing his title in the last seven years of the Cascade Downriver Challenge.

The Challenge is an adventure race from high on Washington’s Mt. Adams to the south bank of the Columbia River. The race begins with a treacherous downhill mountain bike course, which has enough blind, hairpin turns to destroy dozens of bikes as they fly off course into century-old pines. The competitors who survive the bike course must jump into their whitewater kayaks to navigate Cyanide Creek. Dropping quickly through seven distinct class IV+ rapids before disappearing into a lava tube, racers must then paddle a half mile to locate a roped section, where they harness up and climb to the surface. A six-mile run down an old logging road leads to the final test: swimming across the frigid waters of the Columbia River.

Lewis was happy to have edged out the Williams Brothers, Terry and Jerry—they had beaten him a couple months before in Vancouver’s 24-hour Crest to Coast. “You two sure don’t make it easy on an old man,” Lewis said as he shook their hands.

“Old man? You are a year younger than us,” Terry answered back. Or was that Jerry? Lewis had a hard time telling the twins apart.

Lewis grimaced as he tried to rub the pain from his left knee, which he had injured in an accident while setting up an emergency communications system in Antarctica the month before. “I’ve been feeling at least twice my age lately,” he quipped. “Next year I’ll be doing this thing with a cane.”

Lewis hung out at the finish line for the next two hours to cheer on fellow competitors as they completed the race. He knew many of them and quite a few were close friends. The barbeque after the race was a great place for catching up with people; delicious burgers and ice-cold beer turning into tales of adventure from the past year. Some of Lewis’s stories were actually true. Unknown to most of those who listened, the fabricated parts were actually added as a matter of secrecy, or due to national security. In many cases, the truth was simply too terrifying to tell.

The festivities came to a halt when one of the race officials began speaking through a blow horn. “Thornton Williams! Are you here?” He paused and scanned the small crowd. When nobody came forward, the official continued. “Has anyone seen Mr. Williams since the race began this morning?” A few people, including Lewis, raised their hands.

Lewis had seen his friend, who most knew as Thorn, a couple times on the bike leg as they worked down through the switchbacks. At that point, Lewis was in fourth place while Thorn was dueling it out for fifth with a competitor Lewis didn’t recognize. Two others remembered seeing him towards the end of the bike, noting that he was looking pretty tired when they passed him. Thorn was usually one of the top competitors and Lewis thought it odd that he would have dropped back so early in the race. The race log confirmed he had completed the bike leg nearly 45 minutes after Lewis, almost in last place. Another competitor, who had only recently been introduced to the sport of adventure racing by Thorn himself, remembered passing him early in the kayak section. Thorn had not checked in at the top of the rope section.

Race officials took down the details, assuring everyone they would pass the information on to Search and Rescue personnel, who would arrive in the next couple hours. That wasn’t good enough. Lewis knew it would be well past dark by the time a proper search was mounted, and his friend was in need of help. He was going to get started now.

Lewis retrieved a 100-foot section of climbing rope and a few other supplies before heading down to the waterfront to look for a way across the river. He immediately spotted a trailer renting out stand-up paddle boards. Lewis paid the kid manning the trailer for a two-hour rental and, after quickly signing a few forms, headed straight to the water, promising to be back before nightfall.

The paddle board was designed for racing, making the river crossing much faster and less tiring than the earlier swim. Lewis had spotted a couple of race volunteers on ATVs, cleaning up on the other side of the river. He paddled hard, straight towards them. It took only ten minutes to cross the river and another four to convince one of the volunteers to loan out his ATV and walkie-talkie.

After throwing his gear into the storage compartment on the back of the ATV, Lewis set off up the narrow trail at nearly full speed. The trail looked surprisingly different going up than it did coming down. Lewis had to slow at a couple of intersections to make sure he was going the right way. Most of the trail was narrower than the ATV but Lewis barreled on, branches whipping his face and body as he bounced up the trail, fighting to keep the vehicle on the path. He slid around a familiar-looking corner and nearly launched right into Cyanide Creek before skidding to a stop, less than a foot from a sheer, 40-foot drop to one of the gnarliest rapids of the entire run, Skull Dropper, which immediately preceded the pool at the entrance to the underground lava tube.

Lewis looked up and down the creek as he shook the feeling back into his hands after the harrowing ride. Up or down? Lewis debated on which way to look first. The rapids above were certainly technical, but Thorn was an excellent kayaker. If he had made a serious mistake, Thorn should have either gotten himself out or drowned by now. If his friend was still alive, it was more likely that he was trapped in the cave.

With the decision made, Lewis radioed in his intentions, confirming that the cave’s exit system was still in place, and that assistance would be ready if he found Thorn. He grabbed the climbing rope and a small waterproof flashlight from the ATV. Jogging along the top of the cliff, he followed the creek downriver for 200 yards before jumping towards the calm pool below. The weight of the climbing rope pulled his body slowly off-kilter as he descended, causing Lewis to stick out his left leg in an attempt to maintain balance. This seemed like a terrible mistake the moment he hit the water—his legs were nearly ripped off before he could force them back together. The ice-cold water quickly numbed away the pain, allowing Lewis to efficiently side-stroke into the mouth of the cave.

Total darkness enveloped him as the current pushed him around the series of S-turns that he remembered from the race. Lewis turned on his light and began scanning ahead. “Thorn!” he called. There was no answer. The current made it an easy swim to where the underground river formed a final pool, ending at a caved-in section of the lava tube. It was at the rock pile on the other side of the pool where he and the other racers had exited their kayaks, and climbed the fixed ropes up to a narrow chute that led to the surface above. Only now the ropes were gone for some reason.

Something else was different too. The opening to the chute looked larger; it also didn’t seem to be as high. Suddenly, Lewis understood what had happened. “Thorn!” he yelled again as he swam to the rock pile, lugging the waterlogged climbing rope he’d packed from the ATV. He climbed onto the rocks and quickly confirmed his fears: A semi-truck-sized chunk of the wall above had sheared off and was now crumbled atop the original pile of rocks. Lewis could only hope that his friend hadn’t been standing here when it happened.

A quick scan with the flashlight revealed the smashed remains of a red kayak. The stenciled tribal artwork near the back confirmed that it was Thorn’s. “Thorn! Are you in here?” Lewis called out again, yelling towards the rock pile.

A couple of coughs followed by a very weak, “Here,” made Lewis’s heart jump.

He whipped his light towards the sound and spotted Thorn’s tattered red and blue paddle jacket protruding from the rocks. “Help is here, Thorn. We’ll get you out of here,” Lewis said as he hurried over to his friend. It was a miracle that Thorn had survived the rock fall at all, but he wasn’t out of the woods just yet. There were two problems. First, a large rock, weighing at least a ton, had Thorn’s leg pinned under the water. And that compounded the second problem: The small landslide must have partially blocked the outflow of the creek below because the water was rising. Thorn was perhaps 30 minutes from drowning.

Lewis had to get the rock off Thorn’s leg, and fast. He tried to lift it off, which was a natural action, but futile. He needed a jack or at least a lever of some sort, but he had only brought the rope and the flashlight. Lewis pulled the pummeled kayak out from under some smaller rocks and tried using it to pry the boulder from his friend’s leg. It was awkward and ineffective; the rock didn’t budge. The water had risen almost an inch and was now lapping at Thorn’s chin. Half an hour may have been an overestimate; Lewis’s friend appeared to be within a few minutes of going under.

“Stay with me, Thorn,” Lewis pleaded as his friend drifted towards unconsciousness. Lewis was chilled from his short swim, and Thorn had probably been in the frigid water for at least a couple hours. It was a testament to his fortitude that he hadn’t succumbed to hypothermia long ago. Lewis needed his friend to hang on and keep his mouth out of the water, staying alive until a plan could be worked out.

Thorn wasn’t looking good. “I’m not going to make it,” he mumbled. “Tell my wife-”

“Tell her yourself.” Lewis cut him off. “We’re going to get out of this together.” Lewis kept talking, keeping Thorn attentive. “The only thing we have to get you out is this flashlight and rope. Lucky for us, that’s more than we need.” Lewis made sure to keep a positive tone as he continued, “Did I ever tell you about my high school physics teacher, Mr. Anderson?”

Thorn shook his head and spit at the water that was now to his mouth.

“Mr. Anderson believed in learning by doing,” Lewis went on as he frantically tied one end of the rope to the boulder that had Thorn pinned. He then raced across the rocks to the other side of the slide, securing the other end of the rope to the largest boulder he could find, making sure that the span was as tight as possible. Lewis kept talking to Thorn as he worked; trying to sound calm, but the overload of adrenaline was becoming increasingly obvious in his voice. He returned to Thorn just in time to see his friend’s final breath exit his nostrils, which were now under water.

“We’re almost home,” Lewis said with conviction before taking a deep breath and breathing it into his friend’s mouth. Thorn’s ears were still above water, and Lewis fought the urge to yell at his friend, knowing that he needed to remain as calm as possible to conserve oxygen. “I’m going to need your help.” After another round of underwater mouth-to-mouth, Lewis added, “When the rock moves, you’ve got to get out from under it. Okay?”

Thorn nodded, panic obvious in his eyes. He looked like a man who knew he was about to die; and yet, he was going to fight to the end.

“You are going to have to hold your breath for a bit. I’ll give you two more, and then we’re going for it.” Lewis blew a deep breath into Thorn’s mouth, letting his friend slowly exhale, getting ready for a good breath hold. One more large breath and then Lewis jumped up, sprinting to the middle of the outstretched rope. He gripped the rope and began pulling it sideways, working up the rock pile away from the water, as if he was an archer drawing a giant bow. Lewis struggled, using every muscle in his body to pull the center of the rope as far to the side as possible. Bit by bit, he could feel the boulder starting to move. Finally, he heard the sound he had been waiting for—Thorn was coughing as he gasped for air. “Are you clear?” Lewis shouted, unable to see his friend.

“Yes,” came the weak but relieved reply between coughs.

Lewis eased the rope back down and ran to check Thorn’s condition. The leg was badly bruised and most likely broken, but the biggest problem was that Thorn was extremely cold. Lewis helped him get out of the water so he could begin warming up while they figured a way out of the cave. The two huddled together, conserving body heat.

Thorn looked Lewis in the eye and said, “What did your physics teacher have to do with kissing another guy underwater?”

Lewis burst into laughter. “First, that was mouth-to-mouth so don’t be getting any ideas. Second, Mr. Anderson showed us how he could move a pickup by himself using a long rope tied to a tree - if he pulled sideways from the middle rather than tugging on the end. Apparently the principle works on rocks too. It had something to do with vectors, as I recall. We rearranged many a parking lot with that bit of knowledge.” The friends shared another round of laughter, finally interrupted by the thumping of a coil of rope behind them. The rescuers had found them.

It took the rest of the night and into the morning to get Thorn out of the cave and back down to where a helicopter could pick him up. Lewis was exhausted by the time he began walking down Main Street to find his favorite motorcycle: a brand new BMW R 1200 GS Adventure he had purchased just before the Antarctica job. Yesterday’s trip down had been his first chance to ride it since bringing it home. The bike’s excellent on- and off-road capabilities had renewed Lewis’s dreams of touring back roads around the world, and taking the interstate to the race’s start had been painfully mundane.

As Lewis crossed between Adams and Jefferson, he noticed a beat-up Mercedes Benz with tinted windows rolling along about 20 yards behind him. The Benz itself wasn’t really remarkable; it was the driver’s slight jerk to the left when Lewis first glanced back that caught his attention. There was no reason for the car to be going so slow, and Lewis was the only other person on the street in either direction.

A couple of blocks later, the Mercedes was still hanging 20 yards back. Lewis stopped and bent down to re-tie his shoe. A glance to the side revealed the driver quickly jerking the vehicle into an available parking spot a few cars back. Lewis turned his head to wink at the driver then sprang up and bolted down a side alley like a hungry cheetah that had spotted a day-dreaming gazelle. The sound of squealing tires told Lewis that his hunch was right. His muscles ached and Lewis knew he couldn’t make it far, so he sprinted to the first door he saw. Luckily, the door was unlocked and Lewis darted in, finding himself in a bridal boutique swarming with the female half of a wedding party and a dozen saleswomen. Lewis did his best to keep moving forward as he bounced from display to display, trying to get out front as fast as he could. He nearly knocked over the soon-to-be bride but was able to catch her in his arms and offer a quick, “I do,” before continuing.

As soon as he got out front, Lewis ran the final few feet to his motorcycle and jumped on. He threw on his helmet and launched down the street, immediately spotting the persistent Mercedes Benz in his side mirror. Lewis swung the bike across the road towards a narrow set of stairs that climbed the hillside between a pair of aging brick buildings. The bike shot up the stairs with Lewis barely able to hang on, his weakened muscles causing him to twist the throttle back and forth, making the climb bumpier that it needed to be. Thankful to have reached the top of the stairs, Lewis pulled onto the next street and made a few quick turns before heading back for the interstate. He watched the mirrors and, to his relief, didn’t see the Benz again.

Lewis still yearned to get his motorcycle onto some secluded dirt, but the previous 36 hours had sufficiently tired him out. It was only a 20-mile ride down I84 to the small town of Rowena where Lewis lived. The wind was already picking up in the Columbia River Gorge and Lewis enjoyed watching the kite-boarders soar off the waves as he passed by. Maybe he would get his kite and board out later today, after he got some much needed food and rest. Lewis’s house was on the river so he could easily get out and play whenever he wanted.

Lewis parked the motorcycle in the fourth stall of his newly-remodeled garage and headed into the house. With no regard for the mess he would have to clean up later, Lewis started shedding his filthy clothes the moment he was inside. At this point, he was driven solely by the thought of his new custom shower, which was nearly an exact replica of a small, secluded waterfall he had found in Thailand during a six-month consulting job a few years ago. The stones that made up the shower were actually brought in from Thailand to match the texture that he remembered so fondly. Forty minutes later, the waterfall shower had worked magic on his aching muscles.

After the shower, Lewis wrapped himself in a towel and headed to the kitchen to get something to eat. As he entered the living room, he noticed a large man sitting in the corner recliner. Quinn Lewis prided himself on his ability to remain calm under pressure so instead of jumping and screaming like a frightened schoolgirl, he continued towards the kitchen and offered, “I’m making a sandwich. Can I get you anything?”

“Not now,” was the only reply.

Lewis turned and smiled at the man, who was even bigger than Lewis first thought. More like a rhinoceros with a crew cut—like a “Rhino Man,” Lewis thought to himself. Then Lewis noticed that Rhino Man had a partner, who was sitting in the rocker over by the fireplace. “What about you?” Lewis asked Rhino Junior. Junior probably weighed only 275 pounds so he was slightly smaller than Rhino Man.

Junior’s dark eyes never left Lewis as he responded, “You need to come with us. Our boss needs to talk to you.”

“I’ll get you my card and he can call me on Monday,” Lewis shot back. “Although I should warn you that I’m pretty booked up.”

Lewis earned his degree in computer programming from Caltech. He started out writing computer code for various video game development companies and gradually became more involved with the overall design and architecture of the games. Eventually, Lewis became what the industry calls a solution engineer—it was his job to design the software to get the most difficult jobs done. While working as a consultant, Lewis designed software for numerous platforms outside the gaming industry. Lewis was so good at designing and implementing solutions to complex computer problems that other industries began seeking him out to solve their real life problems. It turns out that solution engineer was a perfect title for Quinn Lewis; the guy was naturally good at problem solving. Lewis did a lot of contract work for large corporations, various government organizations, and all branches of the military; as well as others with less distinct positions in society. The Rhino Brothers seemed to belong to this latter group.

“Am I overdressed?” Lewis questioned calmly as he looked down at his towel.

“Two minutes,” Rhino Man grunted.

Lewis quickly got dressed in a pair of cargo pants and a white t-shirt, rejoining the Rhino Brothers in the living room. As they headed out the door, Lewis stopped to grab the Carhartt jacket, which he knew still held his Leatherman multi-tool; simple things like that had a sneaky way of coming in handy.

Lewis was motioned into the backseat of the familiar-looking Mercedes Benz. He climbed in, buckled up, and fell asleep almost immediately.