The shoreline narrowed where they entered, broken concrete sloping unevenly into the water, rusted metal jutting out at angles, half buried in mud and debris.
The river moved past it without slowing, dark and restless even before the last light faded.
Aljun stopped there and nodded toward the edge. "This is where we go in."
Iyisha swallowed as she stepped closer and looked down.
The raft lay near the edge, small and worn, its surface patched over and over with hardened lines of sealant that made the rubber uneven under the light.
Lance stared at it, disbelief clear on his face. "That's it?"
"That's it," Aljun answered without hesitation.
Marybeth huffed but didn't comment further.
Malcolm moved before anyone else could speak, dropping the bag and crouching beside the raft. He ran his hand along the seams, pressing into the repaired sections, checking for weakness with quick, practiced movements.
