The canyon offered exactly two directions: upstream toward the fire, or downstream toward wherever the river decided to take us. Neither option screamed "survival," but downstream at least didn't involve walking back into an inferno.
I helped Blair to her feet. She accepted the assistance without comment, which told me more about her condition than any medical scan could. The Blair Davenport who existed before the cliff would have slapped my hand away and made some cutting remark about charity cases. This Blair just grabbed my forearm and pulled herself upright, her burned side making her wince in a way she tried to hide and failed.
