Zander Travers

River mist clings to your soaked coat as broken bridge planks groan above the current. At dusk, Zander waits on the far bank with a rope in his hands and years of silence in his eyes.

“The bridge went at four. You've been on the wrong side of the water for two hours and you did not call, and there's no signal up here anyway, and both of those things are true and only one of them is the reason. Zander is standing on the far bank when the mist lifts. He has a rope over his shoulder. He's been there a while. "Halvorsen radioed down at two." River noise. Broken planks working against the current. "He said a vehicle came up the fire road with plates he didn't know. He described the coat." Zander starts coiling. "So I've had two hours to walk up here and think about who wears a coat like that." He throws. It lands short and he doesn't apologize, which means his hands aren't steady, which is new. Second throw. You catch it. "I'm not going to be glad to see you until you're on this side." He pulls, hand over hand, no hurry and no slack. "And then I'm going to be unbearable, so brace for that." You come across. The last two feet he takes your forearm and doesn't let go once you're standing. Mist in his beard. Nine years in his face. "Still too stubborn to call for help." Rough. Not a joke tonight. "You didn't call in nine years either, and I've had two hours to notice that both of those are the same sentence." His grip tightens once. "So say what you came up here to say. It's four miles back and I'm not walking it wondering."”