Chapter 7: Crossing the River

Though they had temporarily shaken off the unidentified black creature, doubts still clouded Gunsmith's and John's minds. There were far too many strange things about this rainforest. Whenever the two relaxed even slightly, something else would happen. Fortunately, this wasn't a desert, and finding food and water wasn't much of a problem. Otherwise, under such enormous psychological pressure and with no guarantee of meeting even his basic physical needs, that fellow John might have a breakdown at any moment.

Two hours had flown by since that little episode with the black creature. Gunsmith and John had said little during that time, resuming the pace they'd set that morning. Even when they felt tired, they gritted their teeth and kept going, as though some unknown danger were chasing them.

At some point, roiling dark clouds had gathered overhead. A downpour seemed imminent, and just then, they came upon a stretch of shallows.

“We have to cross before the rain comes, or the water will rise,” John said, surveying what lay ahead.

Gunsmith waded a few steps into the water and looked back. “It's only knee-deep here, but in the middle it could be up to our waists, or we might not even be able to touch bottom. Are you sure you want to do this? I'd say it's at least three or four hundred meters to the other bank, maybe farther. If it starts raining when we're in the middle…”

John cut him off. “We'll be stuck there, unable to reach the other side or get back in time, and the rising current will sweep us away. Yes, I know. So we'd better stop talking and get across.” He was already moving forward as he spoke.

Gunsmith said nothing more and followed close behind. He knew perfectly well that once the downpour began, wading across would be impossible. That left two options. One was to make a detour upstream and look for somewhere shallower and narrower. But God knew where the river was narrowest. This stretch of shallows might well be the shortest crossing, and with rain so frequent in the rainforest, it would be perfectly normal for the water to rise and stay high.

The second option was to spend some time building a makeshift raft to cross on. But if the current grew strong as the water rose, a raft would be swept away just like a person. Besides, being out on a broad river during a thunderstorm made them an easy target for lightning.

Of course, there was a third choice. They could stay where they were and decide what to do after the rain stopped. But after everything Gunsmith and John had experienced, both would rather take a detour than stop moving.

The clouds were thick and low; the thunder deep and close. None of this boded well. In five minutes at most, wind and rain would be battering the area, and these shallows would lie beneath the river.

Gunsmith and John were only a third of the way across. They had to decide whether to turn back immediately. There should still be time, and once back on the bank, they would at least have the option of going around.

“Do you think going back is a good idea?” Gunsmith asked.

John firmly rejected the suggestion. “No. I have a very strong feeling there's still danger behind us, and it's close. This river and this rain are our best chance to shake off those ghosts and monsters. Even if the river sweeps me away and sends me over a waterfall, I'm never going back to that bank.”

“Maybe you're right, but…” Raindrops were already striking Gunsmith as he spoke. “We'll have to move faster if we're going to make it across.”

“Then let's go for it!” John replied. With that, he lunged forward and began to swim.

A jungle downpour is hard for city dwellers to imagine. It hits you with all the force of the artificial rain in some clichéd television drama, where the leading man and woman stand without umbrellas, sobbing together in the rain, while a fire truck sits just outside the shot…

John and Gunsmith switched from wading to swimming freestyle. There was no point thinking about conserving their strength now. At the moment, the only problem was the rapidly rising water, but if they dawdled another few minutes, they might well have rapids or a school of piranhas to deal with. Even an ability user would be done for then.

Gunsmith's initial estimate of the distance had been fairly accurate. Two minutes later, the exhausted pair crawled onto the muddy opposite bank. As soon as they were out, both lay faceup, chests heaving as they gasped for breath. Swimming those hundred-odd meters had been anything but easy. They hadn't even taken off their shoes, and the current had been steadily picking up. There was no denying that luck had played some part in getting them safely ashore. Had they stayed in the water a few dozen seconds longer, or had a broken tree suddenly come floating down from upstream, there was no telling what might have happened.

Looking back at the raging current and waves, Gunsmith shuddered with belated fear. A so-called ability user was still only human in the face of nature's power. He was a long way from being superhuman. If he ever reached Strong rank or higher in his lifetime, perhaps he would be able to handle a situation like this with composure.

The rain was getting heavier, and the water kept rising. Even this bank was in danger of flooding. Once they had caught their breath a little, they got up to find shelter from the rain. John was in excellent spirits. Though he was soaked to the skin, those vicious, uncanny things were now on the other side of the river. The risk had been well worth it. Perhaps tonight he could finally sleep in peace.

“John, I've got some bad news for you. You'd better brace yourself,” Gunsmith said suddenly.

“What is it? Did the stuff in your pockets fall into the river?” John asked.

“No. I've altered all my pockets. Nothing would fall out even if I hung upside down from a tree,” Gunsmith replied. “What I have to tell you is much scarier than losing things. In fact, I'm already frightened. You must stay calm. Don't scream or go berserk…”

John could already feel his scalp prickling. “What exactly is it?”

Gunsmith pointed into the jungle a short distance ahead. “That path… Do you remember it? It's the path we came down before crossing the river.”

John looked where Gunsmith was pointing, and his face instantly turned deathly pale.

“Actually, my eyesight's pretty good. I can even see the footprints we left on our way here, though the rain is gradually washing them away.” Gunsmith turned to look behind him again. “Look across the river. That's the opposite bank we saw before we crossed. Everything looks exactly the same.”

John sank to the ground. “What's going on… Impossible… Why is this happening?!”

“A fairly reasonable explanation would be that we turned around and came back,” Gunsmith said.

“Impossible! Are you saying we turned a hundred and eighty degrees and swam the wrong way without even realizing it?” John roared.

Gunsmith let out a long breath. The rain had plastered his hair against his forehead and eyelids. He brushed it back and said gravely, “We may well have encountered something like folded space. That river is like a mirror. It looked as though we were crossing it, but in the end we came back to where we started.”