Jason lunged that way. “Colby!”
No answer.
“Colby!”
“Jason—” Andy. Hand on his arm. “That ground’s unstable—”
“Jason, we’re calling help—” That was Jillian. Frightened. Voice wobbling.
Jason shook off the hand. Dove toward the edge. What good were muscles and stunt-man experience if he couldn’t jump down a hill and find blue eyes?
He plunged down the traumatized incline in a shower of rain and rocks and cloying mud. The storm got into his eyes; he shook it away. A rock stabbed his ankle. He ignored it.
Colby lay motionless a few feet away, half in the river, half tangled in dirt. He’d landed on his back, but his head was turned away. He did not stir.
Was his head turned too far? Was that angle too wrong? Was that rock dark with rain or red?
Jason hurled himself through lashing wea
