Free Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden

scalp, and when I reach up to brush the annoyance away, the cinders that smoulder on my head burn my fingers as well. I run in the direction of the river just in time to remember that our food, the flour and lard and moosemeat, is tied in a tree away from animals. Too late to get it now.
    Not able to breathe, I bend closer to the ground and continue on, listening for Elijah’s voice. We’d camped only ten yards from the river, but I can’t see the water. The smoke suffocates me, and a stand of trees to my left bursts into flame with a whoosh and crackle, hurting my ears deep inside. I drop to my knees and crawl, shouting out to Elijah. I cannot hear him answer.
    The mud between the stones tells me that I’m close to the river. A few feet more and my hands find it. A line of trees close to the bank lights up, illuminating the surface of the water for a few seconds, burning my back. I dive, sure that I am on fire, but when I emerge I find that I’m all right. I lie there with just my nose and mouth and eyes above the surface. The sudden image of Elijah being burned alive forces me to move. I rise out of the water as much as I can, shouting out, “Elijah!” but my voice sounds tiny and weak in the smoke. The fire’s a continuous thunder in my ears.
    The smooth pull of the river helps to orient me. Every time I can muster a deep enough breath, I call out for him. Panic slips itselfinside my body. I am trying to brace myself for the frantic charge up the bank in search of Elijah when the weight of the canoe bumps into me. I grab for the gunwale and feel my way along it until the shock of a warm hand makes me jump.
    Elijah bursts up from the water. He too has taken shelter in it. I shout, “It’s me. We’ve got to go.”
    “Look at this!” Elijah hollers. “Incredible!” His eyes sparkle in the firelight. “Why didn’t you follow me?”
    “I lost you.” I do not know if he hears me. I cannot hear myself.
    “Drape your wet blanket over the canoe,” he yells at me. “The cinders are going to burn holes in the canvas.” He points to his own blanket stretched across the canoe. I follow his direction.
    “It didn’t look like you were too concerned about me,” I shout, but Elijah doesn’t seem to hear. A large tree cracks and crashes close by and a moment later a red rain of embers falls on us. “We’ve got to go with the current.” I point. “It will be easier. Just hold on and float out.”
    “No! The fire’s running north faster than we could.” We look around at the exploding world, the flames lighting up the night. “If we head back north, all we’ll do is keep pace with the worst of it. It will eat us up.”
    I am not sure. I ask, “How far south will we have to travel to get out of this?”
    “It burned along the river already, burned up all the bush,” he says, and I think I see Elijah grin, his teeth glinting. Why? “I’m sure that a couple miles upriver it will be clear. Smoky, but clear.”
    Around us, there is fire on all sides, bright walls of it. I hear a building roar and the hiss of embers falling into water. I breathe in and cough. “Let’s go then,” I shout. “For a little while. If there’s no let-up, we try floating out.” I look. Yes, Elijah, he is smiling.
    I hold onto the stern and push while Elijah pulls on the bow. When our hands are on the gunwales, the falling embers burn them, so weboth place our hands closer to the water’s surface. I feel the embers hit and sizzle on my wet head. We wade forward clumsily in the dark, feel our way over the rocks and sinking mud. Elijah tries to keep us chest deep, but often he loses his footing completely in the depths and is forced to float, holding onto the canoe. I can feel the both of us, at these times, drifting backwards.
    “Let’s work our way shallower,” I shout up to Elijah, but when we’re waist deep we soon learn that the smoke’s too thick to breathe and the heat burns through our wet shirts. Sometimes, though,