His muscles burned from digging the wooden oar into the choppy water. Despite throwing his entire weight into rowing, the storm made it impossible to get away. He looked back over his shoulder, the blood from the cut above his eye made it difficult to see. A blood curddling howl echoed from the woods. He could feel the shockwaves across the water. He kept trying to row. Splinters from the old oar were buried in his hands. In a last, desperate attempt, he made a spilt decision. _Life or death_. The sun had faded long ago. The sky was dark and moonless. He didn’t know if it would make a difference. He felt the howling again, then heard it. He tossed the paddle into the water. There was only one chance to survive this. Without one steadying breath, he rolled the canoe into the frigid water, letting himself pour over. No life jacket. No sense of direction. The water coldness felt like needles piercing all over his body. He heard the howling again. One arm, one stroke, kick the legs. One. Two. Three. Slowly he tried to move. He had to move. There was no other option.