She yanked desperately, pulled and tugged. At last the zipper moved an inch or two. She stuck her hands the hole and pulled them apart. Finally the door opened. She dove through and up, breaking the surface, gasping for air, and then turned to help pull the door opening over Ross. They dragged the soaked tent and bedding up onto the rocks, and stood naked in the heap looking toward shore. The bikes were both lying on their sides and the contents of Dana’s bags had been scattered across the site.
“Glenn is going a little too far with his animosity,” Dana said, “We could have been hurt, or killed. The bikes might be damaged.”
“I’m not sure that was Glenn,” Ross said.
“Well, it could be Glenn. Or it could be Dorothy and Yllsa. Or Willie and Simon. Or it could be Byron.”
“We don’t know what the motivation was. The may not have intended us harm. It may have been a joke. Or, not. Dorothy is clearly jealous of you.”
“How could someone so pretty and slender and and young-looking and in such good shape and so talented be jealous of me?”
“You’re pretty and talented, too?”
“Not as pretty as she is!!”
“I think you are. You’re pretty to me.”
“Well, I think whoever dragged us into the water could have killed us. I don’t think it was a joke. If it was, it wasn’t funny.”
“Let’s check the bikes. Good thing it’s such a warm night, or we’d be getting hypothermia!”
Ross picked up the bikes and examined them. Dana picked up her belongings. She put on dry clothes, and gave Ross one of her largest T-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. They went to a 24-hour Laundromat and washed all the wet clothes, sleeping bag and tent. They dried everything but the tent. Ross suggested they hang it up to dry at the site and that they go to a motel for the night, his treat.
In the morning, when they went back to the site, the tent was gone.