“Ben.”
He glanced over.
The foot moved again.
Only an inch, perhaps. But there was room beneath it now.
Ben lowered the radio.
“Clear a little more.”
I dug with both hands where the shovel was too awkward, pulling out mud and setting it behind me. Grit worked beneath my nails. My sleeve dragged through the water.
The calf pressed against the board.
His head rose slightly.
We took up the strap again, carefully supporting his effort.
For a moment, he held.
Then one front leg came free.
I heard myself shout, though I don’t remember what I said.
“Steady,” Ben warned.
The calf rocked forward. His other leg shifted beneath him, searching for something solid.
We kept the support even.
He pushed.
Mud released with a deep, wet sound, and suddenly far more of him was above the surface.
He stumbled onto the board, knees bending.
I moved back quickly, giving him room.
