An enormous black bear splashed across the Mitshishu Brook
just below the falls and sprinted up a near-vertical scree
slope to escape from the helicopter. Holy crap, that thing
could shift.
Daniel looked at the biologists, expecting a hero's welcome
from the damsels in distress who'd sounded frantic on the
radio. But they looked far from relieved. Something was
wrong. Daniel's senses went on high alert. Vikki was
stripping off her clothes and no one was watching. Tommy was
running toward him waving in excitement.
The Doc...
His heart slowed for two distinct beats before instinct
screamed a warning.
Cameran Young was nowhere in sight.
Adrenaline whipped through his bloodstream even as he
ignored the effects and regulated his breathing. He couldn't
afford to lose control. He landed the chopper, turned off
the machine and unclipped his harness, then ran for the
falls with the rotors still spinning. Vikki executed a
perfect dive into the pool.
Tommy grabbed his arm, jabbering. "She's in the water. She
fell in the water and her waders filled and she sank—"
He grabbed the kid by a handful of shirt. "The Doc? The Doc
is in the water?" Daniel yanked his shirt over his head and
kicked off his boots. "How long?" He shucked his pants just
as Vikki surfaced.
"I can't find her!" she yelled and spluttered.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. How long had she been down? He
grabbed his knife from his pants and ran full pelt up onto
the rocks above the pool and dove straight into the water.
There was the shock of cold. Which was good for the Doc, but
not so great for his fine motor skills. He kept descending,
slicing deep into the pool that had been eroded by thousands
of years of water versus bedrock. It was silent, except for
the sound of his blood thrashing around his body as he
searched for Cam.
How long had she been down?
Panic fluttered. He had to keep calm. Had to remember his
training even though tactical breathing was a little
difficult in this situation. It was dark under the water,
with bright shafts of sunlight breaking through the surface
like spotlights. Fish swam all around, unfazed by the human
invasion.
Everything felt so violently alive—his senses
sharpened, nerve endings stripped, survival skills on fire.
His body was primed by sheer muscle memory and cognitive
reflex. Even though worry for the Doc gripped his chest,
he'd forgotten how good this felt. He'd forgotten how alive
a body could be.
Then he spotted her. Motionless at the bottom of the pool
except for her hair, which swirled around her like silk, and
he remembered something else. How dead a body could be. He
kicked hard until he could grab hold of her.
Her eyes were open but she was unresponsive, unconscious.
His heartbeat ratcheted up and blood pressure skyrocketed,
compounded by lack of oxygen. He put the knife between his
teeth and gripped her under the arms. She was rag-doll
pliant. Dammit. His body went into overdrive. She was heavy
with the waders, but he heaved her upward, every fiber
straining with determination, knowing if he had to surface
to grab air and leave her behind, she was dead.
She might already be dead...
Panic took control of his muscles and she almost slipped
through his grasp. He caught a handful of T-shirt and jerked
her closer. It didn't matter how tight his chest felt or how
badly his lungs hurt, he wasn't letting go.
He burst through the surface and aimed for the shallows with
a one-handed crawl. It wasn't far and he climbed to his
feet, lobbing his knife toward the bank.
"Vikki. I need help," he shouted. She jumped back in and
together they dragged Cam to the side of the stream.
"Is she breathing?" Vikki asked.
He put his ear to her lips. "No. Check for a pulse." He
tilted Cam's jaw, closed her nose and pressed his mouth to
hers. Her lips were petal soft and morgue cold.
"I feel a pulse." Vikki held Cam's wrist in her fingers, her
eyes wide with concern. "I think."
A savage dread gripped Daniel as he blew into the Doc's
mouth again, and again, and again. Each time he watched her
chest rise, but she wasn't responding. Even though he was
doing everything that needed to be done, nothing was
working. He checked her pulse. It was faint and fluttery but
there.
"Come on, Cam!" he yelled and slammed his fist against her
sternum, furious with her, with himself and the whole damn
world.
She started coughing. Relief surged through him, and even
though he was one-hundred-percent focused on the Doc, he
knew he was shaking like a baby. He turned her onto her side
and watched her cough the water out of her lungs. Christ. He
brushed the thick mat of hair off her forehead, her skin
cold and bloodless. As bloodless as Sylvie's had been after
her throat had been slashed.
"How are you feeling?" Fears of brain damage rushed through
his mind as she supported herself on her elbow.
"Peachy," she said and threw up again.
He felt sick with relief and couldn't make sense of the riot
of emotions raging inside him. Near misses with the
hereafter were laughed at, ignored, forgotten in the world
in which he'd once lived. They didn't count. The only thing
that warranted the inner turmoil that was currently
battering his heart and making his stomach roil was actual
irrevocable death.
But she wasn't dead.
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