Excerpt of Edge of Survival by Toni Anderson

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.