Sleep No More (39 page)

The bullet hit Toby's right hand; his gun clattered to the dock. He immediately reached down for the gun with his left hand.

Jason fired again, this time hitting him in the left knee. Jason was a doctor; he'd spent a lot of time perfecting his shot to maim, not kill.

Toby went down, his foot knocking his gun off the edge of the dock.

Jason ran somewhat closer, his aim now on Toby's head. He cast swift glances toward the water, but didn't see a sign of Abby or Bryce in the river.

"Where are they?" Jason shouted, praying for an answer that contradicted what logic told him.

"You're too fucking late." Toby started to push with his good leg toward the boat.

"Stop!" Jason held himself in place, resisting the instinct to move closer. He had to stay far enough away so Toby couldn't take Jason's legs out from under him. This guy was a killer. He wasn't done fighting yet.

The sirens grew louder, then stopped.

Toby scooted closer to the boat.

Jason fired again, hitting Toby's right calf.

The helicopter thumped closer, hovering over the water. The wash from its blades pressed Jason's clothes against his body. The turbulent gusts tossed tree branches and sent ripples across the surface of the river. Jason squinted against the wind and saw two officers with flak jackets and rifles in the chopper's open doorway.

The loudspeaker bellowed, "Drop your weapon."

Jason carefully placed his gun on the dock beside him and held his hands where they could easily be seen.

Then he yelled, "Check the river! They're in the river!"

He pointed downstream, keeping his hand movements slow and away from his body.

Feet pounded the dock. Jason spun around, hands in the air, and faced two officers who luckily knew him. He shouted as he kicked off his shoes, "Tell them not to shoot me. They're in the water. Have the helicopter search!"

Officer Bigelow reached for his radio and started talking.

Jason dove off the side of the dock.

Even with her eyes wide open, Abby couldn't see anything except the blurred image of Bryce's face inches from hers and a swirl of something darker in the water. Blood?

Hers or his?

He had come at her with the knife. There had been the pain of impact; she didn't think the knife had hit her, but she couldn't be sure. Then they'd tumbled over the edge of the dock. As she'd fallen, she'd heard a shot, followed by Bryce's grunt of pain.

Now he was holding her under the water. It was so cold she felt as if knife blades were flaying her flesh from her bones. Her lungs burned and felt ready to burst.

She struggled against his hold, but with her hands behind her, she was helpless.

She twisted her wrists against the tape.

He dragged her deeper.

The zing of bullets entering the water was getting quieter. Abby wasn't sure if they were moving away, or if she was losing consciousness. Everything had been so acute when she'd hit the water; now her senses were muffled. The sounds were less distinct, the pain rolling into numbness.

The current held her with a grip of its own. Without the use of her arms, she wasn't sure that she'd be able to surface even if he did let her go.

Even so, she kicked at him. He was drowning her. She writhed in panic, but he held tight.

Drowning. Drowning. Air. She had to get air.

Jason dove deep, ignoring the needles of pain caused by the cold temperature. The water was so murky, he would have to be right on top of them to see them. He flung his arms, feeling for skin or clothing.

Had they both been shot? Were they dead already?

The current was moving him away from the dock. Away from the
whump
of the helicopter.

He surfaced for air and discovered he'd been carried about twenty yards downstream. The helicopter was moving slowly along the course of the river, the two police officers leaning out, searching the surface of the water.

Jason's chances of finding Abby and Bryce were ridiculously slim, but he had to try.

He dove again.

He couldn't stay under as long this time. When he was forced to surface, a patrol boat was fast approaching from upstream. It slowed as it reached him.

One of the men on board called to him. "Here!" He tossed a life ring on a line. "Grab this!"

Jason ignored it and took a deep breath.

"Don't!" the man yelled. "We have divers on the way. Get out before we have to rescue you, too."

His limbs burning with exhaustion, Jason dove again.

The bullets had stopped--or they were far enough away that Bryce could no longer hear them. His lungs ached. He struggled not to suck in water.

His grip on Abby was growing weaker; luckily her strength against him was fading, too. His left arm was going numb and his shoulder felt as if it had been skewered.

He couldn't let her go.

Had to hold on... hold on... hold...

Jason heard the muffled drone of the boat's motor. He continued to grope blindly with no results. He was having a more difficult time keeping himself oriented in the water; the cold temperature was robbing him of his senses. And the current seemed to pull more insistently on his tired limbs.

He couldn't give up. Not until he found them.

Finally, he was forced to come up for air. Almost as soon as his head popped above the surface of the river, something snagged him around the chest.

He looked behind him. One of the men in the boat held a long pole on which there was a hook that encircled Jason.

The man was pulling him closer to the boat.

No! He had to keep going.

He struggled only briefly. He realized his limbs were so fatigued that if he located Abby or Bryce, he wouldn't have the strength to pull them from the water.

As soon as the officers had hauled him into the boat and laid him on the deck, he gasped, "Keep looking. Find them."

As he lay there heaving in great gulps of air, he tried to tell himself that they were alive. Even if they'd been shot, the water was cold. There was a chance. He had to cling to hope.

The boat's motor revved up.

One of the men said, "We're using fishing sonar. We'll find them, sir."

If only he sounded like he believed it would be in time.

Abby's right hand finally pulled free of whatever had bound her. At that same moment, she felt Bryce's hold on her relax. His eyes closed and his body started to separate from hers.

She grabbed the front of his shirt with her right hand. Stroking with her left, she began desperately kicking toward the surface.

The current tugged, but the light was growing stronger. Almost there!

Finally, she burst through the surface, gasping, her need for air overwhelming all else.

Coughing and sputtering, she struggled to pull Bryce's face above water. Her strength was failing.

With a frantic gaze, she looked to see which bank was closer. They were maybe thirty feet from the right bank, the bank they'd started on, still moving downstream. Luckily, the dock and the guy with the gun weren't in sight.

She heard a helicopter, but couldn't tell how near it was. She prayed it was looking for her.

She wrapped her right arm over Bryce's right shoulder and across his chest, hooking her hand in his left armpit. Then she rolled onto her back beneath him, supporting his head with her chest. She sucked in a breath and yelled, "Help!" Her second cry was cut off as the water came up over her mouth.

She started swimming toward the bank, pulling with her left arm and scissor kicking. The shore didn't seem to be getting much closer.

She might be able to make it alone. But she would not let Bryce go. She couldn't. Not ever.

Rolling onto her back again, she took deep breaths. She tried calling one more time.

"Here!" a man yelled. "Here!"

Abby rolled onto her side again, kicking toward the bank. A man was slightly downstream, chest deep in the river, hanging on to the limb of a huge tree that had fallen into the water. "Here!" he encouraged. "You can make it."

Abby kicked with all she had, pulling with her left arm. She had to get over there before they passed the fallen limb.

It was coming fast.

Almost.

She gave a big kick and stretched her arm out as far as she could.

She wasn't going to make it.

Just as she passed, the man lunged out and grabbed her wrist. He clung to the branch with his other hand, strung between the tree and Abby like a man on whipping posts.

She looked at his battered face and realized it was Father Kevin. His teeth gritted with strain as the current tried to pull her away from him.

Abby kicked furiously, holding tightly to Bryce.

Finally she reached the spot where the flow eddied around the fallen tree enough that it gave her a boost to swing closer to Father Kevin.

He kept pulling until she could grab a branch herself.

She realized he was standing and put her own feet on the river bottom.

Father Kevin tried to take Bryce from her, but she wouldn't let him go. She steadied herself by holding various limbs until she reached the point where she could no longer float Bryce along with her.

Father Kevin immediately moved to Bryce's feet. They hauled him out of the water, more dragging than carrying him.

Once Bryce's torso was over solid ground, they set him down. Abby and Father Kevin were breathing like sprinters. Bryce wasn't breathing at all.

Father Kevin checked for a pulse. Then he put the heels of both hands on Bryce's abdomen and pressed fast and hard. Once. Twice. On the third try, water bubbled out of Bryce's mouth.

Father Kevin moved quickly, turning Bryce's head to the side until the water stopped coming. Then he repeated it.

Then he checked for breaths.

"Come on," Abby wheezed.

Father Kevin began CPR, alternating between breaths and compressions.

Abby didn't have the strength to blow air into Bryce's lungs. She was about to take over compressions when she heard the helicopter. It was getting closer.

She got up and hurried back into the water, out from under the canopy of trees, until she was knee deep, waving her arms overhead. "Help!" Her cry was weak and useless against the sound of the rotors.

The helicopter swiveled in the air, hovering over the water in front of her. A voice came over a bullhorn. "Help is coming."

Abby frantically gestured toward Bryce and Father Kevin. But the helicopter continued to hover. It was only when the voice on the speaker told her again that help was coming that she realized there was no place for the helicopter to land.

She looked upriver and saw a boat fast approaching.

She slogged out of the water and fell onto her knees next to Bryce.

"I can take over compressions," she said, noticing the growing dark stain of blood on Bryce's left shoulder.

She placed her hands in position, purposefully not looking at the duct tape clinging to her left wrist. As she watched Father Kevin, waiting for him to give breaths, she noticed the cut over his eye had pulled open.

Just before he administered the second breath, Bryce sputtered and drew a breath on his own.

Abby choked on a sob of relief.

Father Kevin looked to heaven, closed his eyes, and began to move his lips in quiet prayer.

Bryce wheezed and coughed; more water bubbled out of his mouth. Abby made certain his head was turned to the side so he didn't aspirate it back into his lungs.

She heard the boat's hull scrape the bank and feet splash through the water. She didn't take her eyes off of Bryce. She laid her hand on his forehead and muttered encouragement, "Hang in there... You're doing great... We're safe... Help is here."

She heard the helicopter move away.

A man fell to his knees on the other side of Bryce. Abby took her hand away from Bryce's face and switched to holding his hand.

"He's been shot," she said. "In the back."

Guided by the blood seeping into the sleeve of Bryce's T-shirt, the man's hands immediately went to Bryce's left shoulder.

"Dad?" Bryce's whisper was shaky.

Abby's gaze snapped up and her exhausted heart did a triple-flip in her chest. "Jason."

His eyes met hers for a brief second, long enough to give her the strength to fight collapse, then he returned his focus to his son's injury.

"It looks like it went through," he said. "That's a good thing, son."

Jason and two other men from the boat helped Bryce on board and stretched him out on the deck. One of the men kept pressure on Bryce's wound and the other put a blanket over him.

Then Jason turned back to Abby. His hands ran over her face, her shoulders, searching for wounds. "You're not hurt?"

She took a look down at herself for the first time. "I'm fine." Bryce had thrown himself at her hard enough to sell the act of stabbing to Toby, but he hadn't struck her with the knife. "Fine."