Beginning with You (29 page)

“Do that.”

Annie held her breath and stood. She leaped, feet first, into the icy water. The life vest she wore popped her quickly to the surface. Shaking the water out of her eyes, Annie swam strongly toward Dave, who was weakly trying to keep his head above water. Her years of rescue experience made it easy to slide her arm around his chest and beneath his arm to keep him from drowning.

“I’ve got you,” she gasped.

Dave gagged and stopped flailing around. He relaxed immediately when Annie’s strong, thin arm went about him. His throat and nose burned from the saltwater he’d inhaled. He was barely coherent, and black dots danced before his half-closed eyes. “Annie…I-I’m losing…” He blacked out before he finished.

Alarmed, Annie twisted a look down at him. Taking powerful strokes with her free arm and legs, she reached a raft half-filled with people. Hands stretched downward to help Dave as soon as she maneuvered him so they could reach him. Sucking in huge gulps of air, she moved aside as two men hauled Dave into the raft.

“Cover him!” she shouted up to them, trying to be heard over the cacophony of sounds. “He’s hypothermic! Put your coats or anything else you have around him.” And then she pushed off, striking out for the cylinders floating alongside the
Flyer
.

Rook divided her attention between coordinating the passengers with Tony Knox and trying to search for Jim. There was one more ramp, near the bow, that had to be released. He knew, as she did, that the hundred people left on deck would have no way of getting off the ferry to be rescued without the remaining rafts. Tears blurred Rook’s vision. She wanted to scream for Jim to get back to her. He’d been up there for so long. She’d seen wisps of chlorine gas slide across the roof. Had Jim breathed in the poisonous fumes? Was he unconscious somewhere up there? She ached to go find him, but when she saw the anxious, shocked looks on the passengers’ faces, she knew her duty was here, with them. No one else knew about emergency rescue procedure like the Coast Guard, and she couldn’t jeopardize all of them for the sake of one life….

Noah heard the announcement over the radio, and his blood turned icy. He gripped the console, staring hard at the ferry. Captain Stuart had just ordered everyone to remain one mile away from the
Flyer
, because of the danger of an explosion that could occur at any time. Already, the
Flyer
was listing twenty degrees to starboard. It was only a matter of time before it slid into a watery grave, if that explosion didn’t do it first. Earlier, he’d spotted Rook, Harper and Annie Locke, but not Jim Barton. With Commander Nelson now acting as on-scene commander from the 250-foot cutter, the
Osprey
, Noah was relieved of his extra duties. He’d taken the
Point Countess
very close to the
Flyer
to pick up survivors. And now he waited impatiently for the last of them to be helped off the cutter to dockside.

“We’re ready to roll, Skipper!” the bos’n shouted from the dock. The last person had been led down the ramp to awaiting volunteers and medical people.

Good. Noah gave orders to place a large, heavy gangplank on the cutter. He eased the
Point Countess
from the berth, pointing her bow out toward the straits once again. Noah had a plan, and he prayed that the captain would approve of it. Rook didn’t know the danger she was in, and he was damned if he was going to lose her like this. He picked up the microphone to call Stuart.

Ward rubbed his tired eyes, listening to Noah’s plan. He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t. The first mate, Knox, had reported twenty gravely injured people lying on the stern of the
Flyer
. Right now, all helos were busy either picking up people in the water or refueling. The injured who could walk or move were the last of the passengers to be transported. There was no way to get the last twenty people, except to send someone or something in to pick them up. Noah wanted to take the
Point Countess
alongside, drop the gangplank on the
Flyer
’s slanted deck and rescue them. Should he risk a multi-million-dollar cutter and the lives of eight men? Ward rubbed his eyes again.

“Stand by, Lieutenant Caldwell,” he ordered gruffly, trying to analyze the best way to handle the situation. Noah was right. They had to get the critically injured off the ferry in a hurry, or they’d all go up with the coming explosion. What way was best with minimal risk to life and property—helo’s or a cutter? The blade wash from a ’60 could pull the chlorine gas to the stern of the
Flyer
, endangering everyone. His aircrew would be jeopardized, too. They were running low on extra oxygen tanks from the fire departments. If he chose wrong, people could die because of his decision.

“Captain, I’ve got to have your answer,” came Noah’s anxious voice. “I’m one mile to port of the
Flyer
.”

“Get the
Point Countess
in there and get her out, Lieutenant Caldwell,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir!”

Ward cursed, setting down the microphone. He stared over’ at several officers manning other phones and radios. Had he made the right decision? The rescue of twenty people, plus those few attending them, would take too long by helo. The ’60 could only hold four, maximum, plus a crew of three. The cutter, on the other hand, could take all survivors, minimizing the time factor but maximizing the loss of people if that ferry exploded while they were in the act of evacuating them. Turning, Ward glanced out the window toward the straits.

Rook’s eyes widened as she saw the
Point Countess
’s clean, sleek shape turn and bear down directly on the ferry. And then, she understood. A sob escaped her and she quickly returned to her role as leader for the group.

“Listen! Everyone, listen! They’re going to move the cutter alongside the
Flyer
. We’ll all be able to cross over and make it to safety. Do you understand?” Her voice cracked with emotion. The few people who were still coherent nodded. Twenty lay unconscious or seriously injured at Rook’s feet. Blood covered the deck. Others were administering CPR. Their faces were worn, their arms tired, but they continued the life-saving procedure.

Anxiously, Rook looked toward the roof. Where was Jim? Both
Flyer
crewmen had already climbed down and had just joined the group. Their faces were glistening with sweat, hair plastered against their skulls. The clothes they wore clung to their bodies. She made her way to the two weary men.

“Jim—the other man up there. Where is he? Why didn’t he come off the roof with you?”

The older man, his arms and knees burned badly from crawling around on the roof, leaned over, talking loudly enough so that Rook could hear him. “He said he was gonna try for that last ramp. I told him he was crazy, but he said we needed that last cylinder when he saw how many people were left down here.” The crewman lifted his blistered forearms for her to look at. “He’s got more guts than we have. Frank and I couldn’t take the heat up there anymore.”

Tears jammed into Rook’s eyes, and she fought them back. Her voice wavered. “D-did he say he’d come down after releasing the cylinders?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the younger crewman vowed. “Said he’d be down straight away.”

Rook strained to see through the heavy smoke, which was increasing every minute. Torn between a desire to find Jim and stay with her group, Rook looked back toward the fast-approaching
Point Countess
.

Hurry, oh, God
,
Noah, hurry
.

Noah gave orders to his crew as they approached the tilted deck of the ferry. Ordinarily, no gangplank would be long enough to reach that upper deck from his cutter, but with the degree of list, it would work. His men had been with him for over a year and knew their stations. Sitka cast lines over the rail of the ferry. A couple of
Flyer
crewmen caught them and quickly wrapped them around the steel-bar rail.

“Ease her in,” Noah ordered Dixon. The ferry was listing badly to starboard. They had to place that gangplank between the cutter and the unstable, slanted deck. Noah ordered that the knots placed in the lines between the cutter and ferry be the type for quick release. If that ferry decided to sink, he didn’t want the
Point Countess
going down with it. As it was, the gangplank was going to be precarious as hell on the ferry deck. There was no way to secure it. Noah saw Rook waving wildly, her face bloody and swollen from the injury she had received. There was terror in her eyes. He ordered the throttle pulled back to all stop, watching as the cushioning fenders were thrown over the side of the
Point Countess
to prevent any damage when the two ships moved next to one another.

“Jerry, get Steve to help you maneuver that gangplank onto the
Flyer
.”

“Yes, sir!”

A ladder with rope handrails and solid oak planking was laid gingerly between the two ships, creating a passable bridge between them. Noah stepped out on deck with the microphone and used the ship’s PA system to direct the
Flyer
survivors.

“Prepare the injured for transport. My crew will help you across.”

Rook rallied beneath her brother’s calm, authoritative voice, and so did everyone else. Fighting back tears of relief, Rook got down on her hands and knees, and began relieving those who had been giving CPR for far too long. Two more explosions, deep in the belly of the
Flyer
, shook the deck. The heat was increasing, and so was the wind. Rook noticed a slight wind change.

“No!” she cried, seeing the chlorine cloud begin to turn and twist back across the bow—back across the roof, toward the stern. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw a
Point Countess
crewman. He took the man she was working on across the plank to safety.

Dizzy, Rook watched in terrible fascination as the chlorine cloud changed direction. At first, yellow-green wisps mixed with the black column of smoke that crawled across the roof, and then the mixture thickened.

With a cry, Rook turned to Dixon, the nearest
Point Countess
crewman. “Get help,” she told him. “Jim Barton’s still up there on that roof! I’m going to get him.” She lunged forward, slipping across the deck, falling several times, trying to make it to the upper deck stairs that led to the roof.

“Where the hell is she going?” Noah shouted to Dixon on the
Flyer
.

Dixon cupped his hands to his mouth. “She’s going after a guy named Barton. He’s still up on that roof!”

“Rook!” Noah shouted, using the PA system. “Don’t go up there!” He called her one more time. Dammit, she either didn’t hear him, or—Noah threw down the microphone, slid down the stair rails and hit the deck of the
Point Countess
running. As he did so, he slipped the oxygen mask onto his face and twisted the regulator so that cooling air pumped into the mask. He turned to Carter, the second mate. “You have command, Carter. If I’m not back by the time this evacuation is complete, you pull this cutter clear. Understand?”

Carter’s mouth dropped open, but he nodded.

Noah leaped to the unsteady gangplank, making his way across it to the tilted deck of the
Flyer
. He screamed at Rook to stop as she climbed the stairs. She had no oxygen tank—there was no way she could enter that wall of smoke up on the roof and survive.

Rook gagged, gasping for breath. The smell of chlorine was overwhelming. She wriggled onto the roof and lay there, gasping for breath. The metal beneath her was hot. Hands bloodied, she pulled herself forward.

“Jim! Jim, where are you?” Her cry sounded like a weakened kitten mewing. Coughing violently, Rook felt her consciousness slipping. No! No, she couldn’t faint. Jim! He was in trouble. She knew it. She could feel it. Crawling forward, covered by the clouds of black smoke, she disappeared beneath the thick veil.

Noah lunged forward, making a grab for Rook’s foot. He lay on the roof, gasping for breath, his eyes smarting badly. Pulling on her ankle, muscles straining, he brought her back toward him—back out of the clouds of dark, greasy smoke. Dixon was waiting at the bottom of the stairs as Noah handed his semiconscious sister to him.

“Get her back to the cutter!” Noah ordered, his voice muffled badly by the mask he wore.

Dixon supported Rook, who slumped against him. “Yes, sir!”

“Jim!” Rook cried, weakly raising her hand, pointing toward the roof.

Noah nodded his understanding of Rook’s entreaty and searched the angry smoke, feeling the heat scorch his skin. Crawling quickly up on the roof on his hands and knees,

Noah went to the port edge of the deck, snaking his way along it. The smoke was opaque, and he could see nothing. Every few feet he’d stop, hang on to the edge and move his long legs back toward the center of the roof, trying to locate Barton. If he didn’t have a point of reference, Noah knew he could become disoriented and lost in the viscous clouds. And then he might be like Barton, wandering around on the roof, unable to find the stairs and safety.

Noah kept shouting for Jim, but the mask made it almost useless. The roar of the fire was like a freight train bearing down on him. The closer he inched toward the bow, the hotter the surface became. Noah could feel his skin begin to burn where he touched the metal. By mental calculations, he knew there was one ramp left, and it should be only a few feet ahead. What if the ferry blew? Sweat ran into his eyes, making them sting.

There! Noah froze. Wildly, he searched with his right hand. It was Barton! It had to be. The man was unconscious and slumped over the ramp. Gripping Barton by the left arm, Noah got to his knees, tugging hard. Christ, the man was heavy! Noah had forgotten Jim was six-four and probably weighed at least two hundred and thirty pounds. Urgency thrummed through him. How much time had elapsed?

Saliva drooled from the corners of Noah’s mouth as he gasped for breath, and he dragged Barton toward the stern. A series of new explosions sent an arc of fear through him. His knees were burning and so were his legs.
Dear God, get us out of here. Let us live. Let us
—