Endangered (9781101559017) (36 page)

“Damned if I know,” Rafael answered. “I was just nabbing this scumbag for parole violations. He's a child molester from Flagstaff.”

Leeson held Russell's toupee out to Rafael. Wallace Russell bent over obligingly so that the shorter Rafael could place it on his head.

The toupee fell in the mud.

Rafael stepped on it. “Damn,” he said dramatically. “Sorry about that.” Squished into the muddy car tracks, the hairpiece looked like roadkill.

“What'd you want to do that for?” Russell whined. From his hunched position, he had a perfect view inside Rafael's truck. His face perked up. “Hey, that's Rosa, right? You're a lucky man, Ranger Castillo. She's such a pretty little girl. Look at those lips.”

Rafael slugged Wallace Russell.

 

DURING her short stint as a seasonal ranger, Sam had taken photos of the falls from the outside—ragged red rocks framing an elongated diamond window through which the water cascaded in a shimmering curtain from the cliffside. From inside the chamber, the diamond frame enclosed billowing clouds punctuated by the green spikes of junipers. A lone aspen flashed its few remaining leaves, brilliant gold against the ashen sky. If she could sit up, she'd see the river valley below through the mist, like a mirage.

She was so tired, so cold. She struggled to hold her head up, to keep a grip on Zack, gasping for breath between surges of water.

Her mind flooded with the memory of the last time she had kissed her mother good night. Even with the ventilator, the poor woman had been gasping for oxygen like a fish out of water. She—nine-year-old Summer—had gone to bed at the usual time, wondering what kind of a God would make someone suffer so.

At dawn, it had been so quiet. No ventilator, no gasping. Her father sat in the same chair as he had the night before, hugging her mother's pillow to his chest. And her mother lay peacefully, her face serene at last. “Let's give thanks to God, Summer,” her father had said. “We were so lucky to have her with us for so long.”

She thought about Kent and the cougar bleeding in the dust and then the self-righteous hunters that shot them. Adam. Barbara Jean. That poor dead child crushed by the rocks. And now, Zachary Fischer—he hadn't moved for minutes now. Was he unconscious? The water bucked beneath her like a wild bronco.

A rock ground into her left kidney. It hurt like hell. Anger rushed through her at the unfairness of it all.
I proved myself, Adam, no thanks to you. And I've got news for you, Dad. I'm not thankful for suffering and death. And I'm not ready to die!

She focused on her physical pain, zeroed in on the spasming muscles in her neck, the throbbing cougar scratches, the stinging scrapes along her backbone. She needed to collect all that sharpness and use it to cut through the fogginess that filled her brain.

She was right-handed; her grip on that side was stronger. She wrapped her left arm around Zack, made sure the fingers of her left hand were rolled into his sweatshirt. Pushing her right arm sideways into the current, she stretched her fingers out into the surging water. A rock, a branch, anything she could hold on to!

Zack kicked her hard, in the abdomen. Good, he was still alive. She could no longer feel her fingers, but she clenched the muscles in her left arm to keep him firmly against her. She paddled her right hand in the rushing stream. Where the hell was Perez? He'd said he could swim like a dolphin: why hadn't he come after her and Zack?

Her knuckles rasped over a stone. She twisted her wrist and curled her fingers around the protrusion. Did she have it? Her fingers were thick, lifeless. She made an effort to pull herself toward the rock. Her body moved sideways a couple of inches, causing her shoulder to sink beneath the surface. Water surged over her neck and chest. Zack kicked and shrieked, a high treble note over the background bass of the flood. But the rock held. She'd found an anchor.

Dare she move her left foot? She pulled herself to the right. The water shoved more forcefully against her. Broadside to the current, the surge would be more powerful. But she couldn't stay where she was. She'd be completely numb in another minute. Her muscles would gradually give way and she and Zack would slip over the edge and fall to their deaths on the rocks below. Wouldn't Adam love to get
that
on videotape. What a scoop.

The creek roared in her ears. Water kept spattering into her eyes. Maddening. Perez wasn't coming. Nobody was coming.

She clenched the muscles in her right arm and pulled. The water surged against her back, propelling her toward the opening. She straightened her right knee to keep her body away from the wall; she didn't want to smash Zack against the rock. The current threatened to rip her clothes from her body. She could feel water running between her toes and the insoles of her hiking boots.

Pushing off from the wall, she thrust her left foot into the current. It was immediately sucked into the surge of water leaping over the falls. The current was dragging her through the opening.

Her head struck a rock, but instead of stars, she suddenly saw clouds overhead. Her fingers scrabbled at the rocks beneath the water. Both her feet dangled over the precipice. She heard the thunder of water striking the pool far below.

Zack was slipping from her grasp. His legs dangled in the water between her thighs. She contracted her muscles and brought her legs up around him. She felt a tug between her breasts. Through the surging water she saw tiny fingers clutching her bra.

“Hang on, Zack!”

Her right hand had a tentative hold on a slippery rock at the edge of the waterfall. Another rock, blessedly dry, stood next to the one she held on to. She straightened the fingers of her left hand and withdrew it from Zack's sweatshirt. The little body slipped an inch. She tightened her legs around him. Was his head underwater?
Oh God, don't let him drown. Don't let me drop him.

Now or never. She rolled onto her right side and reached for the rock. Yes, yes, she had it; through a blur of water she saw her fingers around the block of sandstone, even if she could no longer feel them. She dragged her body toward her handholds, conscious that she was dragging the toddler over the rocks with her.
Sorry, Zack, sorry.

She wedged an elbow between the rocks, used it as a lever to pull her shoulders out of the water. If she hadn't been so numb, it would have hurt like hell. Flopping over onto her back, she shoved both hands against the rocks to drag her hips out of the torrent. Two small arms and a head covered with wet yellow hair emerged as well.

Grabbing the back of Zack's sweatshirt, she hauled his small body up onto dry land beside her. She collapsed across the lichen-spotted rock, her cheek in the dirt, panting with exhaustion.

Zack's lips were blue. His eyes were closed; delicate purple veins visible in the pale lids. A long red scratch ran down from scalp to chin. Was he breathing? A trickle of water spilled out over his lower lip.

She didn't have the strength to do CPR.
Breathe, Zachary, breathe! Come on, boy.
A bubble of mucus formed at his nostril. Good sign; he had air in his lungs. But his chest was not moving. She tried to push herself up with a numb arm. Then he choked, spraying water into her face. Never had she been more willing to have a child spit up on her. He gasped, sucking in a big gulp of air.

Thank God. She clasped his little body close. At least they were out of the wind. They were even somewhat out of the rain. Were those tree limbs above? The rocks beneath her were definitely warmer than the water had been. Her feet were icy, though. She tried to wiggle her toes, heard squishing sounds. She bent her knees, pulled her boots out of the water onto dry land.

That was it; her last ounce of adrenaline had burned out in the water, and she was left with only uncontrollable shivering. She rolled onto her back, keeping Zack against her, his head snuggled into her armpit. Her eyes closed, shutting out the rolling clouds overhead. “Hang in there, little guy. Just a ten-minute break, and then I'll get you to Mommy.” Although it would be a hell of a lot easier if Mommy came to them.

A little later—she couldn't have said whether it had been half an hour or five minutes—she came to with the unpleasant sensation of heavy raindrops pelting her face. She squeezed an arm around Zack's little body. He made a puppylike snuffling noise and curled into a smaller ball, shivering.

Teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, she dragged her body away from his and pushed herself up against the tree. Across her lower back, something ripped. She wasn't certain whether it was clothing or skin.

She studied her body as if it belonged to someone else. The front of her T-shirt had been ripped open. No wonder her bra had been so handy a lifeline. Her boots were cleaner than they'd been for months. The wet leather positively gleamed; not a speck of dirt on them. The gash ripped into her canvas pants by the cougar's claws now stretched from seam to seam. Her thigh gaped through, the paleness of the skin accentuated by the three red slashes. A similar tear adorned the other leg at calf level. What was this style called? Punk? No, grunge, that was it.

It was raining again, pouring down sheets of water over the valley. Or had it been doing that all along? She'd better get moving; she and Zack were both hypothermic. And the hunters would be shooting any minute now. Why the heck didn't angels or handsome heroes ever magically appear like they did in novels? Real life was just so damned much effort.

She pulled her knees up under her chin and braced her back against the tree. So far, so good. Shoving against the ground with her hands, she pushed herself up. The bark of the trunk raked against her skin. On her feet, she braced one palm against the tree and explored her lower back with the other. Not much left of either vest or shirt; she could feel the knobs of her backbone above her belt. Her fingers came away bloody. It was surprising that it didn't hurt more. That would probably change.

The boy still lay curled in a fetal position on the rock. Sam stiffly crouched over him, rolled Zack onto his back and ran her fingers over his small body. No unusual lumps or gushing blood. The boy whimpered and curled back into his former position.

“C'mon, buddy,” Sam said. She scooped him up, apparently none too gently because he stiffened, wailed angrily, and smacked a small fist against her neck.

“You're welcome.” She hefted him onto a hip and folded her arms around his small body. “I don't suppose you want to carry me?”

He glared at her for a minute, rain dripping from his hair and eyelashes, then bent his head and buried his face on her chest.

“That's what I figured.” Her legs felt wooden. It was amazingly difficult to lift her feet up the steep slope; each step felt as if it were yards above the previous one. She counted. She'd rest after fifty steps.

When she reached fifty, she knew that if she stopped to rest, she wouldn't be able to start again. At 215, she finally reached the ruins, staggered under the cover of the overhang and sat down heavily on a ledge. At least her motion had generated some body heat. Her teeth had stopped chattering, and Zack seemed to have stopped shivering as well. He clung to her like a baby monkey. Under normal circumstances she would have shrugged him off, but he felt warm against her stomach and chest. She'd have to get moving again soon; warm and wet would soon return to cold and wet.

Where the hell were Perez and Coyote Charlie? If only she had some dry clothes. Her cell phone would come in handy right now, too. Assuming it had any juice left in the battery. She rested her chin on top of Zack's blond curls. How the hell was she supposed to get this kid and herself down a mountain in time to stop the cougar hunt?

Something rustled behind her. Her heart immediately sped up, and in one motion, she slid Zack off her lap, twisted around, and grabbed a chunk of rock in one fist.

Perez stood twenty feet away, arms out, a day pack in his left hand, a look of surprise on his face. Either she was imagining things or little wisps of steam were rising from his body.

“Summer!” He shoved his gun into his waistband and walked over. “You're alive!”

“Nothing gets past the FBI, does it?” she croaked.

His clothing looked damp but more sweat-damp than floodwater damp. His gaze traced a path down her body that would have made her blush under other conditions. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She tried to shrug. The movement hurt. “No bones broken,” she mumbled. “Least I don't think so. Where's Charlie?”

“Lost him back there.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder but kept his brown eyes fixed on her. “Hi, Zack,” he said to the boy. “We're glad to find you.”

Zack wriggled under her arm and leaned into her side. “Monkey,” Sam groaned.

Perez gave her a concerned look. “Did you hit your head?” His warm fingers brushed her cheek. “You're slurring your words.”

“Hy-po-therm-i-a,” she enunciated for him. So many syllables. She tilted her head toward Zack. “Him, too. Call for help?”

Perez shook his head. “My phone went under when I did.”

“Mine's on the ledge. Back there.” The chamber inside the Curtain seemed miles away.

 

“I'LL be right back.” Perez turned and vanished back through the ruins.

Sam briefly considered turning to see where he was going, but it seemed like too much effort. She rested her chin on Zack's blond curls. Just one more minute, she told herself, and then she'd stand up.
Right.

Perez returned, a pile of clothing in his arms. He laid it down on the ledge beside her, and then pulled Zack from her arms. “Let's get some dry clothes on you, okay, bud?”

Dry clothes sounded good. Sam checked the pile beside her, pulled out a green jacket. With awkward fingers that seemed swollen, she shucked off her torn vest and then peeled away the shreds of the T-shirt and her bra. She couldn't work up the energy to be embarrassed even if she'd been totally naked. She pulled on the jacket and zipped it up. Flannel-lined. Nice.