Steven James - The Rook

Airway breathing, circulation.

No pulse.

No breathing, no pulse, it’s over.

No, it can’t be. It’s not, it’s not.

We live short, difficult, brutal lives and then die before our dreams come true.

No, not now. Please, not Lien-hua.

So much I needed to say to her. So much life I wanted to live with her. So much.

I needed to keep oxygen circulating through her body. I heard a voice in my head, Begin five chest compressions. I interlocked my hands, pressed down against her sternum. Count them off: One.

I leaned forward. Felt her chest sink beneath my hands.

Two.

She’d tried to tell me something, to communicate with me. Signed

“D… A… E…” but I didn’t understand. What was she trying to tell me? D… A… E… D…

Three.

I scrambled the letters in my mind. Unscrambled them. Re-arranged them: ADE- aid her?… EDDE- an eddy in the water?

… DEAD.. ADD… AED…

Four.

Oh… AED.

Five.

AED: Automated external defibrillator.

Lien-hua knew she was about to die. She was telling me to bring her back. The only way to bring her back.

The defibrillator hung on the wall beside the backboard. I limped over, yanked it down, pulled out the defib pads, and crouched beside her. The dress Melice had put on Lien-hua had only thin straps, so I slid one to the side, placed a pad over her heart, and put the other pad on the left lateral side of her chest beneath her armpit, so the current would go through her body and be more effective. All the while, inside of me, I was screeching out a prayer, awkward and raw, a one-word prayer. Please. Please.

Tessa’s words from yesterday about readers liking pain and the characters not always surviving at the end of the story haunted me. “It doesn’t always happen, you know,” she’d said. And she was right.

Please.

The defibrillator is automatic-it’s supposed to check for a pulse, then give the shock-but I knew we couldn’t wait. I pressed the alternate button to deliver the shock manually. The defibrillator buzzed, Lien-hua’s body arced, lurched. Dropped.

Again I checked her airway, her breathing, felt for a pulse.

Still no breath. Still no pulse. Glassy eyes. Open. Staring at me.

A fixed blank stare.

No, no, no, no.

Four minutes. Brain damage after four minutes without oxygen.

Irreversible.

I gave her two more breaths.

Checked for a pulse.

None. I needed to circulate the blood.

Beginning compressions. One.

This time as I depressed her sternum I felt a snap and knew I’d broken one of her ribs, maybe more than one. But I had to keep going.

Two.

I heard the broken bone grind and pop as I pressed down again, You almost always break someone’s rib when you give CPR, but you have to do the compressions that hard. You have to go that deep.

Three.

I tried to ignore the awful grating sound as I pressed down. But she could live with a broken rib. She couldn’t live without oxygen.

Four.

Crack.

Another rib. But I knew she’d forgive me; knew she’d understand.

If only she survived.

Five.

I saw that the defibrillator had recharged. I pressed the button.

Another shock. Her limp body jerked. I listened for breath again.

Nothing, no air. Still no breathing.

It had to have been four minutes by now… It had to have been…

I gave her two more breaths, her lips cold and claylike against mine. The water had been cool, maybe it had slowed her metabolism, maybe it would give her more time.

I felt for her pulse.

No, the water wasn’t that cold. It wasn’t cold enough. “Come on, come on,” I whispered. She’d been under too long. Please, please, don’t die. Why did I ever doubt you, Lien-hua? I can’t believe I ever thought you were Shade. I’m sorry. So sorry.

Then. Wait. There. Faint. A pulse. Thready. Weak. A pulse.

Yes, oh yes.

Unconscious. Barely alive.

But alive.

Alive.

I gave her two more breaths, and her body quivered, her head jerked backward, and she spit up a mouthful of murky, bile-laced water. I quickly turned her to the side to help clear her airway. She shivered in my arms. More coughing, more sour water. Yes, yes.

Alive. She was alive. Thank God she was alive. Pale, but breathing. Her color coming back.

And then I heard footsteps behind me.

And I knew who it was. Shade.

Without turning around I spoke his name, “Let me save her, Terry. Kill me if you want to, but first-”

“Back away, Pat,” said my NSA friend Terry Manoji. “Do it now. I’m a good shot. Back away before I count to three or I’ll shoot you at the base of the neck.”

Tessa scanned the club. Didn’t see Riker. Thankfully, didn’t see Riker. The crowd was thinning. It didn’t look like anyone was hurt.

It looked like she’d actually gotten away.

“One,” said Terry.

Lien-hua lay on her side, her eyes were open. I saw her throat shudder, and then she spit up another mouthful of water. It was touch and go. Her heart might stop again at any second. Her eyes touched mine. I pressed a finger to her lips, wordlessly telling her, I’ll see you soon, don’t worry about me, we’ll talk more when I get back. A feeble nod. She understood.

“Two. Back away, Pat.”

Back up or he’ll kill both you and Lien-hua. Your only hope of saving her is to stay alive as long as possible. Do what he says.

“Three-”

“Wait! Listen to me, Terry.” I eased back slightly. Faced him.

“Do what you want with me. But she might die here. You have to let me help her.”

“Farther.”

“Terry-”

He leveled his gun. “Now.”

I backed up some more. Lien-hua rolled limply onto her back where she might aspirate on water or vomit at any moment.

Terry walked past me so that now Lien-hua lay between us.

“Farther, Pat. It’s my turn to be with her.” He waved me back with his gun and I slid back until he was out of my reach. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, Pat,” he said. “But we warned you that things would not end well for you if you refused to give us the device.”

Lien-hua’s breathing was weak, her chest rising only slightly.

The defibrillator lay a couple of feet from me.

Terry looked past me to the remains of the device I’d shot. “You cost me a lot of money there, Pat. You should have given it to me.

You should have listened.”

I could hear Lien-hua coughing, gulping for air. I wanted to make a move, to do something for her, but if I tried, Terry would kill me on the spot.

“Why, Terry?” I said, desperation rising. “Why are you doing this?” He kept the gun trained on me with one hand, caressed Lien-hua’s cheek with the other.

“We’re in a stalemate, Pat. Whether we like it or not, everyone’s going to get nuclear weapons. It’s just a matter of time. But it’s a catch-22. No one wants to use them because then everyone else will. The world needs a new weapon, one that’ll tip the scales of power once again.”

He didn’t just mean the world, he meant someplace in particu-lar. Then I realized what he was saying. “Who, Terry? The Chinese?”

Lien-hua was still breathing shallowly, faintly.

“They’re outpacing us. Even passing up DARPA.” He smiled.

“And I have to say, they pay much better than the NSA.”

I could hardly believe it. “How long?”

“Two years now. It’s amazing how naive the U.S. government is.”

He knelt, reached over, and slowly removed the defib pad from Lien-hua’s chest. “You won’t be needing this anymore, Lien-hua-as Pat might say, I have more than one motive here tonight.” Lien-hua watched helplessly as Terry removed the defibrillator pad. Weakness shrouded everything. She felt just strong enough to move, but not strong enough to fight.