A. G. Riddle - Departure

People are coming back with blankets now, dropping their loot near the fire and warming themselves. Nick makes a beeline for Jillian and the doctor, waving the two CPR volunteers over.

“These folks know CPR,” he tells Sabrina. “They’re going to help you with the people we bring out of the plane.” He turns to Jillian. “You know CPR?”

“I’ve … had training but never, you know …”

“First time for everything. You’ll do fine.”

“I don’t like this.” Sabrina frowns as she looks at the bloodied survivors from our section. “The exertion—any of these people could have severe head trauma.”

“No choice. This is what we’re doing.” Nick’s voice is firm, but not condescending or harsh.

I like that about him.

Nick runs to the water’s edge again and yells for Bill. He has to call again before the paunchy man finally appears, looking haggard and nervous. The bottom edge of the plane hovers just three feet above the water now, and the sight of how close the water is rattles him further. He peers out at us, frightened.

“There are too many. We can’t get them all.”

“It’s okay. We’re going to help you, Bill. We need you to get the life vests from under the seats and put them on the people you’ve moved to the opening. Understand?”

Bill looks around. “Then what?”

“Then we’re going to lower them out of the plane to the rescue teams. It’s imperative that you and anyone who can help with that stay there. Do you understand?”

Bill nods.

“We’re going to make a line to you. We’re coming out soon, okay? Get ready.”

Nick turns his attention to the group on the bank. He organizes the lines, placing the very strongest at the front, closest to the plane, the weakest in the middle, and the next strongest closest to shore. I can follow his logic, but I couldn’t have come up with it, not here in the cold, under the gun, knowing we’re about to watch dozens of people die.

He puts life vests on everyone in the line, in case they have to switch places—a good change to the original plan.

The mood’s starting to change. People are pitching in. The fire is having its effect, both physically and psychologically. The non-swimmers are stockpiling firewood, moving in and out of the woods quickly. One of them, a gargantuan guy in his twenties wearing a worn peacoat, reaches for a life vest. “I can join the line if I stay close to the bank.”

Two more people step forward, echoing his words as they pull yellow life vests around their necks.

Despite the bustle, I feel my nerves winding tighter. The guys near me, the other strong swimmers, introduce themselves. My hand is clammy as I shake theirs. I can barely take my eyes off the sinking plane as we count down the seconds. I’m a strong swimmer, I tell myself. I have to be, tonight. But I can’t help wondering how quickly the plane will sink when the water breaches the lower opening. And what will happen to the bodies and debris when the plane fills. Will I be strong enough to fight my way out and up to the surface? I bet that water is cold enough to numb my limbs. If the plane fills and I’m still inside, I won’t stand a chance. But I can’t think about that, for one simple reason: I have to help those people. I can’t face the idea of not helping them.

Nick’s eyes meet mine. “Go time.”

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.