Radclyffe - Oath of Honor

Beside her, Gary cleared his throat. She shot him a look. He was staring at her.

“What?”

“You looked…mesmerized. Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere.” Evyn was glad her face was already red from the wind and the water, because heat rose through her. “Just watching the exercise.”

“Ha ha. Watching a lot more than that.”

“Shut up, Brown.”

He laughed. “She’s really pretty hot.”

“Will you shut up,” Evyn said through her teeth. Gary had a wife and three kids and was one of the few people on the detail who never fooled around, married or not. She didn’t pass judgment on those who did. When you spent days on end, week after week, with the same people in the tensest situations imaginable, doing things you couldn’t tell your friends and family, letting off steam together was only natural. Sometimes letting off steam took the shape of sweaty groping in a hotel room in some city on the way to or from the next point on a map.

“Just saying,” Gary said.

“Well, don’t.”

The beat of helicopter rotors cut through the howling wind, and a Coast Guard medevac chopper appeared overhead.

“Transport’s here,” she called.

“One minute!” Wes pulled a neck immobilizer from her bag and eased it behind the figure’s neck.

Evyn switched radio channels and advised the helicopter to lower their Stokes basket. The helo rocked above them in the wind, and the metal-mesh toboggan swung back and forth like a pendulum on its cables as it descended from the open belly. She and Gary went forward to guide the basket down.

“How does it look?” she asked Wes.

“First stage hypothermia, potential head and neck injury from impact on the water, and possible aspiration. His neck is stable, we’ve got the thermal blankets on, and I’ve started antibiotics. He needs a CAT scan upon arrival.”

“Can we transfer?”

Wash kicked up from the rotors and sprayed Wes’s back and face. She blinked the water away. “He’s ready.”

Evyn signaled the chopper to continue lowering the Stokes. A sharp gust of wind nearly knocked her off her feet. The chopper dipped and rose sharply, canting in the shifting air currents. A crack like a rifle shot cut through the air and the rear cable securing the basket snapped. The metal toboggan came crashing down. Evyn lunged for the flailing cable end as Wes crouched over the mannequin, shielding the figure from the careening basket. The end of the madly swinging metal carrier sliced the air, struck Wes in the shoulder, and knocked her out of the boat.

For one millisecond Evyn was completely paralyzed. The deck where Wes had knelt was empty. The surface of the sea was nothing but angry water. Wes was gone.

Evyn jumped up on the bulwark and dove over the side.

Chapter Eighteen

The world spun crazily upside down. The light flickered rapidly and finally blinked out and all that was left was cold. Only pain and blood-stopping cold. Unseen hands dragged Wes deeper beneath the icy mantle, into a blackness that extinguished the last glimmer of illumination. Instinctively, she held her breath, struggling to orient herself in the surreal landscape of shock and panic. Her left arm wouldn’t obey her. She kicked and flailed but her water-filled boots and sodden jeans weighed her down. Up and down held no meaning—she revolved in a world without substance. Her animal brain fled from the freezing darkness, away from the primeval terror engulfing her. Primitive reflexes kicked in, and she fought to return to the last place she’d felt light and heat. The surface.

She struggled upward, her chest burning, the pain so huge she hungered to suck in air to soothe the flames. She clamped her teeth shut, finally recognizing the water that entombed her, water that would provide no air, only sudden and swift death. With only her right arm and her clumsy legs to power her, she flailed and kicked and writhed her way toward the shimmer of light penetrating the gloom. Despair squeezed her throat closed.

She wasn’t going to make it. Too far, too cold, too much pain. Blood thundered in her ears, her heart crashed wildly against the crushing pressure in her chest. Another second and instinct would overrule reason. She had to breathe. Breathe and end the torture.

Fury washed through her. She would not surrender. Her mind hazed, confusion dulled her senses. The cold bored deep inside her and bloomed into heat, suffusing her with blissful warmth. Another few seconds and the fear began to abate. She stopped thrashing. The vise around her chest tightened, and her battle slowed. Her arms and legs were so heavy. The sea—warmer now—enclosed her, streaming past her face like gentle fingers caressing her, welcoming her. She was so close to falling asleep, the cold forgotten.

A frigid blast of air hit her in the face and someone yelled into her ear, “Breathe, damn it. Breathe!”

Wes jerked and sucked in a lungful of air. She coughed and life returned to her arms and legs. Pins and needles shot into her fingers and toes. A knife blade of slicing pain pierced her chest. The cold returned with a vengeance. Enemies grasped at her, threatening to pull her back into the dark. She thrashed.

“Wes, it’s Evyn! Don’t fight me.”

The darkness disappeared, gray sky flashed overhead. An arm gripped her chest—Evyn. Evyn was towing her. Evyn was not the enemy. Wes tried to kick her legs, but she couldn’t move.

“Almost there,” Evyn panted, her breath sounding harsh and labored. “Wes, keep breathing.”

Wes sucked in another breath, coughed again. Her throat burned. “Evyn, what—”

“It’s okay, we’re almost to the boat.” Evyn’s voice was strained, tremulous.

The water was so cold. The shore was a distant blur. A whirlpool pulled at her legs. Riptide. Evyn’s grip on her slipped, and Evyn cursed.

“You’ve got to hold on to me,” Evyn shouted. “The current is against us.”

“Don’t let me pull you down.” Wes tried to force her lethargic limbs to move. “I can swim.”

“Shut up, Wes,” Evyn grunted. “I’m not letting you go.”

Wes was too tired, too cold, and in too much pain to argue. Water splashed into her mouth, and she needed all her strength to keep her head above the roiling waves. She had to trust Evyn. She did trust her.

A shadow loomed overhead. The boat.

“Let me lift you,” Evyn ordered. “Don’t fight me.”

Icy metal scraped Wes’s back as she was rolled into a narrow litter and strapped down. She spun in midair and the litter rappelled upward, jerking with each ratchet of the winch. Hands grabbed the basket and guided it onto the deck, voices tumbled over one another—a jumble of orders and phrases she thought she recognized but couldn’t make sense of. “Evyn?”

“She’s right here.” A man’s voice. Then, “Daniels, get below. You’re blue.”

Someone lifted Wes’s left arm, and she groaned.

“Sorry.” A woman’s voice. She knew her. Who?

Wes fought to come back to herself. She opened her eyes, focused on the faces looking down at her. She knew them. Had to connect the names floating in her hazy mind.

“Do you know where you are?” the blonde asked. Blonde—hazel eyes. Worried eyes. Cord.

“I’m okay,” Wes said, her voice sounding like a croak. “On board the ship. I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” Gary echoed, his face oddly white against the flat gray sky.

“Let me up.” Wes struggled against the strap across her chest.

“Just take it easy.” Evyn appeared next to Gary. “You took a swim, Doc. Let us check you out.”

Above Evyn’s left shoulder the helicopter slid into view, its belly open, the rescue basket angled in the portal. The basket—the basket swinging toward her. Toward her and the patient, her priority. “I remember going in. How’s the patient?”