He was experienced with firearms and could read much into the sound of a discharge. Sometimes there could be a sharp blast followed by a zinging that belied a miss and a ricochet. Or sometimes the sound could be more of a crack, and then a moment of stark silence indicating a shot that went far astray. But sometimes the sound could be more of a dull BANG that blended with a thud, meaning that the target was close by and something had been hit.
John heard BANG-whoomp.
Before he could move only a few feet, another shot was fired, this one from higher up the cliff above the bridge abutments. It was another BANG-whoomp. John knew from the sound that it wasn’t good, and he leaped from the flat rock upon which he was standing and plowed through the brush, snapping off branches and dead stems as he ran. He heard one more BANG-whoomp.
After witnessing the scene on the other side of the bridge, Afu broke from his cover and started his rush across the bridge walkway. Ben swung around to his direction, and immediately focused his attention on the assault rifle Afu carried. Ben placed the crosshairs of his rifle on the left quadrant of the sprinting man’s torso, and for the second time squeezed the rifle’s trigger. He saw Afu crumble to a heap on the concrete decking of the bridge.
Ben clambered down the face of the rock wall to the hiking path below and sprinted to where Deidre and Zaim had fallen. He arrived at the same instant that John came charging up the path from the opposite direction.
“Check on the fallen man,” John ordered Ben. “I’ll take care of Deidre.” He got no argument from Ben.
He rushed to where Deidre lay on her side. Her left leg was folded back under her body, and her face was turned down into the gravel of the path. A puddle of blood had already formed under her, and John could see its origin, a rivulet of red running from her right side just above her breast.
He cradled her head in his hands and brushed the pieces of gravel and dry leaves from her face.
“No, no, not now. Not now,” he mumbled over her still body. “Deidre, open your eyes. Don’t give up. Come on, girl, move. Do something.”
There was no response, and John held her limp form, and he wept.
Ben had spent the time hunched over Zaim, but now he stood up and in a controlled voice called dispatch over his radio.
“Jaredine, we’ve got a mess out here at Gooseberry Park. We have one officer down, perhaps dead. Also, two suspects are down, one confirmed dead, the other probable. There is a civilian who fell from a cliff, and I haven’t assessed his situation, but it can’t be good. It’s not over yet, though. Three more suspects are still on the loose, and we may have more casualties before this thing is over. Send out all the help you can: the Rescue Squad, both ambulances, and mobilize all squads that are off duty right now.”
He heard the dispatcher signal that the message had been received, and he cautiously moved to a protected spot where he could observe Afu lying on the bridge. There was no movement.
Ben slowly made his way up the trail and onto the bridge, keeping his handgun trained on the downed man. He knelt beside Afu and watched for any sign of life, a muscle twitch, the rising and falling of his chest. Then he did a pulse check. Afu was dead.
As he moved toward the lake, Jeff heard one shot rapidly followed by another, then another. An involuntary shudder moved up his spine, and he instantly became more observant. Just as he was about to move forward, out of the corner of his eye he saw movement to his left, and one of the men who had been under their surveillance came into view. As he walked along the bank, his eyes instinctively searched the downhill side of the path, making sure he didn’t misstep and roll down to the river. Jibril walked directly under and in front of the bank upon which Jeff stood never looking up and being totally unaware that the deputy was so near.
“Stop!” Jeff ordered, and Jibril spun around to find himself staring into the barrel of the gun in Jeff’s hand.
“Drop your rifle, raise your hands, and turn around.”
Jibril obeyed, and Jeff kicked the abandoned automatic rifle into the brush. He placed a handcuff on Jibril’s left wrist and ordered him to place his arms around a nearby tree. Then Jeff handcuffed Jibril’s other wrist, rendering him a literal tree hugger.
He picked up his own rifle and headed to the bridge spanning the river below the falls.
Imad was making his way to the parking lot when from the direction of the bridge he heard three shots fired in rapid succession. There seemed to be no space between the shots, almost as if they were fired from an automatic weapon.
Zaim had told him to return to the lot, and at this point, Imad was all too eager to obey his leader. He continued making his way uphill to where they had left the SUV, and with no hesitation, Imad walked out of the woods into a group of three deputies who had just arrived at the scene.
He gave up without a word.
At the base of the bridge, John continued to cradle Deidre in his arms, gently rocking back and forth as tears ran down his face. Ben came over and placed his hand on John’s shoulder.
“John, let me take a look. We have to stop the bleeding. She’s still with us, but we have to act, or we’ll lose her. You hold her while I try to put pressure on the wound.”
He tore back the part of Deidre’s uniform that surrounded the small flaw in its fabric exposing a dime sized hole about two inches below her right collar bone. Red bubbles formed each time she exhaled, and her breathing was dangerously shallow. He reached into his back pocket and took out a clean handkerchief.
“Press this over the hole while I roll her so I can see the exit wound. Easy now.”
Ben gently turned Deidre enough so he could see her back. The exit wound was larger and was also bubbling with each of her breaths. When Deidre inhaled he could hear a sucking sound.
“We have to compress this side, too. Hold her while I tear a piece from my shirt.”
Ben pulled his shirttail out of his pants and ripped off a large hunk of fabric, folded it into a compress and placed it over the gaping hole. He lowered her back onto John’s lap.
“The pressure of her body will seal the back. You hold the one on the front.”
John looked at Ben with a blank stare but followed his directions.
“I can hear the sirens, and the paras should be here any minute now. They’ll take care of her.
“I saw David Craine slip and fall over the bank. Hopefully, he still needs help.”
Ben peered over the rim of the cliff and saw David lying on his back, his right leg twisted at a grotesque angle. He wasn’t sure how many more dead he could face today, but he lowered himself over the edge and picked his way down to David.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Murad had crossed the footbridge several hundred yards downstream. He was sitting on the cool, moss-covered ground behind a clump of willows, and from his vantage point he could scan the trail running on the other side of the river, as well as the narrow wooden footbridge. If Captain Craine attempted to escape using this route, he would be an easy target.
He shifted his frame to a more comfortable position until a succession of three gunshots caused him to start and his heart to race. The sound carried down the river gorge and echoed off the cliffs on either side. He could hear them continue to reverberate for what seemed like seconds, each rebound fainter the one before, and then there was silence. Even the birds and the squirrels fell silent, creating an eerie aura in the wilderness.
Murad hunched down lower in the vegetation, and scanned the opposite river bank. Surprised, he spotted Jeff slowly making his way along the precarious footpath. Murad made up his mind it was time to abandon his post.
He turned and, still crouching low, followed a trail that would lead him nearer to Lake Superior, but more importantly, it branched, the left fork providing an escape over the cliffs and into the dense forest above the river.
As Murad slowly worked his way up the steep trail, he looked back over his shoulder, and from that height he could see practically the entire river valley. Fr
om his vantage point he saw Jibril standing close to a huge birch tree, and then it dawned on him that his friend was not standing near it but was chained to it.
In the distance Murad heard sirens, many of them, getting louder by the second, and he really didn’t have to think about it to deduce that they were approaching the park. Then he heard the characteristic sound of a helicopter. For a second he was frozen where he stood. He caught a flash of movement along the trail leading away from Jibril, and for an instant he saw Jeff making his way upstream.
Murad instantly recognized that now was the time for him to escape, and he continued up the trail and over the ridge high above the river. He abandoned his rifle under a scraggly spruce tree that at some time had been toppled by the wind, but he tucked his pistol in his pants.
He looked back one more time and thought, “Better to live to fight another day than to die for a hopeless cause.”
Murad knew it would take a few days for him to make it to the Canadian border, but once there he could sneak across and disappear for a time. Who was to know, perhaps he’d come this way again.
What was happening elsewhere had no impact on Ben. He could hear repeated moans that were hardly audible, and knew David must be badly injured.
Ben tested a sapling growing on the edge of the bank, and it appeared to be able to hold his weight. He swung his body around, and using the small tree as an anchor, lowered himself over the sharp rocky ledge. He thrashed with his legs until one foot caught a solid crack, and Ben eased his weight onto that foot.
Step by step, handhold by handhold he clawed his way down to the riverbed. As soon as his feet were on solid ground, he reached for his radio and once more called in to dispatch.
“Jaredine, this is Ben. You’d better call in Life Flight from Duluth. We have two coming in that look in bad shape, too difficult for the hospital in Two Harbors to handle. One has a sucking chest wound from a gunshot. The other took a twenty-five-foot fall off a cliff. He has a compound fracture of his femur, and I would guess multiple internal injuries. Both are unresponsive.”
Jaredine acknowledged and placed the call to St. John’s Hospital in Duluth. She had made this kind of call many times in the past, but these were not strangers she was talking about. They were her friends, and her voice carried a sense of urgency.
“This is dispatch out of Lake County,” she said to the person at the hospital. “We need a Life Flight helicopter as soon as you can possibly get here. Send it to the parking lot at Gooseberry Falls State Park.”
“What do you have? Did another tourist try to climb the rocks and fall off? Honestly, I sometimes wonder what they expect.”
Jaredine’s voice was curt. “We have an officer down from a gunshot wound and a civilian who fell twenty feet or more to the bottom of a cliff. Two suspects are dead, and there may be more casualties before the situation is resolved.”
The hospital worker didn’t answer but immediately buzzed the flight crew. “We have a situation at Gooseberry Park. Extreme trauma is expected involving multiple cases. Take off immediately. You’ll be advised as you are in the air.”
Then she turned her attention to Jaredine. “They are on their way. ETA, twenty-one minutes. I’ll hang up now and contact the ER so they’ll be ready. Call as soon as you know any further details about what we will be up against.”
The dispatcher at the hospital knew some serious cases would be coming in, and before she could begin the alert process for the ER, she heard the characteristic whoomp-whoomp-whoomp of the chopper blades as the helicopter took off from its landing pad on the hospital roof. The hospital dispatcher said a silent prayer that they’d get there in time to do some good.
Ben clamored over the loose rock and litter to David. He could see the man’s chest rising and falling, but not in a rhythmic way that signaled normal breathing. Instead, David would take two or three quick, shallow breaths and then would lay motionless for several seconds. Then he would heave a sigh, breathe a few more times, and again rest.
Ben knelt by his side, placed his fingers where he believed David’s carotid artery would be and was rewarded by the feel of blood rushing through the vessel. It was a thin pulse, but, nevertheless, it was a pulse, weak, but a pulse.
“David! David, can you hear me?” he pleaded.
David responded with a low, guttural sound that seemed to come from his chest, but he managed to open one eye. It was only a slit, but it was a voluntary movement. Ben pried apart the lids, exposing David’s pupils to the light. They were dilated, black discs that were far too large.
“David,” Ben commanded. “Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can.” He was surprised at the firm grip that enveloped his hand.
“That’s good, David. Hang in there, and we’ll get you out of here soon. Life Flight is on its way and should be here any minute. David, can you hear me?”
Again he saw the flutter of an eyelid.
“That’s it. Don’t go to sleep, David. Listen to me. Squeeze my hand again. That’s it.”
For what seemed like hours to Ben, he talked to David, each time getting a response, but each time he thought the response was weaker.
In the distance, Ben could finally hear the faint sound of the chopper blades, and they were getting louder by the second. He flinched when he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. The paramedics had arrived, and when he turned he could see more rescuers lowering a stretcher over the bank and down to where he and David sat.
The paramedic knelt beside David and began to take vitals.
“There are some good signs here. We’ll need your help getting him on the backboard, but first we have to straighten his leg. It’ll look gruesome, but it has to be done. Hold his hips so we don’t put stress on his back or neck.”
Ben almost fainted when the medics pulled David’s twisted leg somewhat straight, and David gave an involuntary scream of pain. But now it was time to slide the backboard under him, and Ben gathered himself for that task.
David was not a large man, but the stretcher and his body were dead weight to those carrying him. There was no viable way to get him to the top except up the face of the cliff. A trail came close to the river, but that was several hundred yards down stream. The stretcher bearers would have to wade through thigh-deep water to reach the trail from where they stood. One slip and David would be plunged into the river with the chance of being washed over the falls. They decided to go up the bank that Ben had come down.
Just as they had decided on their course of ascent, the para attending to David hollered above the noise of the racing river, “We’ve lost a pulse. He’s gone into cardiac arrest.”
The other medics ran to help. The attending paramedic already had the defibrillator out and was opening David’s shirt.
“Clear!” he yelled as he placed the paddles on David’s chest.
David gave an involuntary jerk as the electric shock surged through him. The medic relaxed a bit.
“We have a heartbeat again. Let’s get him moved.”
The stretcher was tied to ropes dropped from atop the rim and was more pulled than carried up the vertical drop.
By the time Life Flight had landed in the parking lot, the members of the rescue squad had David to the top of the bank and were carrying his stretcher up the path to the parking lot. Suddenly it dawned on Ben that Deidre was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Deidre?” he asked in a panicked voice.
“It’s okay, Ben. She’s already in the copter, and as soon as we get David loaded they’ll be off to Duluth.”
“She’s alive, then?” Ben asked, his eyes filled with tears.
No one answered him as they rushed by.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
David opened his eyes, and the bright light was still shining above him, but the blue sky had disappeared. He was confused by the whiteness of everything, and his eyes tried to focus on something, anything. Eventually, he could make out his leg extended in front of him, also wrapped in
white, and supported by a sling attached to a chain. He blinked his eyes again and tried to move.
From out of nowhere, a woman in a white uniform stood beside him and bent over him, and she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Hello, Mr. Craine. Please don’t struggle. You’re safe and in the hospital in Duluth.”
The nurse could see David sink back onto his pillow and bed.
“That’s it. Relax. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re in good hands now. I’m going to ask you to do some simple tasks. Close your eyes, and then open them.”
David did as he was told.
The nurse reassured him, “Good. Now squeeze my fingers with both hands … excellent. Now just with your right hand … very good. Now with your left. That’s wonderful.”
David relaxed back on his pillow, a wave of relief sweeping over him. “How long have I been here?” he croaked, his voice dry and raspy.
“It’s been eight days. I guess you’ve passed my next test, which was to try to speak. Now that I know you can, I need you to answer a few questions for me. Are you in any pain?”
David had to think for a moment, but forced out ,“No.”
“Do you remember how you got here?
Again, “No.”
“Do you remember anything of what happened to you?”
David hesitated. “The last I remember is pulling into Gooseberry Park. My car was missing—something wrong with the engine—and I didn’t want to get stalled on Highway 61.
Convergence at Two Harbors Page 22
