by Jenna Kernan
“She wants you to tie a climbing rope to the line,” said the older woman. “I’m Merle, by the way. I used to do a lot of rock climbing before I got pins in my ankle.”
She lifted the coiled climbing rope, expertly connected it through an anchored pulley that she tied to a tree some five feet from the edge, and then tied the larger belay line to the towline. Finally, she signaled to Erin. A moment later Erin was hauling the towline back down, dragging the connected larger rope through the pulley. She continued this until she grasped the belay rope, at which point she quickly tied a loop through which she connected the belay rope to the pilot’s harness with a carabiner. Erin removed the pilot’s headphones and fitted her own helmet to his head.
Merle lifted the other end of the line, which ran through the pulley secured to the tree trunk, and returned to the rock ledge.
“Take this a minute.” Merle offered Dalton the rope. “I know I can’t haul that guy up.” She then motioned to the others. “Brian, Alice, Richard, come take hold. We’ll act like a mule team. Walk that way when I tell you. Slowly.” She folded the rope back on itself and tied a series of loops every few feet. Then the others took hold.
Dalton dragged his hand across his throat while simultaneously shaking his head. This, of course, had no effect on his wife who offered a thumbs-up and then used her strong legs to haul the pilot toward the open side door. For a moment the pilot tried again to get Erin to take the red squarish nylon bag. When Erin rejected his attempts to make her take it from him, he gripped the seat, foiling her attempts to remove him from the compartment. Finally, Erin looped the small container over her arm using the black nylon strap. Only then did the pilot assist in his extraction.
Merle extended an arm and pointed at the struggling pair.
“It’s moving!”
Dalton shifted his attention from his wife to the helicopter runner. He watched in horror as the twisted remains of one blade slipped free from the branch. In a single heartbeat, the compartment vanished beneath the surface, leaving the pilot, in Erin’s helmet, dangling from the rope, half in and half out of the water. With his legs submerged, the pilot was dragged downriver.
Erin’s rope went taut. Dalton’s breathing stopped as he gripped his wife’s rope from the surface of the rock before him and wrapped it behind his legs. He hadn’t done this since he was in active duty. He remembered how to anchor a climber, but he had never had to anchor a climber who was below him. Dalton sat into the rope and pulled.
Merle shouted from behind him. “Pull!”
The pilot began to rise, his legs clearing the churning torrent.
Dalton ignored the pain of his healing abdominal muscles as he succeeded in inching back from the edge. How long could Erin hold her breath? What if she was snagged on something in that compartment? The rope stretched tight as if tied down at the other end. He scanned the water for some sight of her, fearing the chopper had rolled onto her line or, worse, onto Erin.
The rope vibrated. Was the fuselage settling or was that his wife moving? Dalton smelled the fear on his perspiration. If the compartment tipped to that side, she would have no escape. She’d be pinned between the compartment and the bottom. Dalton considered his chances of moving upriver and jumping into the water. He made the calculation and came back with the answer. He had zero chance of succeeding. The river would whisk him past the wreck before he could reach her.
Just then he saw movement on the line. He stepped closer to the edge and a hand submerged again as the pilot rose closer to the lip of rock where he stood.
Dalton tugged and Erin’s hand appeared again. She clutched something; it looked like a metallic gold coffee mug handle. She slid the handle up the rope and her head emerged.
“She’s using an ascender,” called Merle. “Two! Holy cow, she set that up underwater? Your wife is magnificent. If I was ten years younger I’d steal that woman.”
He saw her then, first her arms, sliding the ascenders along the taut rope. One ascender slid upward and her head cleared the water. Wet hair clung to her red face as she gasped. Her opposite hand appeared, moving upward while gripping the second ascender. The device fixed to a carabiner and then to a sling that she had somehow clipped to her harness. In other words, Erin had released her original attachment to the line and then succeeded in attaching two ascenders and slings to the free portion of the rope all while underwater.
Magnificent was an understatement.
Her torso cleared the water and he saw that the red nylon bag still hung from her shoulder, clamped between her upper arm and side.
“Keep going,” called Merle to the pull team as the pilot appeared beside her and was dragged up onto the flat expanse of rock.
Fifteen feet below him, Erin made progress ascending as he leaned over the edge for a better look at her. This caused the rope to slacken and for Erin to drop several inches. Dalton straightened and sat into the rope. He lost his view of his wife, but Merle called the remaining distance to the top as the pilot’s pull team, having finished their job, abandoned their posts to run to the pilot who was struggling to move.
“Five feet,” called Merle, motioning him to hold position. Merle extended her hand and Erin gripped it, sliding the opposite ascender into Dalton’s line of sight. Then she scrambled up onto the rock, rising to stand before them.
She didn’t even look out of breath. He, on the other hand, had lost his wind. Seeing her disappear had broken something loose inside him, and his legs gave way. He collapsed onto the moss-covered rock as he struggled to keep down the contents of his stomach. The climbing rope fell about Erin’s feet, and she released the ascenders that clattered to the stone cliff top.
How had she escaped?
Merle was hugging his wife as Erin laughed. The men patted her on the back, and Alice got a hug as well, weeping loudly so that Erin had to comfort her.
“I’m getting you all wet,” said Erin, extracting herself from Alice’s embrace. She ignored Dalton as she turned to the pilot. “How is he?”
Dalton had a rudimentary field experience with triage and rallied to meet her beside the pilot.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, still not looking at him. “Thanks for your help.”
But she hadn’t needed it or him. All he had done was dunk her as she emerged and possibly speed her arrival slightly by keeping the rope tight.
“Did you get pinned?” he asked.
“Just the rope.”
“How did you get out?” he asked.
“Later,” she said, and set aside the bag that he now saw was a red nylon lunch cooler. Why had the pilot been so insistent that she retrieve it?
Illegal possibilities rose in his law-enforcement mind, but he turned his attention to the injured man, checking his pupils and pulse.
“Where’s your pack?” he asked her.
“Dumped it. Couldn’t fit out the side window.”
Erin dropped to her knees beside the pilot.
“Shock,” he said. At the very least. If he had to guess, and he did have to, because there was no medical help for miles, he’d say the man was bleeding internally. He took a knee beside her and pressed on the pilot’s stomach with his fingertips and found the man’s skin over the abdominal cavity was tight and the cavity rigid.
“His leg is broken,” said Merle, pointing at the pilot’s foot, which was facing in the wrong direction for a man lying on his back.
So is his spleen, thought Dalton.
Chapter Four
“I don’t like the sound of his breathing,” said Erin, her brow as wrinkled as her wet tank top.
The pilot wheezed now, struggling for breath. His eyes fluttered open.
“Captain Lewis, this is my husband. He’s a New York City detective. You wanted to speak to him?” The pilot had given them his name but little else.
The captain no
dded. “Just you two,” he said, lifting his chin toward the curious faces surrounding him.
Erin pointed at Merle. “Please go find my pack and get my phone. Then call for help. Brian, go find something to cover Carol up with and, Alice and Richard, can you gather my climbing gear?”
The campers scurried away.
“Now, Captain Lewis,” said Erin. “What in this cooler is so important that you were willing to kill us both?”
Lewis turned to Dalton and spoke in a guttural whisper. “I work for the Department of Homeland Security. Orders to collect this and transfer same to a plane bound for the CDC in Virginia.”
Dalton felt the hairs on his neck lifting, as if his skin were electrified. The mention of the CDC or Centers for Disease Control indicated to him that whatever was inside was related to infection or disease.
“What’s in there?” he asked, aiming an index finger at the bag.
“Flash drive with intel on terrorist cells within the state. Siming’s Army, and those vials hold one of the three Deathbringers.”
“The what?” asked Dalton.
“I don’t know, exactly. Mission objective was to pick up a package, which contains an active virus—a deadly one—and the vaccine.”
Erin moved farther from the cooler that had been dangling recently from her arm.
“So it’s dangerous?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Deadly. You have to get it to DHS or the FBI. Don’t trust anyone else.”
“Who shot you down?” Dalton had seen the bullet holes in the fuselage.
“Foreign agents. Mercenaries. Don’t know. Whoever they are, they work for Siming’s Army. And more will be coming to recover that.” He pointed at the cooler.
“Where’d you get it?” asked Dalton.
“An operative. Agent Ryan Carr. Use his name. Get as far from here as possible.”
“But you’re injured,” said Erin.
“No, ma’am. I’m dying.” He glanced to Dalton, who nodded his agreement.
“Internal injuries,” said Dalton through gritted teeth. Two deaths, and he’d been unable to do a damned thing to save them.
“I thank you for pulling me out. You two have to complete my mission.”
“No,” said Erin at the same time Dalton said, “Yes.”
She stared at him. “I can’t leave these people out here and I’m not taking charge of a deadly anything.”
The captain spoke to her, slipping his hand into hers.
“It’s a dying man’s last request.”
She tried to pull back. “That’s not fair.”
He grinned and then wheezed. His breath smelled of blood. “All’s fair in love and war.”
He used the other hand to push the cooler toward Dalton, who accepted the package.
She pointed at the red nylon travel cooler. “Dalton, do not take that.”
But he already had.
“Get him a blanket, Erin. He’s shivering.”
She stood and glared at him, then hurried off.
Dalton stayed with the captain as he grew paler and his eyes went out of focus. He’d seen this before. Too many times, but this time the blood stayed politely inside his dying body. The pilot’s belly swelled with it and so did his thigh. The broken femur had cut some blood supply, Dalton was certain, from the lack of pulse at the pilot’s ankle and the way his left pant leg was now so tight.
“Tell my girlfriend, Sally, that I was fixing to ask for her hand. Tell her I love her and I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell her.” If he lived to see this through. Judging from the number of bullet holes in that chopper and the size of the caliber, staying alive was going to be a challenge.
Erin returned with her down sleeping bag and draped it over the shivering captain. Before the sun reached the treetops as it dipped into the west, the captain joined Carol Walton in death.
Dalton stood. “We have to go.”
“Go? Go where? I’ve got two dead bodies and responsibility for the welfare of my group. I can’t just leave them.”
No, they couldn’t just leave them. But there were few safe choices. Traveling as a group would be slow. “Get the kayaks ready. We’re going.”
“I am not taking this group into river rapids ninety minutes before sunset. Are you crazy?”
“Not as crazy as meeting them here.” He motioned to the open field.
“Meeting who?” she asked.
“Siming’s Army.”
Twenty minutes later Erin, now in dry clothing, gathered the surviving campers and explained that the captain’s helicopter was shot down, he claimed, by terrorists who would be coming for whatever was in that bag. She explained that leaving this evening was hazardous because of the volume of water at the forefront of the scheduled release from Lake Abanakee. Finally, she relayed that it was her husband’s belief that they needed to leave this site immediately.
“I’m for that. Staying the night with two dead bodies gives me the creeps,” said Brian.
“You can’t just leave them out here for the predators,” said Richard.
“You rather be here when the predators show up?” asked Merle.
“We called for help. They are sending an air rescue team for them,” Brian said. “We should at least wait until they pick up the dead.”
“We wait, there will be more dead,” said Dalton.
“What do you think, Erin?” asked Brian.
“I would prefer to stay put and wait for help.”
“What’s coming isn’t help,” said Dalton.
* * *
ON EMPTY STOMACHS, the campers packed up their tents and gear, while Erin and Dalton headed down the rocky outcropping to ready the kayaks that had been stowed for their excursion the following morning. Dalton took Carol’s gear and kayak.
“You really sure about this?” asked Erin, her gaze flicking from Dalton, who carried one end of Carol’s kayak, and then to the frothing river behind him.
“Sure about our responsibility to deliver this? Yes.”
“Sure about taking inexperienced kayakers into the roughest stretch of white water one hour before sunset. What if someone upends?”
He lowered the kayak onto the grassy bank. “What would you normally do?”
“Pick them up from the river and guide them to shore.”
“We’ll do that.”
“In the dark?”
“You’re right. We can’t do that.”
“So your plan is to leave anyone who gets into trouble. And here I thought you were the hero type.”
That stung. He wouldn’t leave anyone behind. She had to know that. “Erin, he said they’re coming. Mercenaries. You understand? That means hired killers, and I know they are using high-caliber rounds from the size of the holes in the tail section of the chopper. We can argue later about specific logistics. Right now we need to...”
She was cocking her head again. Looking toward the sky. He didn’t hear it yet, not over the roar of the river. But he knew what was coming.
Dalton looked at the three kayaks they had retrieved from cover. Her gear lay beside her craft, neatly stowed in her pack. Dalton slipped her gear into the hollow forward compartment of her craft and added her paddle so that it rested half in and half out of the opening.
Erin arched backward, staring up at the pink sky with her hand acting as visor. Dalton packed his gear into the bow of Carol Walton’s craft and added the red nylon cooler, which now contained nothing but a river rock. The black case, recently within, held two small vials in a padded black compartment with a thumb drive. This precious parcel now rested safely in the side pocket of his cargo pants.
“They’re here,” she said, pointing at the red-and-white helicopter with Rescue emblazoned on the side.
The chopper hovered over the meadow, then began a measured
descent. Erin stepped back toward the tree-lined trail that led to the meadow. Dalton glanced at the kayaks, packed and ready, and just knew he’d never get her to go without her group.
So he abandoned their escape plan and followed her. He could at least see that she wasn’t one of the welcome party.
Dalton made sure he was beside her when they reached the sharply ascending trailhead at the edge of the open field. Before them, the chopper had landed. The pilot cut the engine and the copilot stepped down. Dalton studied the man. He wore aviator glasses, slacks and a button-up shirt. Nothing identified him as mountain rescue and his smile seemed out of place. As he crouched and trotted beneath the slowing blades that whirled above him, Dalton spotted the grip of a pistol tucked in the back of his slacks.
Erin moved to step from cover and he dragged her back.
“What are you doing?” she said.
He held a finger to his lips. “Wait.”
Merle was first to greet the copilot. Their raised voices carried across the meadow.
“How many in your party?” asked the new arrival, straightening now. He was a small man, easy to underestimate, Dalton thought. The relaxed posture seemed crafted, just like his casual attire.
“There are six of us,” answered Merle, omitting the two dead.
“Where’s the crashed chopper?”
Merle pointed, half-turning to face the river. “Went into the Hudson and sank.”
The copilot glanced back to the chopper and the side door slid open. The man within crouched in the opening. There was a familiar metal cylinder over his shoulder and a strap across the checked cotton shirt he wore. Dalton had carried a rifle just like it on many missions while in Special Ops. It was an M4.
“What about the pilot?” asked the newcomer. “He go down with his chopper?”
Brian answered that one, coming to stand beside Merle. “We got him out. But he died.”
