by Dana Mentink
Owen’s truck surged ahead onto the bridge and her spirit soared. “We’re gonna make it,” she wanted to holler, but at the last second Tony made one final desperate bid. The fender of the SUV loomed in the mirror and he rammed the truck again with such force that Owen’s front end was driven into the wooden rail of the bridge.
The old bridge beams moaned in protest against the impact. In slow motion horror, she saw them splinter and buckle. One jagged beam punched through the windshield as Owen’s truck tore into them. Flinging herself to one side, she barely avoided being impaled as the wood pole bisected the space between her and Owen. There was no way to stop their momentum. Her stomach flipped as the truck skidded through the ruptured structure. In a dizzying spiral, it careened over the side of the bridge, plummeting downward toward the swollen river.
There wasn’t time to scream, to cry out.
Owen raised his arm towards her as if he could somehow keep her from falling along with him into the icy water.
Two seconds ticked by.
The truck struck the water with a hammer blow that rammed the air from her lungs, driving her back against the seat back so hard she thought her neck would snap. Her arms and legs flopped uselessly as if they were made of rubber.
For a moment it seemed they were going straight to the bottom until the pickup popped back up to the surface so fast her senses were dizzied. They were floating. She could hardly believe it. Owen’s hand still gripped the wheel, the other clutching the beam that had nearly killed them both.
Another two seconds, three. Her mind started to piece together what had happened, but her body refused to do anything but suck air in and out in frantic rhythm. The truck lurched forward and the fractured front window ushered in frigid water that began to fill the cab as the vehicle spun in slow circles.
Owen grunted, turning toward her. Her throat caught at the sight of the blood flowing from his hairline down the side of his face.
“Get out. Now,” he said. He undid his own seat belt and fumbled for hers, but she was already free of it. She struggled to push the door open but it would not budge. He tried his side, straining with the effort.
“Too much water inside,” he called over the roar. “Gonna have to wait until it rises and the pressure equalizes.”
Panic filled every pore. There was no way she was going to sit quietly and wait until the rising water covered her head. It was already lapping at her waist and moving up. She kicked at the door, shoving her shoulder against it as hard as she could, but Owen was right—it did not budge.
Water swirled in now nearly to her collarbones, robbing her of warmth, freezing her senses until her arms and legs grew numb to the point of uselessness. The only thing she could feel was naked fear. What if the door didn’t open? The thought of watching the water creep up to snuff out her life nearly made her scream. To compound her terror, it was getting dark. Trapped in the gloom, she was waiting for the water to rise up to fill her mouth, nose, lungs. She thought of Betsy. Who would explain it all to her?
He grabbed her hand. “Another minute.”
She squeezed his fingers as they both endured the longest sixty seconds of their lives. The icy touch of the water seemed to press out every sensation but her mounting panic. When she thought she could not hold back the scream, Owen tested his own door and found that it slowly gave. She let out a squeak of relief. The level was now up to her chin and she fought to breathe in the small pocket of air between the water and the roof.
He crammed himself into the space above the dashboard so she would be able to climb over the beam and squeeze past him. Grabbing the thermos from her, he shoved it in his waistband. “Water’s moving fast. You’re going to need both arms free. Take a breath and swim for shore. I’ll hold the door open until you’re clear.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Remember when we were kids? Last one to shore is a rotten egg.” His grin was forced. The blood from the gash in his forehead was still flowing. Death hovered moments away, or maybe it waited for them somewhere out in the freezing dark water. They were not kids and this was not a game.
She reached for him. “We’re going together.”
He grabbed her wrist. “No. I’ll follow. On three, you’re gonna swim out. There’s a green light on the dock across the river. Head for that and don’t stop. One...”
“Wait,” she said.
“Two.” He was pulling her toward the door.
Owen, no, she wanted to say. We do it together or not at all.
He suddenly took her face in his palms and kissed her, mouth cold on hers, but somehow warming her anyway. When he pulled away, his eyes were intense, wide with emotion as he brushed a thumb over her trembling lips. “Make it to shore, you hear me?” His voice was tight.
“Owen...”
“Make it to shore,” he repeated.
“Not...”
“Three,” he said, yanking on her wrist.
She found herself shoved out into the swirling water. The pounding grip of the current caught her up immediately. She tried to anchor herself in place, to fight against the pull until she saw for herself that Owen had made it out of the submerged truck. She did not have the strength to beat the current. The tumult smothered her cry as she was sucked farther and farther away from Owen.
* * *
Owen lost sight of her as soon as she cleared the vehicle. Breathing prayer after prayer that she would make it to shore, he kicked off his boots and pushed out after her. The grip of the water nearly turned him over, but he broke the surface, sucking in a lungful of air. The setting sun sent shadows across the rushing waves, and he thought he saw a glimpse of her head several yards ahead. He struck out.
Owen had been an excellent swimmer in his day, but now his body was cold, blood blinding him and his weak leg working against him. The energy seemed to leach out from his muscles but he kicked on. Pausing to rest was not feasible as he could not hold himself still in the torrent.
Had she made it? He didn’t dare look again, just kept kicking and drawing on every ounce of marine training to keep moving toward that tiny green light. His leg and hip were a fiery torment that sapped his remaining energy with each awkward kick. When he thought he was done for, that he could battle the sucking water no longer, the river began to shallow out under his feet.
Inch after excruciating inch, he half swam, half crawled to the gravelly shore, clawing at fistfuls of the riverbed to move himself along. Flopping onto the ground he lay there, exhausted, coughing up water, trying to rally himself enough to sit up.
Ella...
The thought forced him upright, head spinning. He was relieved to feel the bulk of the thermos in its ziplock bag still stuck in his waistband. Ella’s hope for a future was still secure. He pulled it out, scanning for her.
“Ella?” he yelled. He heard nothing, but the roaring current might have drowned out any reply. He hollered again several times before he stopped.
The green light shone a couple of meters to his left. She must be there, waiting for him. Other scenarios jostled in his mind but he pushed them aside. She was ashore, cold but unharmed. She had to be.
He forced his cramping muscles into action and began the trek to the green light. Trees on the bank crowded down almost to the water, and he stumbled over exposed roots as he made his way along. Shadows danced along the ground and he felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he was clearing houses in the Helmand Province without his rifle or body armor. Tony might have made it across the bridge and be biding his time.
Skin prickled along the back of his neck and he whirled around.
Nothing there. No Tony. He shook his head to try and clear his hearing, but his ears still rang from the sound of the impact, the roar of the river. He pressed on, his foot catching on yet another protruding root.
Muttering, he straightened in time
to see the iron hook arcing toward his neck.
THIRTEEN
Ella’s eyes burned from searching the darkness for Owen. Had he drifted farther downstream? Her darkest fear reared like a troubled horse. Had he not been able to escape the water at all?
“I never should have left him.” Her throat was tight, but she forced her shivering limbs into motion. She would keep looking for another few minutes before she risked running to the highway to flag down help. It was fully dark now, and only the moonlight aided her in her search.
A shout ripped through the night. To her left? She started running, heedless of the uneven ground that made her stumble. There on a patch of moonlit ground were two figures locked in a violent hold. Owen? Even as she tried to take it in, he went down on his back, Tony standing over him, hand raised.
Her heart thunked to a stop as she saw the gleam of the metal hay hook raised to pierce Owen’s chest.
“No,” she screamed, just as Owen’s foot shot out to sweep Tony’s legs from underneath him.
“Cops are on their way, Tony,” she screamed, running to Owen. “Get away from him.”
Tony grabbed at something near Owen’s legs and Owen did not move to stop him. Then Tony sprinted away into the trees. Ella ran to Owen and sank to her knees.
“Owen,” she breathed. “Thank goodness. I thought you’d drowned.” When he did not answer, her relief turned to fear. She peered closer. His eyes were open, one arm flung wide and the other tucked against his body. “Where are you hurt?”
He did not respond.
“Owen, where are you hurt?” she breathed.
He still did not reply, but his lips moved.
She put her face to his. “Tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” Owen whispered. “He got it.”
“What? What do you mean?” Owen winced as if seized by a sudden pain. She understood. The thermos. Tony had gotten the thermos, her only proof, her only chance.
Fighting down a wave of despair, she pressed her palms to his cheek. “Never mind that now.” Her fingers brushed his neck and he groaned. Squinting in the poor light, she saw the bloody gash where the hook had found his shoulder. She took off her jacket and pressed it to the wound. “We’ll get you to the hospital,” she said, voice quavering.
How exactly? His phone was gone but hers was still in the pocket of her jeans. Eagerly she yanked it free. Maybe, just maybe, it would still function.
One look told her it was beyond salvaging—not even the flashlight would function. She put his hand to the jacket. “Can you press here?”
He attempted to do what she asked and she grabbed him under the arms and tried to drag him. He cried out in pain before he clamped his lips together. Owen was a big man, much bigger than her one hundred ten pounds, and although she was strong from years of arduous farrier work, she had not been able to move him more than a few inches. Panting, she realized the only way to save him was to make it to the road for help.
She knelt next to him. “I have to go get help,” she said, stroking his cold cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Don’t come back,” he whispered. “Tony might return. Go to the ranch. Stay safe. My brothers will come for me.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “No man left behind,” she said, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I’m just as tough as any marine. Don’t you know that by now?”
The corner of his mouth quirked in a flicker of a smile. “I’ll be right back and you will wait patiently until I get here, understand?”
“Affirmative,” he said.
She didn’t allow herself to think anymore. She ran, scrambling up the rocky bank, pulling herself along until she made it to the green light that marked the end of the dock. Clambering up, she saw the headlights coming straight at her.
Tony? Or help? Her nerves screamed at her to take cover but Owen was bleeding down on the shore and she did not know how long he could last.
She waved her arms. “Help me.”
The driver door opened. Pete got out. “What happened? Heard a crash and saw the truck go into the river. Jack’s gone downstream to search. Where’s Owen?”
She almost cried in relief. “Can you call an ambulance? He’s hurt. Down there.” She pointed. Pete frantically dialed his cell phone, grabbed a blanket from his truck and they scrambled back to Owen.
His eyes were closed, but he stirred when Ella stroked his face. “Help’s here, Owen,” she said. “Hang on, okay?”
He didn’t answer this time.
She stayed with him, holding his hand, trying to chafe some warmth into his body. It seemed to her that the bleeding had slowed, but she could not be sure. Jack and the ambulance arrived almost simultaneously, Larraby only minutes behind.
She filled them in while Owen was loaded into the ambulance.
“I’ll put out an APB on Tony,” Larraby said.
Anger overrode her self-control. “Now do you believe me that Bruce Reed is a criminal?”
Larraby was impassive. “Right now we have to find Tony if we’re going to tie anything to Reed. Can you walk me through what happened one more time?”
“No,” she snapped, “I can’t. I’m going to the hospital to be with Owen.”
Without another word, she turned her back on Larraby and got in the truck with Pete. Jack had already gone ahead. As much as she hoped Tony would be arrested before dawn, she could not turn her thoughts away from Owen. He’d been her friend, her ally since she was seven years old. He could not die.
He could not die.
* * *
Owen swam to consciousness to find himself in a hospital, strapped to a table. A doctor stood above him with a hypodermic needle.
“No,” he barked, struggling to sit up.
The doctor jerked and the nurses pushed him back onto the table. “It’s okay, Mr. Thorn,” the doctor said. “You got on the wrong end of a hay hook. We’ve given you blood, and I’m going to stitch you up.”
“No narcotics.”
The doctor stared. “Just enough to get you through this, son. Hook went in pretty deep.”
He swallowed hard. “I can’t.”
A long moment passed. The doctor’s gaze drifted to the blankets where he must have examined Owen’s mangled leg and guessed the rest.
He lowered the needle. “Okay. Some topical pain relief only. We can give you prescription strength ibuprofen for after. It’s going to hurt, I’m afraid.”
Couldn’t hurt worse than a painkiller addiction, he thought. He wanted to ask about Ella. Fuzzy memories of her kneeling over him on the riverbank floated through his mind along with a fact that was too upsetting to be imaginary. He’d lost the thermos—her only chance. He’d been too slow, too weak, and that punk Tony had taken it from him as easily as stripping away a kid’s lunch money on the playground.
He closed his eyes as the doctor washed something over his wound and he willed himself to sleep through the pain that was coming.
It didn’t work. He endured the procedure as best he could, refusing to cry out. They installed him in a bed in a cramped room. His mother and brothers came in. He searched behind them but Ella was not there.
“Family only, they told us,” his mother said. “Your dad is tending to Betsy.”
His mother stroked his hair and checked the bandages to be sure they passed her strict quality control. She did not cry. She’d seen her boys through every kind of injury from broken wrists to him getting shot in the line of duty, to Keegan’s litany of wounds, to the death of Barrett’s wife, and in every case, she’d closed her eyes, thanked God that her boys were still alive, and tended to the practical matters at hand. Women were strong, he marveled, and his mother was the strongest of them all. She displayed her quiet calm now, ticking off a list. “We’ll bring you some clothes from home. When you’re better, you can use Barrett’s
truck since he’s still gone.”
“And we’re going to find Tony.” Keegan’s eyes glittered dangerously.
“Leave it to the police,” he said, but he knew Keegan would let his anger lead the way. He was not sure he wouldn’t act the same if one of his brothers had been attacked, but Keegan had a wild spirit and scars from his childhood that had yet to heal. He shot a silent look at Jack. Keep him out of trouble.
Jack acknowledged with the barest lift of his chin and Owen felt a surge of gratefulness. Jack was shouldering the load for everyone at the moment. It galled Owen that he had not been able to deal with Tony himself. He resolved then and there to see his physical therapist again, to demand to know the truth. Could he get healed and go back to the marines? Could he be enough again?
But what of Ella? And why did that thought cause him pain when he’d deployed so many times before without a backward glance?
His family pulled him from his uncomfortable musings until he could not hide the pain, which he desperately did not want them to see.
Jack noticed. “He needs to rest. We should go.”
His mother kissed him and prayed over him. Keegan gave him a curt nod. “We’ve got this, Owen. Rest up.”
Jack waited until the others had left and slid a new cell phone onto the tray table next to him. “Our numbers already programmed in. We got Ella one too, same cell number as before.”
“I won’t be here long,” he called to his brother as he left.
Jack quirked a smile. “I know. Nurses will be begging us to get you out of their hair within the hour.”
He sighed. “Ella?”
“She’s okay. Refused the doctor’s exam. Stubborn. Go figure. Mom brought her some dry clothes and Dad put her on the phone with Betsy.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
