Into the Black Nowhere

by Meg Gardiner

Dry mouthed, shivering, she put away the phone, stepped from the grassy hillside onto the sloping concrete bank of the storm channel, and inched down to the edge. Cold spray mixed with the sleet.

  As a patrol officer, she’d seen vehicles swept away on flooded roads—when the water was two feet deep. This water looked deeper than that. It was a monster force.

  From inside the Tahoe came a battering sound. Caitlin aimed her flashlight at the sunroof. Emily’s forehead was bloody, streams of red running through her wet hair and across her cheeks. She had head butted the sunroof to get Caitlin’s attention. Water splashed over the girl’s face.

  Caitlin flashed the beam on and off to signal back. “I’m coming.”

  She stuck the Maglite in her back pocket and scrambled upstream about forty yards. Blowing out a series of short, sharp breaths, she let out a harsh yell and stepped off the bank.

  She dropped into water that was thigh deep.

  “Holy God.”

  The cold didn’t grab—it stunned like an electric shock. Her legs went stiff. A jolt of breathless pain shot all the way to the center of her brain.

  Go.

  She planted her feet wide to brace herself, held her hands out for balance, and worked her way toward the SUV. With every step, she fought against losing her footing. The cold, the power of the water, rent her with fear. If she lost control, even for a split second . . .

  She thought of Sean. Thought of her father. Jesus good Lord Jesus she wished they were here with rescue equipment and ropes and a harness.

  Emily was desperately tilting her head back, fighting to sip air. Christ, oh God—screw it. It was her. Her or nothing. Go.

  Caitlin forded the churning water, legs burning with the cold. Forty feet, thirty, fifteen—she reached out and grabbed the grille of the Tahoe.

  The force of the water pressed her against it. Slapping chilled hands against the SUV, she scrambled out of the water onto the front panel and right wheel of the vehicle.

  She crawled to the front passenger door, teeth chattering. Couldn’t get it open. It was crushed out of true. She kept crawling to the rear door.

  With numb fingers, she clawed at the handle and pried the door up. She shoved it all the way open and peered down into the vehicle.

  No sign of Detrick.

  Had he been thrown out when it rolled? Been swept over the falls? Did the motherfucker get away? She couldn’t see into the last row of seats or the Tahoe’s far back.

  Stop wondering. Move.

  Directly below her in the back seat, Emily was submerged, floating limp.

  Heart thundering, Caitlin worked her drop-point knife from her back pocket. Squeezed it until she was sure she had it solidly in her freezing hand. Telling her fingers, Grip, she dropped into the vehicle.

  She landed again in icy thigh-high water. She took a breath, ducked under the surface, and fought not to gasp from the agonizing cold. She ran her hand down Emily’s arm until she found the zip tie. She slipped the point of the knife under it and swiped. One sawing motion, and another, and she cut the plastic.

  Emily floated free. Caitlin straightened out of the water, inhaled, and lifted the girl’s head above the surface.

  She wasn’t breathing.

  61

  Emily’s face was ghostly white, her lips charcoal. Her eyes were half open, whites showing. Caitlin’s hands were bitter, but Emily’s skin felt even colder. The girl was nearly frozen.

  She couldn’t put Emily in rescue position within the confines of the tipped-over Tahoe, much less lift her out and lay her on a flat surface. Caitlin hoisted the young woman in her arms.

  She whispered through chattering teeth. “Come on, girl. Come on.”

  Rescue procedure was ABC—airway, breathing, circulation. She put a hand beneath the back of Emily’s head, tilted her jaw up, and cleared her airway.

  Nothing.

  “Emily. Wake up.”

  Outside, the surging water battered the Tahoe. The SUV felt like a sinkhole within a roar. Water squeezed through every joint in the vehicle. As did fear.

  Emily remained limp. Panic crept along Caitlin’s nerves. How long had the girl gone without oxygen?

  She got behind her, pulled Emily upright against her chest, and locked her own hands in a fist immediately below Emily’s ribs. Bracing her legs, Caitlin popped her fists into Emily’s diaphragm, giving her the Heimlich.

  Water erupted from the girl’s lips in a massive bolus. Emily coughed and inhaled.

  Adrenaline jacked into Caitlin’s veins. “Come on.”

  She held tight to the young woman. Emily took another breath and opened her eyes.

  For a second, Emily stared unseeing at the darkness. Her wet breathing echoed inside the vehicle. Then she blinked, seemed to orient herself, and went stiff. Her hands came out of the water as fists. She bucked and tried to fight free.

  “Emily.” Caitlin held her tightly. “I’m Caitlin Hendrix.”

  The girl spat, “Prove it.”

  Shivering, Caitlin held tight. “Once we get out. Which is right now.”

  Emily held tense. Caitlin felt the girl’s youthful strength flooding back. If it came down to fight or flight, this girl was going to battle.

  “My creds are wet. I’ll prove it when we get out of here,” Caitlin said.

  Emily clenched, ready to punch, for another second. Then she gave a small, frantic nod. “Yeah.”

  Caitlin braced the young woman until Emily fumbled her feet under herself. She was wobbly, coughing and shuddering. Caitlin doubted she could stand on her own.

  “Reach up. Grab the doorframe. I’ll boost you out,” Caitlin said.

  A sound came from the rear of the Tahoe. A splash. Inside the vehicle.

  The air seemed to shift. Caitlin’s skin shrank.

  She leaned to see around the back bucket seats into the darkened rear of the SUV.

  Shadow. Shape, black on black. A gleam.

  Detrick crouched in the far back, staring at her.

  She had an instant to take him in. Shining eyes, messenger bag slung over his shoulder. Money, she thought. IDs. Getaway kit.

  She shoved Emily behind her. She was reaching for her knife when Detrick leaped at her.

  He sharked between the back seats, hit her with a hard tackle, and slammed her all the way into the dashboard. He grabbed her by the neck.

  Blood oozed from a heavy gash on his forehead. In the dim dashboard light, his gray eyes glowed silver. The look in them was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  It was the look his victims saw in the seconds before he took them. It said, Yes, this. You’re mine. Believe, and die.

  He had a tire iron in his hand. He drew back his arm, preparing to hit her. She cupped a hand, swung, and slapped him hard in the side of the head.

  He howled. His ears were full of water—she hoped she’d burst his eardrum. He dropped the tire iron and clapped that hand over his damaged ear. His eyes lit with rage.

  Behind him, Emily gaped.

  Caitlin wheezed, “Get out.”

  Emily didn’t move. But Caitlin knew what would happen if the girl waited. Their only chance was for her to get out of the vehicle.

  She shoved Emily with her foot. “Go.”

  Emily’s mouth opened. She raised her head to the open door above her.

  Caitlin clawed in her back pocket for the knife. She pulled it free but her fingers were blocks of ice. Detrick slapped it from her hand. The silver rage filled his gaze. Indistinctly, other colors reflected from his face. Spinning, red and blue.

  Caitlin went for his eyes.

  She jabbed him and dragged her fingernails down his face. Recoiling, he roared and blindly punched her in the face. Her head snapped back against the windshield. Stars exploded in front of her.

  For several buzzing seco
nds, she could see nothing else. Then the view turned black-and-yellow, etched with movement. Splashing. Shoving sounds.

  The stars died out. She returned. In the back seat, Emily was reaching overhead. She had her hands on the doorframe and was struggling to brace a foot on a seatback so she could climb out the open passenger door.

  Detrick grabbed the girl. He pulled her hands loose from the doorframe and hauled her down. Clenching her by the throat, he shoved her head underwater.

  Unholy Christ. The car was awash with freezing water and still he wanted only to kill.

  Caitlin didn’t have the angle to kick him in the head. She curled to grab Detrick’s belt.

  Her right hand was handcuffed to the steering wheel.

  Christ. Getaway kit. Kidnap kit.

  With her left hand, she grabbed the back of Detrick’s shirt. It momentarily slowed him, but her fingers were too numb to hold on.

  He swept his grip from Emily’s neck to the girl’s clawing hands, shoved her down, and stepped on her. Caitlin swiped at him again. Raising a knee, he kicked her. She tried to dodge and grab his leg, but his boot connected with her collarbone. Her entire body went numb.

  Emily punched at him, trying to dislodge him and get air.

  He paused. His face was battered, one eye swollen, but he looked darkly satisfied.

  “Told you I was going to waltz away, and you’d have to swallow it.”

  Caitlin’s breath came hard. No time. The cops were close, but Detrick knew that and wouldn’t leave her and Emily alive for them to find. The primitive envy that ate at him wouldn’t allow it.

  One play left, she thought—that’s all she had. And only seconds to pitch it right.

  She inhaled. “You told me I was going to wish I’d killed myself.”

  It came out shaky. It came out shivering, through chattering teeth. Detrick eyed her with contempt.

  Let go, Caitlin. Let everything go. It has to be real.

  She forced her voice to a flat calm. “That’s your wish. You want it?”

  Bewilderment crossed his face. And she recited the words she’d spoken when she phoned him on the crisis hotline.

  “I’ll slip into floating darkness. It’ll be like falling through a field of stars, into the black nowhere.”

  Detrick froze. For a moment he gaped, and she saw it click. He realized that Rose, the suicidal caller, was her. Uncertainty filled his eyes.

  Caitlin reached down, grabbed the steering wheel, and turned it.

  The front tire of the Tahoe was caught solidly against the debris in the channel, but Caitlin threw all her strength into it. If she turned the steering wheel hard enough, she might dislodge the vehicle.

  Detrick’s uncertainty turned to fear. Screaming, he let go of Emily and leaped for Caitlin, trying to stop her.

  He tried to twist her hand off the wheel but she ratcheted her elbow around it—and when he pulled, she continued to exert lateral force. Abruptly focused on stopping her, he fought like a mad dog. Punching, clawing, trying to bite her face and neck. In the back seat, Emily rose, gasping.

  With her left hand, Caitlin pawed beneath the water for her drop-point knife, but it was gone.

  Emily lunged at Detrick, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. “Stop it.”

  Caitlin looked past Detrick at her. “Go. Now.”

  Emily’s lips parted and her eyes went wide. She shook her head. Detrick continued trying to pry Caitlin’s hands from the wheel. He didn’t grab her gun. He’d seen it malfunction. And, focused on prying her hands loose, he apparently hadn’t thought of using it to smash her fingers.

  Caitlin screamed, “Go.”

  Emily bolted, scrambling up and out of the door.

  Caitlin yelled, “Shut it!”

  Emily slammed the door. With her free hand Caitlin fumbled for the ignition—and the key fob. The Tahoe’s headlights were still on, and the dash lights. The battery was still providing power. She hit LOCK.

  A thunk ran through the vehicle. Detrick turned, blinking, at the sound. Letting go of Caitlin, he reached above his head and pawed the front-seat passenger-door handle. But that door was crushed shut.

  Caitlin yanked the key from the ignition and jammed the fob in her jeans pocket. Detrick swiveled back to her, understanding.

  The child safety locks had just engaged. He was trapped.

  He lunged at her, but she wrenched both elbows around the steering wheel. It put her head just above the surface of the water.

  Through the windshield she saw flashlights descending the slope of the storm channel. Above her, on the chassis of the Tahoe, Emily’s footsteps thumped.

  The girl yelled, “Here!”

  Through the pelting sleet, the bobbing flashlights reached the edge of the channel. Behind them, high-powered spotlights came down the hill. But the smaller lights didn’t wait or stop at the water’s edge. Amazingly, they began forming into a string. Bobbing, swaying, coming closer.

  A group of young women was forming a human chain from the bank, fording the storm channel, to reach the Tahoe and pull Emily to safety.

  Detrick tried again to open the door above him. He punched the window with a fist. Roared in anger and pain. Then he turned back to Caitlin.

  Emily gingerly edged toward the grille of the SUV. The rear end of the Tahoe lifted with the current. A rope whipped out of the night and Emily caught it.

  Detrick’s hands clawed at Caitlin’s forearms, but she had anchored them around the steering wheel. She threw all her weight to one side and turned the wheel hard, gaining maximum leverage.

  She dug her feet against the seat to keep him from dislodging her. Emily’s position was still precarious.

  Voices, muffled by the roar of the water, shouted directions at Emily. She wrapped the rope around her waist and fumbled to tie a knot. Not the best, but all she could manage with frozen hands.

  Arms reached out to her. Caitlin caught the flash of a high-visibility stripe on a helmet. A man in uniform. Motorcycle cop. Behind him she saw GREENSPRING RUGBY on another rescuer’s sweatshirt.

  Emily shouted, “Help the FBI agent inside.”

  The girl turned and looked through the windshield. Her expression was taut. The rescuer locked wrists with her. She slid from the Tahoe’s crumpled hood into the water.

  The last thing Caitlin saw was Emily’s desperate eyes. The chain of rescuers swept her toward the safety of the bank.

  The hood of the Tahoe tilted up a few degrees.

  A minute back, Caitlin had turned the wheel, to keep Detrick from pulling her free. She’d shifted the vector on which the car hung. Detrick hadn’t noticed. In the cramped, freezing interior of the SUV, he was trying to dig the key fob from Caitlin’s pocket. But it didn’t matter.

  Caitlin began taking fast, deep breaths. It wouldn’t be long now. The back of the vehicle was slowly swinging toward the center of the storm channel.

  She saw Emily reach the bank. The cop and her rugby teammate lifted her from the water, and she fell into the arms of her sorority sisters.

  A tingling spark lit up the center of Caitlin’s chest. Safe.

  From beneath the Tahoe’s trapped front wheel came a creaking, tearing sound. Emily’s weight had been holding the vehicle down, just enough to keep it pinned to the rubble on which the SUV was lodged. Caitlin had known that when Emily climbed off the hood, the reduction in weight might make the difference. It had.

  A wave hit the grille. The Tahoe lifted from the bed of the channel. With a lurch, the front tire slipped free of the anchoring debris.

  The current grabbed the vehicle and swept it toward the lip of the drop-off.

  Detrick shrieked, let go of Caitlin, and pounded on the windshield. Caitlin balled herself against the wheel, holding on with every ounce of strength, thinking: Please. Emily’s safe. Give me more time in the here and now.


  62

  In the furious current, the Tahoe dipped, rose, and shot over the concrete lip of the waterfall into nothingness, with Caitlin fetal against the steering wheel, Detrick screaming.

  The bottom literally fell out of the world. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

  They dropped twenty feet. The back end hit first, hard, and they splashed into the river. The stop was jarring and they went all the way under before the Tahoe bobbed back to the surface and breached like a whale. The front end splashed back down and the SUV rolled upright.

  The torrent poured down from above. The swollen Willamette River swiftly caught them. They were swept backward into the main flow of the river.

  And, with the sound of cracking wood, they stopped.

  They had lodged against the trunk of a downed tree. Freezing water washed over Caitlin, then subsided.

  She breathed, stunned that she was conscious. Above, beyond the edge of the drop-off, the huge waterfall was eerily illuminated by spinning blue lights. Flashlights swept the slope.

  In the front passenger seat, Detrick stirred. With her left hand, Caitlin reached across to her right hip and drew her gun.

  Outside, flashlights, headlights, a helicopter spotlight, filled the air. Detrick opened his eyes.

  His face was shadowed, but he straightened. Left-handed, she aimed at him.

  “Kyle,” she said. “You’re under arrest.”

  He shook his head. “Thing won’t fire.”

  “You’re fucked. Sideways and twice on Sunday. Don’t move.”

  His broad shoulders filled the car. His breathing seemed to steal the air. His self-assurance darkened the gap between them. He gathered himself.

  Though her right hand was cuffed to the wheel, there was play in the chain. Caitlin smacked the butt of the Glock, racked the slide, and set her index finger against the trigger. Please.

  As Detrick lunged, the light struck his eyes.

  Caitlin shot him in the chest.

  • • •

  Portland Fire and Rescue launched an inflatable rescue boat and a Jet Ski into the swollen river. A police helicopter hovered overhead, its spotlight shimmering on the whitecapped water. The firefighters punched out the sunroof.