Before It's Too Late

by Sara Driscoll

  Cara’s running out of time. Meg couldn’t stop the thought from forming. She furiously pushed it away before it broke her concentration and swamped her with fear. Just concentrate on finding and saving her. That’s the only thing that matters.

  Hawk ran along the beach, staying just clear of the water, leaping over anything in his path. Balanced on four feet, he did better than the humans following him, who clambered less gracefully over any challenges blocking their path.

  As they rounded a curve in the beach, the land before them split as the forest rose above their heads, the sharp edge of the eroded land forming a cliff, which fell vertically down to the water. The going became more difficult here, with only mere feet of beach as their path. But as they continued along the curve of the beach, the bay and the fleet came into view.

  Meg’s steps slowed for just a moment as she took in the area, trying to calculate all the possibilities at once. McCord’s analysis of the bay was correct. It was only about a square mile in size, but the hulls of the ships were sandwiched together from shore all the way out to the Potomac proper. At the water’s edge, the hulls of several beached ships sat five or six feet above the water even as high tide approached. The wood planks curving from bow to stern were weathered and warped, but still held firmly in place by hundreds of rusting nails. Nature was reclaiming her own with these ships, and the top of each was a lush mass of bushes with even the occasional tree standing tall over the water. At least a half-dozen ships scattered along the shore were their own individual ecosystems. Farther out into the water, just the tops of most of the vessels showed, but dotted above the water were spots of growth, bushes seemingly springing whole and hearty straight from the river. In the distance, the long hulking form of a metal ferry stretched across the far side of the bay.

  Cara was out there somewhere.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Meg recovered the few lost steps, falling back in with the group to follow Hawk as he cut right to tear down a narrow strip of beach projecting into the bay. The tiny spit of land was only about forty feet long; they were about to run out of beach.

  The loud, clear whistle of a raptor sounded to their left, and Meg looked up sharply at what she could only describe as a warning. Piled in the prow of the boat sitting perpendicular to their path was what looked like a compact pile of sticks. Atop the sticks perched an osprey, sitting easily two full feet higher, her striking yellow eyes watching their every move as she guarded her nest.

  Don’t worry, Mama, we’re not here for your babies.

  She turned back in time to see Hawk run to the edge of the river and stop, his nose high, scenting the breeze.

  Meg knew this posture; knew he was about to spring. “Hawk, stop. Come.” She dropped her SAR bag on top of a sun-bleached pile of flotsam just beyond the high watermark on the beach. As Hawk returned to her, she unbuckled his collar and dropped it beside her bag. “Nothing on you for this swim, buddy. There’s too much out there.” Straightening, she toed off her hiking boots to see Webb and McCord pulling off boots and socks and dropping their electronics onto the discarded clothes. Webb pulled off his Henley for the simple white T-shirt underneath.

  Meg dropped to her knees, rooting through her pack to pull out her spring-loaded knife, a thick twist of cord, and a couple of carabiner clips. She pushed the items into her pockets, making them bulge, then turned back to her pack, pulling out her waterproof cell phone. She made a quick call to the Coast Guard, giving her FBI designation and requesting immediate assistance with a possible medical rescue at their location. She pushed her phone into one pocket and then zipped them both shut. She glanced at the men. They were ready.

  “Be careful out there,” she warned. “There’s a lot of metal and it’s going to be rough and rusted. Chances of getting sliced are high.”

  “I’m up to date on my tetanus shot,” McCord said. “Let’s go.”

  Meg pointed out over the surf and out to the ships visible beyond. “Hawk, find Cara.”

  With a bound, Hawk ran to the river’s edge and with a leap of shining fur and outstretched paws, he hit deeper water and started to swim. Meg and the men waded out after him, quickly taking his lead to get their unprotected feet off the rough, bolt-strewn river bottom. The cold water was a shock to systems already overheated from a sprint along the beach. Perhaps not cold enough to require a wet suit, but for a moment, it took Meg’s breath away.

  “Son of a—” McCord’s truncated oath came from behind, the splash of his strong strokes covering up whatever else he might have said.

  But Hawk never paused, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort in his drive to find Cara. He swam steadily, his nose in the air, his breath coming harder with the additional exertion of swimming. He paddled across the bay, angled for the far shore, his path between shipwrecks narrow and treacherous. Iron bolts thrust into the air from wooden bases of ships resting on the bottom of the bay, double and sometimes triple parallel strips of long, lethal nails jutting above the water’s surface. Partially intact hulls lurked just beneath the surface, the massive two-foot spikes used to hold the layers of planking together now reaching down into the water, ready to stab the unwary swimmer.

  Depending on the location, swimming wasn’t allowed in the Potomac under normal conditions, but in a place like this, an area that not only bordered on being designated a nature sanctuary, but was also a minefield of hazards to a soft-skinned human, it was simply banned. Obviously, with a sanctioned boat launch, canoeing and kayaking around the wrecks was allowed and encouraged, but the Maryland Parks Department would have something to say about this excursion after they found out.

  Meg paused in the water for a moment, treading in place, scanning the terrain ahead. Hawk was about twenty feet in front of them. Beyond him, a forest of metal spikes and nails speared from the river into the air. Amid the spikes, a great blue heron seemed to stand directly on the water, its long, pointed beak angled toward them as they approached. Then it spread its magnificent wings wide as it launched into the air, away from the interlopers interrupting its fishing.

  “You okay?” Webb asked, drawing up to tread water beside her.

  “Yeah. Just trying to get the lay of the land. Let’s go.”

  Webb stayed at her side as they swam, McCord right behind them, easily keeping up.

  Meg kept her eye on Hawk the whole time. They’d performed water rescues before, but not one this far out in a large body of water, or with this level of hazard. But Hawk stayed strong. She could hear his panting breaths even this far behind, but considering the way her lungs were burning with exertion, she suspected hers were just as loud. They were easily five hundred feet from shore, and while most of the boats this far out were completely submerged at high tide, there were still several that rose above the river.

  It was then that Meg heard Hawk’s gurgle—part whine, part bark, both sounding half submerged—and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Hawk was swimming frantically toward a vessel twenty feet in front of him. The stern of the boat disappeared below water, but the bow rose several feet into the air, propped on the skeleton of another ship. Greenery sprang from the front of the boat, but the hull of the boat from the midsection down spread wide to fall into the water as if all stern support was long gone. Hawk was heading right for the spot where the wooden planks sank under the water. He was trying to swim, scent, and alert all at the same time and nearly went under. Hard kicks drove him back to the surface as he struggled to the boat.

  Meg turned in the water to Webb, still right beside her. “He’s trying to alert. She’s there.”

  Webb pushed even harder, pulling in front of Meg to reach the side of the ship first. He got one knee up on the side of the hull and hauled himself up. Reaching down to grab the dog behind his shoulders, he pulled Hawk out of the water and onto the hull, a full eighteen inches across, where he balanced as he scanned his surroundings. Staring at the middle of the boat, Hawk barked furiously.

  Webb hauled Meg onto the deck
next, but the boat shifted suddenly under the additional weight and they both lurched sideways as the support gave way beneath their bare feet. As Meg nearly toppled off the slippery wood, she had a glimpse of something that made her heart go cold. Cara had been in the middle of the boat, struggling as the water nearly covered her, her neck extended, lips tipped toward the last of the air. But with their additional weight settling the wreck, she went completely under.

  “Cara!” Meg screamed even as she used her lack of balance to throw herself into the water, where she’d seen her sister disappear.

  “Where?” Webb leapt in after her.

  “Somewhere in the middle here. I saw her, but when the boat shifted, she went under.”

  “We can find her.” McCord was swimming beside them now. “Go under. We’ll bring her up.”

  They all dove. The river water was murky, full of particulate silt and algae, making it mostly a task of feeling for Cara, rather than looking for her. Meg dove, her hands outstretched, her fingertips touching soft, slimy wood, or catching on rough, uneven metal until—Yes!—she felt cloth. Her sister’s shoulder. Her very limp shoulder, which Meg pulled, trying to pry her upward, but to no avail. Her sister’s body rose an inch or two and then sank again. She frantically pushed back to gasp air, just as Webb and McCord were also breaking the surface.

  “She’s tied down somehow. I need to cut her free.”

  Webb turned to McCord. “Breathe into her mouth, give her your air. I’ll go first, give me ten seconds and you follow. We’ll alternate, giving Meg time to find the ropes and cut Cara free.” He took a huge breath and disappeared below the surface.

  Meg dug into her pocket for her knife. Pulling it above the surface, she pressed the button, the wickedly sharp blade springing free. She found Hawk, standing right where she’d left him, but looking like he was tempted to jump in and join the fray, something she couldn’t risk now with a knife in the mix. “Talon, stay.”

  She and McCord both took a big breath at the same time and went under. Below, it was a hazy jumble of sunlight filtering through turbid water to partially light the way. Meg could just barely see the pass-off between Webb and McCord, Webb pushing off, and McCord dropping in to breathe precious air into her sister’s mouth. Trust them. She turned away to concentrate on her own job.

  She ran her free hand over Cara’s shoulder down to her arm, which disappeared under her body. Using her sister’s body to keep herself anchored, Meg found the cause of the problem—Cara’s wrists were wrapped with cord looped multiple times around a thick beam. Meg got a finger under one loop of the cord and pulled, but it didn’t budge. Lungs burning, Meg pushed back to the surface.

  McCord was waiting as her head broke the surface. “Do you know how she’s secured?”

  “Looks like mountain-climbing rope. Static cord because it has absolutely no stretch, probably seven-sixteenths inch. I’ll have to cut her out.”

  “Do it.” McCord took another breath and sank under the water.

  Meg took a few extra seconds to get her breath back. Before she could go under, Webb surfaced. “Update?”

  Meg repeated what she’d told McCord. “How’s Cara?”

  “She’s unconscious. Move fast.”

  Meg didn’t respond. She simply pushed the terror of losing her sister to the back of her mind, took a deep breath, and then went under.

  It wasn’t possible to cut Cara lose on the first try. Meg got below, found a place where the cord wrapped the beam and started to saw at it. But the cord was tough, meant to support considerable weight and constructed of bundles of slimmer woven cords wrapped in a tough outer layer. It took her three tries to finally slice through the cord, then one more dive to unwrap the cord from around the beam. Freeing Cara’s hands could wait until she was breathing on her own.

  Just before the last dive, she found Webb above water, breathing hard with the exertion of providing oxygen for two people. “How’s it . . . going?” he panted.

  “This should be it. Give me ten seconds and then try pulling her up.” She folded the knife and thrust it back into her pocket to free both hands and went under.

  Back in the murky depths, she found the free ends of the cord and fought with it, unwrapping and untangling it until she felt Cara’s body suddenly shift. Reaching out, she pushed against the man breathing for her—she thought it was Webb—and together they pulled her sister up and out of the water.

  Cara’s head lolled to the side as they broke the surface.

  “Let’s pull her up here,” Webb ordered.

  With McCord’s help, they dragged her out of the water and up onto dry planking toward the bow of the boat. They laid Cara down on her back, awkwardly arched over her bound hands, and Webb went to work, launching into classic CPR with artificial respiration. Tipping her head back, he gave two strong breaths and did thirty strong chest compressions, followed by two more breaths, before repeating the cycle.

  An engine in the distance caught her attention. Help was nearly there. Meg reached for her cell phone and contacted the Coast Guard again, updating them with their exact position. She needed them to arrive quickly so they could pass Cara off to the paramedics; then they needed to move fast. A second life was at stake. As she talked, she gave Hawk the hand signal to come and he leapt onto the planks to stand beside her, watching Cara closely.

  Meg was just hanging up, when Cara gasped, then started to cough violently. Webb smoothly rolled her over on her side as she vomited up the water trapped in her lungs. McCord crouched by her, holding her shoulders, steadying her, as her body was wracked with spasms.

  “The Coast Guard will pick her up here in just a few minutes,” Meg said to Webb, before circling her sister to crouch beside McCord. “Cara? It’s going to be all right. We’ve got you now.” She pulled the knife from her pocket again, and made quick work of the cord binding Cara’s hands.

  Her sister blinked up at her dazedly and tried to form Meg’s name on lips that didn’t move yet.

  Meg pushed wet strands of hair from her face. “Shhhh. Don’t speak. You’re safe now. Clay and Todd are here with me. They helped rescue you. And the Coast Guard is on its way.” When she saw the question in her sister’s eyes, she smiled. “Hey, if you can’t call in a favor now and then, what’s the point of working for the FBI?”

  But Cara kept trying to say something, so Meg leaned in closer.

  “Surprised me from behind.” Cara’s words were a rasping whisper, but clear enough to Meg.

  “ ‘From behind,’ ” Meg repeated. “That’s a new MO. Did you see him?”

  Cara shook her head.

  “He’s changing his strategy. He knows the word is out about an Animal Control officer, so he’s abandoned that method. Where did he grab you? At the school?”

  Another nod.

  “Can’t this wait until she’s checked out?” McCord asked. “We just got her back.”

  Cara looked up at McCord, and tried to give him a small smile. He picked up her hand and held it in both of his before bending his head to touch his forehead to it.

  Feeling suddenly weak, Meg collapsed back onto the rough planks of the vessel. Her limbs felt unbearably heavy and her mind dull. But the sunlight felt deliciously warm on her skin as they huddled out of the river breeze.

  Webb reached over to rub a cold hand over her equally cold arm. “You okay?”

  “Just need a minute.” She met his eyes and kept her voice low. “We’re not done yet. That’s only one of two.”

  “I know.” His gaze shifted to over his shoulder and she turned to follow it. A Short Range Prosecutor was on the river, coming in quickly, and then slowing as it reached the outskirts of the Ghost Fleet. Three men were on board, dressed in Coast Guard navy blue, with bright orange life jackets.

  Meg leaned over her sister, who stared up at her with blurry eyes. “The Coast Guard is here, Cara. And they’re going to get you to safety.” She gripped McCord’s forearm. “I need you to stay with her. Can you do that for m
e?”

  “Don’t you need me for—”

  Meg squeezed harder, cutting him off. “She needs someone right now, and it can’t be me. I have to go.” She gave him a look that carried more weight than the pressure of her hand.

  He nodded, knowing exactly what they were up against. “You know what you need to do and where you’re going. Good luck. Let me know what happened, when you can, though I’m not sure how, because my cell is on the beach and my computer is in Webb’s truck.”

  “We’ll find out where they’re taking her and go from there. And we’ll grab your things on our way back.”

  She stood as the sound of the motor grew louder and the boat drew up to them.

  One down. One to go.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sawbones: During the Civil War, amputation was believed to prevent infection or gangrene and was the safest way to deal with gunshot wounds caused by the Minié ball. The majority of the fifty-thousand-plus amputations were performed using the “circular” method, with the attending physician using a modified chain saw to remove a limb in less than ten minutes—thus the origin of the nickname “sawbones.”

  Monday, May 29, 1:44 PM

  Pry House Field Hospital Museum

  Keedysville, Maryland

  Webb took the turn into the museum driveway with only the slightest drop in speed, causing them to bounce over the grassy border before skidding sideways. Meg clutched at the dashboard, while Hawk scrabbled to halt his slide on the floor in the back.

  “Sorry,” Webb ground out through gritted teeth as he white-knuckled the truck back under control.

  Meg felt the jolt all the way down her spine as they lurched back onto the driveway. “Don’t apologize, just get us there.”

  Nearly a quarter of a mile ahead, they could see the house, a majestic redbrick Federal-style two-story dwelling sitting on a small hill, wrapped round with a white picket fence. They bulleted down the drive, screeching to a shuddering halt less than fifteen seconds later.