Chapter Twenty-Seven
Auralia
Creed took her breath away—the steel of his muscles, the ease of his movements, the application of his intelligence, the bigness of his heart.
For the last five years, Auralia had been in dangerous situations all over the world. She had seen how people behave. They might extend a hand, give a helpful push, throw down a line, but there were few who could or would do more.
Creed had never once said, “Let’s save ourselves.” And Auralia could only imagine him saying that in circumstances where significant harm would come to his friends or family, then he’d insist on protecting them. Protecting her.
As he moved like an orangutan, hand over hand, his legs dangling and kicking below him to give him momentum, trailing his ropes like vines in a jungle, Creed must believe they could be successful. He wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to her. She trusted in her heart that he wouldn’t.
Maybe that was part of his calculus. Perhaps he didn’t believe this mission was possible as much as he thought that she was so invested in the outcome that she wouldn’t walk away, and he decided not to take up time trying to argue.
He might think that they’d do what they could, but, in the end, he had a command that superseded his own choices.
He would drop everything and everyone and save her.
There was a little dark angel that whispered in Auralia’s ear that this was a futile task.
That dark angel wanted Auralia to remember that both of these women were tied to one evil, cold-hearted man.
Had the women known that all along? Had they participated?
Had they turned a blind eye because they benefited from Morrison’s exploitation of Marine veterans?
Would it matter?
Auralia imagined turning her head to the dark angel and saying, “Shut the hell up.”
If Sheelah and Brandy had sins on their souls, Auralia wouldn’t taint hers by doing anything less than her human best to help them survive.
Creed was the same.
They’d help until the bitter end, if for nothing other than selfishly not wanting to live with the torture of regret and self-recrimination.
Rou was such a good girl dangling from the D-rings on her work vest below Creed’s backpack. Luckily, she was little. If she were a German shepherd, this wouldn’t be possible.
Dropping from the bridge onto the opposite shore, Creed stayed in a crouch longer than Auralia thought he should—possibly just catching his breath, hopefully not hurt.
She sent her concern winging across the water, and he lifted an arm and waved at her. And she waved back like a fisherman’s wife as he set off to sea. The kind of wave that held a longing that she was back in his arms, and that she hated the water for getting in her way.
Auralia stood over Sheelah, who lay on her back, with Auralia’s blue life vest buckled in place, helmet on her head, eyes closed. Her breathing was faint, her pulse fainter still.
As Creed tied the rope into place and winched it tight, Auralia made sure the line ran in the indentation on the pulley wheels. The loop around Sheelah’s ankles lifted, and her body was held in a straight line. That rope supporting her ankles couldn’t be comfortable.
When Auralia went across, she planned to lie on her belly.
A moment later, the loops of rope that wrapped under the totes drew taut.
The whole system—woman and bins—lifted higher so Auralia could almost get her hand underneath.
Another inch and Creed was making circles with his hand, pulling a knot into place.
Every bit of this he’d done with the ease of a dancer.
He had been training in this since he was eighteen. And to Auralia, there was nothing sexier than watching a competent man in action.
Creed stood at the shoreline with the guide rope in his hands. He gave it a tug, and the bins shifted in the gravelly sand.
Auralia reached down and shoved until Sheelah was out of reach.
While it made sense on paper that Sheelah went first so Creed and Auralia could work together to get her onto the apparatus, it was also true that Sheelah was closest to death, and possibly brain-dead. And since they had no time for testing, if things were going to fail …
Auralia hated that a thought like that was blooming in her mind.
And hated that it was probably a big part of the AI’s predictive outcomes. If there had to be a sacrificial lamb to test this escape route, it should be Sheelah.
If it were just her and Creed, Auralia thought, none of this would be necessary.
Saving the daughter had to be part of the AI's calculus.
Did she like thinking that a machine was weighing survival ethics? Who trained those ethics? Who reviewed the parameters? Auralia would talk that story over with her editor when she got back to the office.
“This tastes like a good story to bite into,” Remi would say. In dire situations, head over heart was painful but necessary. Possibly the AI helped stay out of emotions and fully into the reasoning part of the brain?
If she were Sheelah, though, she’d want to go first, a mother’s sacrifice to ensure that her daughter had a safer route.
Auralia would revisit those thoughts later with Creed and Gator.
Right now, she needed to put her hands on her knees and suck in some deep breaths as relief flooded her system. Creed had his hands on the tote and was dragging Sheelah farther onto the shore. He quickly unloaded her, still dressed in her black leaf bags.
He pulled off the vest and helmet, attached them to a loop with a carabiner, and walked the totes into the water. There, he signaled Auralia to pull the stretcher back to her side of the river.
That part wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be.
The next step was going to test her. Auralia needed to get Brandy up, over, and on.
But when she turned, Auralia was surprised to find Brandy standing behind her, holding the Mylar blanket tightly around her shoulders.
Auralia needed to make decisions now. The sun had moved over the horizon. If Brandy came willingly, excellent. If it was a struggle, Auralia would go ahead and leave.
“Brandy, I’m so glad to see you standing up. Did you see your mom go over the river?”
No response.
“We have to get off this shore. There’s a fire.
” Auralia pointed up the slope. “There’s flood waters.
” She pointed toward the bridge. “There’s night falling.
” As Auralia pointed toward the sky, she used her news reporter voice —slow, clear, steady, and believable.
“It’s your turn to go across. Can you come lie down here? ”
And to Auralia’s complete astonishment, Brandy did.
“You have to be very still.” Auralia pulled the life vest on, clasped it, and tightened the tabs.
“I have you on my rope. Creed has you on his rope. He’s—” she almost said “a Marine,” but thought better of it.
Brandy might think a Marine might seek retribution.
“He’s been doing this kind of thing all his life.
You’re safe if you lie very still. It might feel rocky.
Close your eyes. Hum a tune. We’ll have you across pretty quick. ”
It was a charmed extraction.
Everything aligned.
Brandy went over.
Auralia went over.
Creed pulled Auralia into his arms and held her tight against him. Her hands clasped around his neck. To say she was surprised this worked was an understatement.
Auralia felt hot, tired tears of relief spring to her lashes.
Rou pulled her attention around with her whining, and when Auralia leaned down to tell Rou what a good girl she’d been, hanging off the back of Creed’s pack as he moved hand over hand over the water, she found Rougarou staring down at the curve of shore that turned and continued behind the rocks—the place where Brandy had been standing.
And now all that was left were her footprints from where she walked away.