5. Maverick
MAVERICK
CANNONBALL
Blood covers my hands, making the dirt clump wherever I touch it. The constant friction and pressure tear up my skin and fingernails, but I can’t stop.
I won’t.
I don’t even know how long it’s been since I requested backup nor how long it’s been since I started digging.
It’s Clara.
I can feel it in my bones. There’s nothing but desperation driving me—a deep-seated need to get to her before it’s too late.
I look up to scan my surroundings one more time.
I need something I can use as a shovel because my hands just aren’t cutting it.
I nearly give up and resign myself to using my hands when I see it: a broken branch.
The widest point might just be enough to shovel the dirt faster than I can do it manually.
I hesitate to leave, even though I know it’ll only take me thirty seconds to grab the branch and come back.
Fuck.
I need to do this.
“Keep digging, Juno. I’ll be right back.” Poor boy is out of breath, but he’s just as determined as I am.
I make a mad dash to the tree a few yards away and snatch the branch from the ground. It sticks uncomfortably to my bloody hands, but I push back the pain and discomfort. None of that matters.
I resume digging, this time with the makeshift shovel that does a hell of a lot better than I could on my own.
I’m not a religious man. I’ve never been to church. I’ve never prayed, but I find myself praying that I make it in time. If there is a God, please let her be alive.
Hold on, Clara.
Please hold on.
I’m coming.
10 minutes later
Red and blue flashing lights cast ominous shadows against the trees.
An ambulance is parked directly on the running trail.
The paramedics stand outside of the truck with the back doors fully open.
Pacing. Waiting. They’re frustrated, and I can feel their eyes on me.
I denied their many requests to treat my hands.
I’m pretty sure I told them to fuck off at one point, which definitely goes against my character.
I’ve always been the one that pushes people to be seen if they need treatment. But tonight? Nothing can make me stop.
Dirt flies up haphazardly from the hole the six of us are standing in. There’s nothing graceful about the way the RPD officers and I are shoveling.
It’s a race against time. All else be damned. Evie and Jesse will curse my name with all the evidence I’m likely ruining.
But in this moment, all I can say is fuck the evidence .
I need to reach Clara.
I need to see her breathing.
The longer it takes us to reach her, the less of a chance she has.
I can’t let her down.
I can’t fail her.
Her screams have lessened and become more sporadic. The fact that they’re fewer and far between has me moving with more urgency despite the burning and tingling sensation in my arms.
“I hit something!” An officer shouts.
It’s just what we need to scramble and pick up our pace.
Almost there.
As soon as I’m able, I toss the shovel aside and reach down to lift the lid. “Help me get this off!”
Two RPD officers rush to help me, then heave the lid onto the ground beside us.
Juno crowds me, wanting to take a look inside, but I lightly push him away. “Go rest, boy. You earned it.”
I shift my attention back to Clara, but the sight that greets me brings me to my knees.
My tenure as a Special Agent, and as a detective in Minneapolis before that, has brought me face to face with unimaginable things. The darkness I’ve seen is a constant presence at night, but I’m not prepared for this.
It’s her. It’s Clara.
Her face is streaked with dirt, though I can still make out her pale, golden skin underneath. The tear tracks cutting through the grime on her cheeks. The blood on her hands.
But she isn’t screaming anymore.
Her chest isn’t rising.
She isn’t moving.
No.
I won’t accept that I was too late. That I failed her.
“Clara! Clara! We’re here!”
The paramedics reach me and gently shove me out of the way. I watch helplessly as they attempt to resuscitate her.
I haven’t allowed myself to truly panic yet. I’ve done my best to keep my composure, though there were intense moments where it slipped. Knowing that I failed again is a punch to the gut.
I can’t bear this weight anymore.
“Maverick!”
Just as I’m about to lose myself to the spiral, I hear my name. I look toward the sound and see Cruz and my team rushing onto the scene.
Evie’s eyes are huge as she takes me in, lingering on the bloody mess I made of my hands. “Maverick! Oh my god, Maverick! You need to get those taken care of!”
I hold my hands out, flipping my palms up and down, then shrug. I’ll get them treated eventually. “Clara’s more important.”
“What the fuck happened, Maverick?” Cruz barks.
I recount the events after Juno ran off the trail, but my eyes never stray from the paramedics who are still working on Clara.
Come on, Clara, come on .
“Jesus Christ, Mav.” He wants to tell me I should have waited—I know he does—but he knows better. He would have done the same thing if he were in my position. They all would have.
My eyes narrow at the look the male paramedic shoots his colleague. He’s going to call it. I just know it.
He looks at his watch. With a heavy sigh, he says the three most damning words I’ve ever heard: “Time of dea?—”
A large, chest-deep inhale and series of sputtering coughs comes from inside the box and interrupts his announcement.
Alive.
She’s alive.