Chapter 13 #3
“We know you’re in here,” Al said, “and you’re not getting out. You think you’re real clever, don’t you? That’s what people believe at first when they cross the boss. Then what happens? They turn out dead. Like your brother, right?”
He continued to prowl, and Mackenzie barely felt Gideon’s hands clench around hers.
Jerry stayed in his position, checking the boat next to the slip where they were concealed while Al closed in from his side.
Good strategy, she had to admit. Gideon could take Al, probably, if he had the strength to free his weapon, but Al and Jerry had the upper hand in terms of position.
Gideon wouldn’t be able to subdue them both, not in his present condition.
Feeling Gideon’s pressure on her wrist, she allowed him to ease her slowly backward, deeper into the oily water under the walkway, searching for a way out. It was like being dipped in liquid agony.
“Gonna kill you,” Al said. “Dam’s gonna fail anytime now. After you’re dead, you’ll be washed away and no one will ever even find your bloated bodies. We’ll take a picture first, though. Show it to the boss. Nothing left to chance, right?”
Gideon gave Mackenzie a sign before he dove down.
She waited, her body shivering uncontrollably as she prayed for his return.
The visibility was nil. Rain began to slash against the boathouse roof.
She’d lost track of the seconds by the time Gideon popped up again.
Quickly he pantomimed that she was to go down with him.
Go where?
Her brain wasn’t working well enough to think out any plans, so she merely took a breath and dove with him. In the murky water he pointed to the pilings, set ten feet apart with a nice gap in between. Plenty big enough for two people to squeeze through and escape the boathouse into the lake.
But she was too desperate for air, so they had to surface again for a quick breath. She had no idea how much longer her body would obey commands.
Al was still talking.
“No way out, but if you surrender, maybe we’ll change our minds and take you alive. How’s that? Boss would love to meet you, especially the pretty lady who made all those podcasts and raked up trouble. Might want to get your autograph. Gonna be worth something after you’re dead, huh?”
Gideon put his mouth next to her ear. “Swim out. Stay under as long as you can to get some distance. Let the river carry you and we’ll get to land when we can.”
If they could . . .
She prepared to dive again, but as she did so, a nail protruding from the dock caught in her jacket.
She pulled and the fabric tore.
It was a small enough sound, but it might as well have been a siren.
“Down here!” Jerry yelled.
She and Gideon dove, bullets striking the water around them. They kicked hard for the pilings, but her body felt slow and unwieldy. The distance was almost insurmountable, but Gideon grabbed the back of her jacket and propelled her in front of him until she made it through.
Once they cleared the pilings, she tried to stay underwater for as long as she dared until at last she surfaced, begging for breath. Gideon appeared a few yards away and immediately spun to double back to her.
Al shouted. “There! In the water.”
Bullets whistled through the air. They dove again, struggling to stay under as they were caught up in the strong current created by the swollen river. The rush carried them along so fast it was all she could do to avoid obstructions.
Gideon’s arm broke the water ahead of her, then his head, but the white sprays caused her to lose sight of him.
She called out, but her voice was swallowed by the roar.
A glint of metal caught her attention. A rusted car fender, lying prone across the water, all sharp metal edges. A vision of her body being skewered like meat on a shish kebab flashed in her mind.
Sliced and diced. Morbid humor, the kind she’d learned in cop school.
What a way to go.
She shouted to alert Gideon, but she couldn’t be sure he’d heard or seen. A series of hard kicks enabled her to avoid the obstacle.
Beyond it was a half-submerged tree, the thick trunk bristling with long, twisting branches. The water was racing. If they didn’t get out soon, they wouldn’t have the strength to escape.
She caught the edge of a waterlogged branch. It tore at her fingers as she fought for a grip. Flailing her arm wide, she snatched at another stick of the slippery wood. Enough to hold her in place. Barely.
She screamed again for him.
His dark head plowed the waves until he, too, snagged hold of the fallen tree. They held on, moved gingerly, hand over hand, until they made it to the far side where the water moved more slowly.
She pointed to a brushy section of the bank. “We can get out there.”
He nodded. “I’m done with swimming, and I picked the worst time to give up swearing.”
She would have chuckled if she had the breath. She labored to swim what felt like the longest quarter mile of her life. Gideon made slow progress as well. They were both nearing the edge of their physical reserves.
When they heaved themselves to shore, she could no longer feel her extremities. Her thoughts spiraled in slow motion as hypothermia began to take hold.
Hiding spot, her addled brain blared.
They needed to find one immediately in case Al and Jerry tracked them with their ATV. Her eyes struggled to focus. Trees, mud, rocks, a graveled pathway . . .
Was that a cabin she saw just next to the hill with a trailer parked nearby? She wiped her eyes and looked again, praying it wasn’t a hallucination. “I th . . . think I see a . . .”
“Zee,” Gideon said.
She snapped a look, noting his odd tone.
His face was white, his whole body trembling like hers.
Her gaze dropped to his side where a pink blush stained his shirt.
A tear in the side of the fabric was the source . . . caused by a bullet, she realized, just as Gideon collapsed.