Survival Instinct (5 page)

She looked back. The middle of the canoe held nearly a foot of water! “Don’t you want to bail?” she nearly screamed, as the wind ripped the words from her mouth and carried them away. The sky had grown more sinister, the tempest violent.

“Too late for that now. We’re almost there. Just dig!”

Abby dug, tears spilling unchecked down her cheeks, mixing with the sea spray and the waves. The water sloshed higher, clenching its frozen fingers around her legs, sending searing pain through her bones from the fierce cold. The boat was so low in the water. So low, and so cold.

The red domes of the boulders poked their moss-streaked heads from the water like vicious trolls intent on sinking them. As each wave pulled back, another menacing
boulder would leer up at them before the next wave sent them sloshing over its skull, the flexible birch yielding to the pressure, nearly folding, threatening to snap.

Three hundred yards. Two hundred. Abby could see the trees, the red bluffs and the rocky shore, before the wind whipped her hair into her eyes, blocking her view, blinding her to anything but the ice-cold water and the fear.

She never saw the boulder that tipped them. All she knew was that one moment, her muscles were in tight knots of effort, and the next, her whole body was thrown into the frigid lake and the water closed over her head.

I
nstantly numb shock gripped her. It was all Abby could do to struggle upward, willing her frozen limbs to move against the churning waters, her face straining for the surface, seeking light, seeking air. She felt something move against her back and in her confusion, didn’t recognize Scott’s arms until he’d lifted her head and shoulders above the waves.

The brush of his hands felt foreign as he pulled the hair back from her face. Abby watched his mouth open and close. He was shouting something, but she couldn’t hear any words. The sky blurred, the world tilted, then her ears started to work again, and she heard him.

“Run! You’ve got to get moving or you’ll freeze to death. Run, Abby! Come on, we’ve got to get moving.”

She didn’t know how she made her legs move forward. She could hardly feel her feet as they slipped and slid across the submerged boulders, angry spears of pain the only reminder that she had feet at all. Scott’s arm held her steady, lifting her, pulling her, his voice constantly urging her on. “Move, Abby, you’ve got to keep moving.”

They stumbled forward, her stiff fingers no help as they grasped at seaweed, her shins and legs knocking against the rocks, falling, bruising, rising again. And always,
Scott’s voice in her ear, “Keep going, Abby, you can do it, we’re getting there, up you go, keep moving.”

Then the water reached only to her waist and she moved more freely without the bashing waves to push her down. She stumbled onward, desperate to get out of the lake and away from the sneaky boulders that tripped her up and bruised her frozen muscles.

Soon the waves slammed in impotent fury against their feet, and then they were free of the sea. Abby’s hiking boots were deadweights, her feet leaden blocks, as she scrambled forward up the jagged coast toward the woods.

“Keep running, keep moving,” Scott urged her on. “Which way is it to the Ranger’s house?”

Abby looked up and down, her mind slowly processing their position. “East,” her voice slurred as her tongue froze in her mouth. She pointed, watching her hand as though it belonged to someone else, unable to feel anything more than the prickles of pain her movement prompted. “That way. We’ll come to a road, it’s at the end of the road. East. No, north.” She moved her hand. “That way.”

“Okay, let’s keep going. You’ve got to keep moving.”

Abby tried. The twenty-third Psalm was stuck in her head, running on constant replay, and her heart yearned for the still waters, the green pastures, anything but these deeply shadowed woods and these winds, which whipped through the dying autumn trees, flinging the last flaming leaves to the ground with fury and sending them scrambling across the forest floor.

She moved forward, willing her body to run, straining against the bile that rose in her throat and burned her lungs. Rocks and branches leaped up from nowhere in the pathless woods, tripping her, slamming against her with
jarring force. Only Scott’s strong arm around her kept her from falling face-first into the mud.

“Come on, Abby. Can you move faster? We’ve got to keep going.” His voice echoed in her ears, caught in her head, tangled with the Psalm and the pain. Wasn’t she moving? She told her body to move but she couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t feel anything but the cold and the heaviness of her sodden clothes that hung from her body and dragged her down.

“Abby?” Scott’s hands were on her face, his eyes peering into hers with concern. She wanted to smile, to tell him she was okay. She opened her mouth. No words came out.

Scott snapped his fingers near her face. She was vaguely aware of the motion, the sound, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t.

“Abby!” His voice grow more insistent. “Can you hear me? Come on, Abby!”

She looked at him, begging him with her eyes, wanting to cry out for help. He seemed to be so far away, as though she was stuck at the bottom of a deep pit looking up at him.

And then his lips were on hers, warm lips, stealing the cold breath away and melting the frozenness that gripped her. When he pulled away, she smiled drowsily and his face came into focus.

“Can you go on?”

Her head felt heavy as she nodded, and she scrambled forward, leaning most of her weight on him, unsure how much she actually propelled herself forward and how much he simply carried her.

After tripping and stumbling so many times, she hardly noticed falling over a large branch until her face planted hard against the cold earth. The air whooshed from her
lungs and she lay still for one long moment before she gathered the strength to inhale.

Scott lifted her again. His breath felt warm against her cheek. “I’m going to carry you,” he explained as he hoisted her into his arms. Abby didn’t protest, but held on as tightly as her frozen hands could manage. They lurched together as he moved across the uneven ground, and she burrowed her face against his strong shoulder, thrilling at the feel of his warmth against her cheek. Her last conscious thought was of green pastures.

Scott moved as quickly as he could through the dense forest, ducking branches, dodging boulders, picking his way in what he hoped was an easterly-northerly direction, or wherever Abby had pointed. Poor thing. He had to get her to the Ranger’s house before her body temperature dropped any further. What was it he’d learned so many years ago in biology? Once the body’s temperature dropped twenty degrees, it started shutting down. After that, there would be nothing he could do for her. Death would soon follow.

With that thought spurring him on, he picked up his pace as much as he could, running mostly on fear and willpower. He’d taken a pretty bad dunking, too, though his head had never gone underwater as Abby’s had. He’d seen the boulder just before they’d hit it, had leaped free as the wave snapped their canoe like a match. The freezing waters had been enough of a shock to his system, and he was substantially bigger than Abby. Her smaller form had been quickly overcome by the cold. He was impressed she’d made it as far as she had before passing out.

But even now, he wasn’t sure she was completely un
conscious, though her arms hung slack and she slumped like deadweight against him. He could feel her breath tickling his neck, caught whispers of the words she murmured. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow…Thou art with me.”

His heart swelled. She was such a sweet girl, and she’d given it all she had. He couldn’t fail her, he wouldn’t, though his legs trembled now with every step. The sky grew darker, the wind more furious, but he stumbled on.

Scott didn’t know how long he’d been following the road before he realized he was no longer tripping over rocks. The way was smoother here, though still a little uneven and washed out in places. Was he headed in the right direction? He prayed so.

The house appeared out of nowhere. A light shined in the window on the second floor. Scott gripped Abby’s still form more tightly and ran toward it, his legs shaking as he climbed the porch steps. When he pressed the doorbell, he heard the chime echo through the house, and a moment later curious eyes peered out at him.

The door opened and he all but fell inside, warm air hitting his face like scalding steam. Two figures pulled him farther into the house.

“She took a dunking,” he started to explain, but the woman, who wore a green Park Ranger’s uniform just like the man’s, was already tugging at his sleeve, pulling him down the hall.

“We’ve got to get her into the tub, got to get her warmed up in a hurry. Is she conscious?”

“Partly. I think.” Scott sat Abby on the lid of the commode and started working loose the swollen laces of her hiking boots while the woman ran water in the tub.

“It takes a minute for the hot water to push through the
pipes,” she explained, then addressed the old man who hovered in the doorway. “Get the space heater from the front room, Burt. And grab some more towels!” Deciding the temperature was warm enough, she plugged the drain.

Scott tugged off one hiking boot, then the other. His fingers felt stiff and useless against the clinging fabric of Abby’s socks.

“Just stick her in the tub, clothes and all,” the old woman commanded. “It’ll be just as easy to get her clothes off in there.”

Her suggestion made sense to Scott and he lifted Abby again, plunking her into the tub, surprised when she sat upright of her own accord and opened her eyes. “You still with us?” he asked, sliding her socks off and dipping her feet in the inch or two of water that had accumulated. Its warmth burned against his frozen fingers, but he didn’t flinch. It felt good.

Abby looked at him and he watched her face blossom into a smile.

“It’s warm,” she whispered, beaming at him.

He returned her dopey grin but couldn’t think of anything intelligible to say. Instead he gripped her bare foot with one hand and patted it with another, grateful she was alive, grateful to have delivered her so far. Emotions swirled within him like the steaming water that filled the tub, rising upward in a wordless prayer of thanks.

The old woman unzipped Abby’s jacket and pulled her arms free while Burt returned with the space heater. She shooed both men out of the room. “You two get. This guy looks like he could use a bath, too.” She pointed at Scott and closed the door on them.

Scott followed the old man up the stairs to another
bathroom, but didn’t let him so much as turn on the water before explaining, “My family was marooned on Devil’s Island. Could you please get in touch with the Coast Guard and have them send a boat over there to pick up my mother and stepdad?”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” the man said, his weathered face looking concerned, “but there’s a pretty rough squall blowing up out there. Might take them a while to get out there.”

“Then please, hurry, make the call. I can run my own bath. We need to get help over there as soon as possible.” Scott didn’t bother to try to mask his fear. He wouldn’t leave his mother out there, not with a storm blowing up. “My mother’s life may be in danger.”

Abby floated in the blissfully warm water and dipped her head back until only her face broke the surface. The warmth seeped into her bones, slowly easing the dull cold ache from her marrow. Her fingers and toes tingled with delightful prickles that were almost painful, but Abby didn’t care. She could finally feel her feet again. She was alive.

“Praise the Lord,” she said aloud, then gulped in a mouthful of warm, sweet water, letting it run over and between her teeth, which had finally stopped chattering.

The knock at the door startled her.

“It’s just me,” called the woman who’d introduced herself as Elda. She opened the door and set a pile of clothes on the commode. “These might be a little big, but they’re dry. Should work.”

“Thank you,” Abby called out as the door snapped shut. She leaned her head back into the water again. “God bless
Elda,” she said, as the water sloshed over her teeth. She spit out a mouthful. “God bless Burt, and God bless Scott.”

Abby smiled. Scott had saved her life. Her smile broadened. Scott had kissed her.

She felt guilty as she remembered having doubted his intentions. She felt guiltier still when she considered how far he must have carried her through the woods to safety. And his poor mother was still out there, waiting to be rescued. His poor mother and Mitch.

As her mind thawed from its cold stupor, Abby remembered. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to keep them from ever leaving Devil’s Island. Someone who had something to gain from their deaths.

Abby sat up and pulled the drain from the tub. She could have basked in the warmth of the water a lot longer, but she had work to do. Mitch and Marilyn were still alone on Devil’s Island. Abby had no business relaxing until they were both safe.

After quickly drying off and pulling on the generously sized gray sweats Elda had provided, Abby opened the bathroom door to let the steam out of the room, then wiped down the mirror before throwing a dry towel over her shoulders and starting in combing through her long brown hair. Usually it wasn’t too much trouble to comb through it, but she didn’t have any conditioner or detangling spray, and the wind had whipped it into knots long before she’d started her bath. She sighed and got to work.

She was three-quarters of the way finished when Scott came down the hall and paused in the open doorway. He wore a navy blue sweat suit that hung too wide around his middle and too short at the wrists and ankles, though she noticed he still managed to look pretty good in it. Her
heart began to beat faster, and she felt shy as she remembered his kiss. Then she caught sight of his head without his ball cap, and smiled.

“What?” he asked, touching his fingers to his forehead, which was an inch or two higher than it had been in college. He made a face. “Just think—it doesn’t take me very long at all to comb through my hair.”

She shook her head. “I like it. It makes you look distinguished.”

“It makes me look old.”

“I like it,” Abby repeated.

Scott leaned one shoulder against the door frame. If Abby hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might not have noticed the wince he tried to suppress.

“You’re sore.”

“I’m old,” he said, chuckling.

“You’re not old,” she protested, fighting a knot in her hair. “What birthday did you just celebrate? Thirty-one?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You’re not old. You carried the canoe, paddled all the way here in rough weather, and then carried me. You have every right to be sore.”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“And by the way—” Abby kept her eyes on the mirror, but spoke to his reflection “—thank you. You saved my life.”

“You saved mine,” he countered.

Unsure whether she believed him, Abby kept her eyes on the mirror and kept combing. She’d have thought after all they’d been through that she’d have gotten over her schoolgirl crush on him, but instead it seemed to have gotten worse.

Scott reached for the towel she’d left draped over the edge
of the tub. “Elda said she’d throw our clothes and towels in the wash. Burt’s been in touch with the Coast Guard, but the weather’s not cooperating. We can probably have our clothes washed and dried before we’re ready to leave.”