Page 88 of South of Nowhere

“Please, please! Help me. I can’t—”

Speaking of which…

Shaw shouted, “Quiet!”

He was now five feet from him, gripping the rope with hands beginning to cramp from the cold. He knew his core temperature was dropping and he had only ten or so minutes until hypothermia began its inevitable process of confusion, followed by debilitating exhaustion.

Breathing hard, more rope, and yet more.

Nearly there.

A shout: “I’m going to let go. I can’t keep it up. I—”

And Millwood did, slipping under the surface as he was tugged toward the cavern’s opening.

Just before he got there, Shaw lunged and caught the man by the wristwatch, whose leather band he doubted would hold for very long.

“Grab my waistband.”

Millwood did so, and hand over hand, Shaw pulled them both upstream. Slowly, slowly, in the face of the relentless flow.

They came to a tree whose roots had been exposed by the patient onslaught of water. Using the tough tendrils as handholds, he helped Millwood out. The man in turn offered his hand to Shaw and assisted him to the bank. Millwood dropped to his knees. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I wasn’t think—”

Shaw waved his hand to silence him. “I’m going to check out the car. Call nine-one-one.”

38.

The men jogged upstream, where Millwood found his phone to make the call and Shaw slipped the rope around the smooth-barked tree he’d originally used.

He paused, though, taking stock. He was lightheaded. Hypothermia can, of course, be fatal—simply freezing you to death. But it can also disorient you to the point of making very bad decisions, which can also kill you.

But, yes, he decided, he could function.

Now, next to the inverted car, he took a breath and went back into the water.

The passenger side was closest to shore and that was the door and window he’d seen earlier—the one too close to the rocks to escape through. So he made his way around to the other side of the vehicle.

Ah, the window was open and there was a large enough gap between the car and this bank that a person could have squeezed out.

But had she?

Now, to find out…

Reaching inside. No one in the front seats.

And the rear?

He—

Slam!

Shaw jerked under the impact.

And the big gray fish—a muskie—swam indignantly away after grazing his face.

He tried again.

Fiona Lavelle was not here. The car contained only some plastic bags and luggage. Fast-food wrappers. A Starbucks cup. Suspended in space.

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