shift. Katie, the fifth person in their merry band of wildlife warriors, stood and clambered clumsily over the marshy grass while Tommy stared sullenly at his boots.
The little shit.
George was now examining each and every strut—something he should have done yesterday, or the day before, or even last frickin’ week. Cam took a few deep breaths through her nose. So far, according to Murphy’s Law, everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
Katie stumbled back over the hill with a couple of new stakes. At least the girl showed some initiative.
“Bring them over here.” Cam gestured, determined to take control of this project and get it back on track.
George muttered as he found another broken strut. The fence shook as he wrenched the offending metal free, but then he cried out and fell back into the water and plunged beneath the surface.
Holy crap!
Cam’s heart banged into high gear. She rushed over and caught his grasping fingers, trying to haul his head above the water. In his panic he pulled her under, cold flashing across her skin as water filled her waders. Fifty pounds heavier, she clambered to her feet, yanking on George’s arm to try and jerk him upright. Vikki, bless her, had rushed into the river and was supporting George’s head above the water.
“My ankle! Oh God! I think it’s broken.” George’s skin was white, his fingernails biting into Cam’s wrists. His foot was trapped beneath a boulder and his face twisted in agony. His hip-waders had filled with water, and the current kept dragging him beneath the surface. Damn. The man could drown if they couldn’t get his foot free. No way Cam could cope with two dead people in two days.
Katie splashed in and grabbed George’s other arm. “What do we do?”
“Tommy! Get on the radio and call up some help,” Cam shouted. “Hold on, George, we’re gonna get you out of here. Hold him upright,” she ordered the girls. Then she took a breath and plunged beneath the surface, finding purchase against the metal grid at her back, using both hands to work George’s foot free of the rock. Even beneath the surface she could hear him scream. She yanked and hoped she wasn’t causing more damage as she struggled with the rubber boot. Finally it slipped free, and George lurched backward as she burst to the surface. He was shaking from agony and shock, the frigid cold contrasting dramatically with the muggy air.
The sound of chopper blades throbbed through the sky. They were in luck. A pilot must have been nearby.
“Can you walk without help?” she yelled, turning back to George.
Clinging to Vikki, George tested his foot but grimaced and shook his head. His skin was bloodless, the color of lard. Cam grabbed one arm and Vikki took the other, hauling him over their shoulders, trying to support his weight. It was rough going, trying to help a one-legged man negotiate the rock-strewn riverbed without breaking any necks. They scrambled over the boulders and finally made it to the edge of the river. Cam’s teeth chattered from the temperature of the ice-fed water. Tommy held out his hand to grab George, whose leg dangled uselessly behind him as he was dragged up the bank. Vikki clambered up and out of the brook. Cam spied Daniel’s familiar blue-and-red helicopter at the landing site and considered the difficulty of getting George over the grassy swamp.
“Vikki, go tell Daniel we need a stretcher—”
“Hell, no.” The girl who’d just helped drag George out of the frigid water now plunked herself on a boulder beside the useless Tommy. “I’m not going anywhere near that psycho.”
Cam’s eyes stretched wide. It wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. Maybe Daniel Fox had pulled that how-to-kill-without-much-blood stunt on her, too. But Vikki wasn’t known for her discretion so it was odd she hadn’t mentioned it already.
Then she spotted him climbing over the small ridge carrying a first aid kit, looking strong and capable, and she
The little shit.
George was now examining each and every strut—something he should have done yesterday, or the day before, or even last frickin’ week. Cam took a few deep breaths through her nose. So far, according to Murphy’s Law, everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.
Katie stumbled back over the hill with a couple of new stakes. At least the girl showed some initiative.
“Bring them over here.” Cam gestured, determined to take control of this project and get it back on track.
George muttered as he found another broken strut. The fence shook as he wrenched the offending metal free, but then he cried out and fell back into the water and plunged beneath the surface.
Holy crap!
Cam’s heart banged into high gear. She rushed over and caught his grasping fingers, trying to haul his head above the water. In his panic he pulled her under, cold flashing across her skin as water filled her waders. Fifty pounds heavier, she clambered to her feet, yanking on George’s arm to try and jerk him upright. Vikki, bless her, had rushed into the river and was supporting George’s head above the water.
“My ankle! Oh God! I think it’s broken.” George’s skin was white, his fingernails biting into Cam’s wrists. His foot was trapped beneath a boulder and his face twisted in agony. His hip-waders had filled with water, and the current kept dragging him beneath the surface. Damn. The man could drown if they couldn’t get his foot free. No way Cam could cope with two dead people in two days.
Katie splashed in and grabbed George’s other arm. “What do we do?”
“Tommy! Get on the radio and call up some help,” Cam shouted. “Hold on, George, we’re gonna get you out of here. Hold him upright,” she ordered the girls. Then she took a breath and plunged beneath the surface, finding purchase against the metal grid at her back, using both hands to work George’s foot free of the rock. Even beneath the surface she could hear him scream. She yanked and hoped she wasn’t causing more damage as she struggled with the rubber boot. Finally it slipped free, and George lurched backward as she burst to the surface. He was shaking from agony and shock, the frigid cold contrasting dramatically with the muggy air.
The sound of chopper blades throbbed through the sky. They were in luck. A pilot must have been nearby.
“Can you walk without help?” she yelled, turning back to George.
Clinging to Vikki, George tested his foot but grimaced and shook his head. His skin was bloodless, the color of lard. Cam grabbed one arm and Vikki took the other, hauling him over their shoulders, trying to support his weight. It was rough going, trying to help a one-legged man negotiate the rock-strewn riverbed without breaking any necks. They scrambled over the boulders and finally made it to the edge of the river. Cam’s teeth chattered from the temperature of the ice-fed water. Tommy held out his hand to grab George, whose leg dangled uselessly behind him as he was dragged up the bank. Vikki clambered up and out of the brook. Cam spied Daniel’s familiar blue-and-red helicopter at the landing site and considered the difficulty of getting George over the grassy swamp.
“Vikki, go tell Daniel we need a stretcher—”
“Hell, no.” The girl who’d just helped drag George out of the frigid water now plunked herself on a boulder beside the useless Tommy. “I’m not going anywhere near that psycho.”
Cam’s eyes stretched wide. It wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. Maybe Daniel Fox had pulled that how-to-kill-without-much-blood stunt on her, too. But Vikki wasn’t known for her discretion so it was odd she hadn’t mentioned it already.
Then she spotted him climbing over the small ridge carrying a first aid kit, looking strong and capable, and she
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