He bumped into Monk, who had liberated his own package. He hugged Ollie under one arm. The old man lolled loosely, unconscious, possibly drowned. Gray had checked on the pilot shortly after the crash. He was dead, still strapped in place, a large chunk of metal pierced through his throat.
No hope there.
With everything they needed, Monk and Gray kicked out of the open hatch and into the twilight waters. Sun and air were far overhead. They’d never make it to the surface on their own, especially not in time for any hope of resuscitating Ollie. But Gray owed the old man his life. He intended to return the favor.
Gray passed his rubber package to Monk. Air bubbled from his friend’s lips as his prosthetic hand clamped hard to the rope handle dangling from the cube. He read the agony in Monk’s eyes, imagined he looked the same. If the cold didn’t kill them, the lack of air soon would.
Gray grasped Monk’s belt with one arm, ready to hug Ollie between them. But first he reached and tugged the cord on the compressed air cartridge alongside the cube.
With one pull, the Rapid Deployment Craft inflated, swelling open overhead into a yellow life raft. Normally, RDCs were tossed out of aircraft to drowning sailors. Gray hoped that putting one to this new use would rescue them. The raft’s buoyancy immediately began tugging them upward — at first slowly, then more and more rapidly.
In a matter of seconds, they were rocketing through the water.
Gray held tightly to Monk and Ollie as they flew toward the surface. The waters grew rapidly lighter around them. Gray relieved his screaming need for oxygen by letting air escape his chest, blowing out, tricking his lungs into thinking he was about to inhale.
He hoped it wasn’t just a trick.
His vision narrowed from lack of oxygen, darkening his view, making it hard for him to tell how much farther they had to go.
Then, like a cork from a champagne bottle, they shot out of the water. The raft leaped free, clearing the waves, tossing them high. They all flew, crashing back to the sea. Gray managed to keep his grip on Ollie. Monk kept hold of the raft.
Gray sputtered, gasping, coughing out seawater. Monk towed the raft to his side, a tiny rescue lamp blinking brightly from its bow. They clambered out of the icy waters, limbs shaking, teeth chattering. Gray sprawled Ollie across the raft while Monk quickly checked him.
“Not breathing, but I got a weak pulse.”
Monk rolled the man over and began pumping his chest. It was difficult on the floating, rubbery surface. Still, water flowed from Ollie’s lips and nose. Once he was satisfied, Monk flipped him back over. The old man’s skin looked a frightening grayish purple. But Monk’s medical training would not let him give up. He began mouth-to-mouth.
Gray offered a silent prayer heavenward. He owed Ollie a debt. And it had already cost them too much to come to this damned island. Gray shrugged off the backpack he’d stolen from the civilian member of the commando team. He let it drop to the raft. He’d recovered it from the helicopter. He wasn’t about to leave it behind. It was all they had to show for this mission.
But at what price?
He searched the waters around the raft. He pictured Seichan being ripped away from him, vanishing out of the cabin in a swirling tempest. He didn’t hold out much hope. She couldn’t survive more than a few minutes in these icy waters.
Where could she go?
Gray looked around, but thick smoke covered the seas south of the island, swallowing everything up. He could see no more than a handful of yards in any direction. The air reeked of burning brimstone and salt, but at least for the moment it was warm.
Overhead, the sun was a dull orange blur. Brighter by far was the nearby island. The ruins of Ellirey lay only a couple of hundred yards away. It was a dark shadow topped by a crown of fire. Flames splashed high into the air while ribbons of glowing lava flowed down its sides. Steam rimmed the broken shores, marking the spot where molten rock seeped into the icy waters.
All the while the world rumbled and roared.
They were still far too close to the island.
This became clear as a deafening boom sounded, accompanied by a fountain of fire bursting from the island’s heart. Smoke swirled more fiercely while a cloud of fine hot ash began to rain out of the sky, sizzling into the water, stinging any exposed skin. Large rocks struck the water, unseen through the smoke, but heard as loud splashes.
A smaller cough drew Gray’s attention.
Ollie heaved and coughed again. More water spilled from his lips and nose. Monk knelt back, looking relieved. He helped the old man sit up. The caretaker stared blearily around him.
His voice was hoarse. “I knew I’d always end up in helviti.”
Monk clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not in hell yet, old man.”
Ollie glanced around. “You sure?”
Flakes of ash began to fall more heavily, drifting like fiery snow, beginning to cover the water in a fine layer. A large blazing cinder struck one of the boat’s pontoons. Before it could be brushed away, it melted through the polyurethane surface. Air hissed out, escaping rapidly, deflating that side.
“We need to get farther away from the island,” Gray warned. “Out of this ash cloud. We’ll have to paddle by hand.”
“Or we can just hitch a ride,” Monk said, pointing behind Gray.
The loud burst of an air horn split across the water.
Gray turned. The bow of a large boat pushed out of the smoke and headed their way, a ghostly but familiar apparition.
It was Captain Huld’s fishing trawler.
The boat slid alongside them, expertly piloted by Huld’s son.
The captain called from the open deck, wearing a wide grin. “What the fjandanum did you do to my island?”
Huld met them at the stern deck and helped them aboard. Ollie, still weak, had to be carried, slung between Monk and Gray.
“A bunch of drowned rats, the lot of you,” Huld scolded. “Come. We’ve got blankets and dry clothes below.”
“How did you find us?” Gray asked.
“Spotted that little blinkin’ light of yours.” He pointed to the emergency LED at the raft’s bow. “Plus we couldn’t leave the area till we found you. She wouldn’t have it.”
From the wheelhouse, a lithe form limped out, wrapped in a blanket, her left leg bandaged from calf to midthigh.
Seichan…
Gray came close to dropping Ollie in a sudden desire to rush forward.
Monk swore in surprise.
“Darnedest thing,” Huld said. “That same pod of orcas we saw earlier has been hugging our sides since the fireworks began, like frightened kids hanging on to our skirts. Then suddenly the whole lot of ’em goes and sinks away. Thought they were abandoning us. Only half a minute later, they pop back up with your woman, nearly drowned, and nosed her over to the boat.”
Gray knew that the term killer in killer whales was a misnomer. In the wild, no orca had ever attacked a human. In fact, just as it was with their close relative, the dolphin, there were reported cases of orcas protecting humans in the water.
It seemed the playful pod — fed and respected by Huld — had returned that affection today.
Seichan hobbled over to join them, looking more angry than relieved. “I could’ve made it to the surface on my own.”
Huld shrugged. “They did not think so. And they know these waters better than you, my stúlka.”
She scowled.
“I’ve got Ollie,” Monk said, shifting the caretaker’s weight. “I need to get him somewhere warm, do a more thorough exam. He swallowed a lot of seawater.”
They all had, but Gray urged Monk to do as he’d suggested.