Part 3
Rowan set the point of the punch against the upper corner of the hatch glass and pressed. The spring snapped. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. Then the entire pane turned pale with thousands of cracks and folded inward in a soft collapse of glass cubes.
Claire screamed inside. Rowan pulled back, afraid he had misjudged the waterline, but only a wash of dark water and loose safety glass spilled across the hatch lip. The cabin was already nearly equalized with the river. The vehicle stayed against the concrete.
“Glass is out,” Rowan shouted. “Keep your faces covered.”
He used the hook to sweep the top edge and knocked loose the remaining pellets with his gloved hand. The opening was wider than the old quarter window, but only its upper part sat above the water. Through it he saw Evan’s forehead, blood running from his hairline, the white oval of Claire’s face behind him, and a loop of gray webbing high across her hips.
They were crowded into the rear cargo area, their bodies folded against the sloping hatch. Claire’s left arm hung close to her body. Evan had already told Rowan the rest of the webbing was trapped beneath the buckled second-row frame, hidden by the muddy water.
“Life jacket first.”
Rowan pushed the spare PFD through the opening. Evan took it with hands that shook so badly he missed the strap twice. He got it around Claire, but the trapped belt held her low.
Rowan tied a short cord to the guarded cutter and passed it through. “Hook the webbing and pull toward you. Keep the guard against her clothes.”
Evan nodded once. He vanished below the lip of the hatch.
The jon boat slewed outward. Vic corrected with the motor, one hand on the tiller and the other braced against the forward seat.
“Six inches left,” he said.
Rowan glanced at the exposed glass line. Vic meant between the river and the top of the opening.
Inside the crossover, Evan grunted. The cutter slipped from his fingers and snapped tight on the cord. Rowan hauled it back and forced himself not to reach in and do the work blind.
“Again,” Claire said.
Her voice was faint but steady. Evan looked at her. Whatever passed between them had no room for argument. He took the cutter again, submerged his right hand, and worked by touch.
The belt parted. Claire rose abruptly in the PFD, striking her head against the hatch frame. Evan caught her around the waist. Rowan grabbed the jacket at both shoulders and pulled while Evan pushed from inside.
For one ugly second, Claire’s injured arm wedged beneath her. She made a low sound and stopped moving.
“Turn her right side toward me,” Rowan said. “Claire, tuck your chin. I’ve got the jacket. Evan, lift on three.”
They moved together. Her shoulders cleared, then her hips, and the river took hold of her legs. Rowan pulled her across the narrow gap while Vic held the boat against the outward shove.
Claire came over the gunwale hard enough to ring the aluminum. She curled on the floor between the benches, coughing and dragging in air. Her whole body shook. Without leaving the controls, Vic tossed Rowan a dry blanket and waterproof emergency wrap from the first-aid bag. Rowan covered her torso and tucked the edges close.
Marlow went still in the crate. Claire heard him breathe or scratch—Rowan never knew which. She pushed one hand from beneath the blanket.
“Marlow?”
Rowan turned the crate so she could see through the slots. The cat pressed his wet face to them and gave one cracked, furious cry.
Claire shut her eyes. Her hand remained on the crate while Vic held the boat in position under power.
“Evan,” Rowan called. “Your turn. Get the second life jacket on, then put the strap under your arms.”
Rowan pushed the second PFD through. Evan managed the front buckle, then Rowan fed the long end of the cam-buckle strap through the hatch, keeping the buckle outside. Evan tried to work the webbing behind himself, but his movements had become slow and strangely careful. He stared at it as if it were a piece of machinery he had never seen.
“Stay with me,” Claire said from the floor. “Evan, look at Rowan.”
He did. His lips had lost their color.
“I put the cat through,” he said. “The little window. I thought—”
“You got him out,” Rowan said. “Now get the strap behind you.”
Evan obeyed. He passed the loose end behind his back and under one arm, then stopped, eyes closing.
The crossover moved. It did not lurch free. It settled with a slow, metallic groan, scraping lower against the abutment. The last strip of the hatch opening dipped beneath the river and rose again. Water surged over Evan’s mouth.
Rowan reached through the broken glass, grabbed the loose end, and dragged it beneath Evan’s far arm. He brought it back through the hatch and fed it into the buckle, closing the strap beneath Evan’s armpits. The sharp edge of the frame bit into his PFD. His wrist slid past a torn piece of trim.
Something caught. The blue braid pulled tight around his wrist. Rowan tried to turn his hand and felt the cord cinch harder, fixing his forearm inside the vehicle.
“Back out,” Vic said.
“Caught.”
Vic shoved the tiller over to keep the boat from peeling away. The gap between hull and hatch opened six inches, then eight. Rowan’s shoulder stretched across it.
“Cut it.”
For fifteen years, Rowan had never removed the braid. Danny had made it from blue dock line the week before he died, melting the ends with a match and flattening them with the side of his father’s wrench. Rowan had replaced jackets, gloves, watches, and every other thing that wore out against his skin. The cord had only faded.
He drew the rescue knife with his free hand and sliced once. The braid parted. Half vanished beneath the hatch trim; the other half washed down his wrist and dropped into the river. Rowan did not watch it go. He cinched the strap and shoved its tail back to Vic.
“Pull!”
Vic kept one hand on the tiller, locked his leg against the center bench, and hauled with the other. Evan’s upper body cleared the opening, but his knees remained inside. Rowan shifted his grip beneath the man’s arm and felt him go slack.
“Evan, kick.”
Evan’s eyes opened. He kicked once, found the hatch lip, and pushed. Vic kept the strap taut while Rowan guided his head and shoulders over the frame.
Rowan guided him across the gunwale while Vic held the strap from the stern. Evan collapsed beside Claire, breathing in short, wet sounds. She tried to reach him with her good hand, but Rowan kept her covered and turned Evan onto his side, then pulled the second dry blanket over his torso.
The dispatcher’s voice came from the phone on the bench. “Rescue One has visual on you. They are entering the eddy now.”
An inflatable fire-rescue boat rounded the broken approach with two helmeted responders at its bow. Its operator held position downstream while one responder stepped into the jon boat with a compact oxygen kit. He took one look at Evan and opened the kit beside him.
“We have two adults, cold-water exposure, possible aspiration,” Vic said. “Female is conscious, injured shoulder, says seven weeks pregnant. Male’s fading but breathing.”
The responder nodded and moved with practiced economy. He fitted oxygen to Evan, checked Claire, added an insulated layer around Evan’s chest, and told them to head for the mill landing with the rescue boat close behind. The jon boat settled lower under the added weight. Rowan returned to the stern; Vic handed him the tiller and transferred the kill-switch clip back to Rowan’s vest.
Marlow began throwing himself against the crate again as the jon boat pulled away.
“Leave the vehicle,” the responder said. “We’ll mark it. There’s nobody else?”
Claire turned her face toward the half-submerged crossover. Her eyes moved once over the dark roof and the hole where the cat had escaped.
“Nobody else.”
Rowan advanced the throttle. A submerged limb struck the prop and kicked the tiller against his palm. The old outboard shuddered, hesitated, then caught and drove them out of the eddy. Behind them, the crossover sank another inch but remained pressed against the concrete, empty now except for river water and a short piece of blue cord.
At the landing, Fire Chief Mara Collins caught the bow line while two firefighters steadied the boat. Paramedics lifted Claire and Evan onto stretchers and worked beneath blankets to remove the wet outer layers and warm them. Oxygen masks hid most of their faces while a medic attached leads to Evan’s chest.
Claire caught the sleeve of the paramedic beside her.
“Pregnant,” she said distinctly. “About seven weeks.”
“I heard. We’re taking care of you first, and the hospital will check the pregnancy as soon as you’re stable.”
“Don’t tell me it’s fine if you don’t know.”
The medic met her eyes. “I don’t know yet.”
Claire nodded. It seemed to cost her more than crying would have.
Animal control arrived with a rigid carrier and dry towels. Rowan watched Marlow transferred, still spitting with fear but too tired to fight much. The officer read the owner information from the green tag, wrote down the hospital, and promised the cat would go directly to the county veterinary clinic for warming and examination.
Only after both ambulances left did Rowan notice the rain had stopped. Vic sat on the trailer tongue, elbows on his knees. His face had gone gray with fatigue. Rowan stood beside the boat and looked at the clean strip of skin around his left wrist.
His phone vibrated inside his jacket. JUNE, the screen said. He had promised to be home before her nebulizer finished. Rowan answered. His mother did not say hello. “Rowan Daniel Beck…”
To read the rest of the story – CLICK the NEXT button 👇👇👇