CHAPTER FORTY
DONOVAN IMMEDIATELY FELT the current pulling him sideways as he kicked downward. Bubbles and foam clouded the water as he searched for Shannon. As he swam, he spotted her below him. She was bent at the waist, tumbling in the turbulence created by the big waves. Her legs were kicking fitfully, arms flailing helplessly as she was battered by the force of the sea.
Using powerful arm strokes, Donovan pulled heavily against the water as he swam closer. Shannon was twisting and desperately reaching up for a surface she couldn’t touch. Donovan came up from behind her, locked his forearm across her chest, and fought off her final panicked blows just before she went limp. He kicked as hard as he could, his injured leg screaming in pain as he propelled them both upward.
With Shannon in his arms, they broke the surface into the early morning sunshine. Donovan drew in a long breath. Holding Shannon’s face above the water, he listened for her to take a breath, but she didn’t. They were swept up the side of a swell, when Donovan spotted the helicopter, alarmed at how far he and Shannon had been carried downwind. Keeping Shannon’s face above the surface, he used his free arm to wave, and they sank beneath the water. Donovan kicked hard and regained their tenuous position above the surface just as they rode the wave down into the trough between the wave tops. He tried to ignore the cold water, and how quickly he seemed to be losing his strength.
Shannon was wearing a life vest, the one he’d given her. Donovan switched arms, still holding her head up and positioned his mouth over the red inflation tube and started blowing. Bubbles gurgled to the surface between them, and Donovan spotted the holes in the material causing the leak. Identical to the holes in the aluminum skin of the Gulfstream, the vests had been peppered by debris from the meteor. He created enough distance between them for him to gather up the rubberized material, bunch it in his hand, and clamp down. Once again, he blew into the tube, and the yellow fabric began to expand and hold. He blew out a sigh of relief when he realized he didn’t need to kick as hard to keep them afloat.
They crested another wave and Donovan saw that the helicopter was even farther away than before. He told himself they were working to get William into the chopper, and once they had him, they’d look for him and Shannon. Clutching the punctured fabric with all his strength, he looked down at Shannon’s face. Her eyes were closed. There was a scrape on her temple where she’d hit her head when they’d ditched. A memory of Buck, a fragment from a conversation spoken in a pool years earlier, came to Donovan. He eased Shannon’s chin up to keep the water out of her airway, placed his mouth over both her mouth and nose, and began mouth-to-mouth breathing.
With growing frustration and fear, he kept going, only stopping when he needed to blow into the tube to keep it inflated. “Shannon, I need you to breathe!”
He listened for the helicopter and tried to spot it each time the wave crested. Even with the assistance from the partially inflated vest, Donovan could feel the energy drain from his body. He had to concentrate to maintain his kicking as the cold Pacific Ocean robbed the warmth from his body. His teeth started chattering. He closed his eyes, and his entire world became counting each breath. Two for Shannon, three for the vest, two for him, then repeat. The bubbles erupting under his chin told him he was losing his grip on the tear in the vest, and they began to settle lower in the water. Donovan kicked harder, vaguely aware that his leg didn’t hurt anymore.
The wind howled as if screaming at him to act, a whistle filled the air, and Donovan felt his grip on Shannon start to slip. He fought to hold her, as well as the rip in the life vest. He blew wildly into the tube and more bubbles surfaced. His hand was mostly numb, but he gripped the material to keep them afloat. As a wave crashed into him, he struggled to keep his grip on Shannon. For so many reasons, he needed her to live. With all of his energy, he focused on saving her.
Donovan felt the hopelessness welling up from within, threatening to paralyze him. It was as if the ocean was toying with his soul, swatting him around, conjuring up the painful images of his past, inexorably linked to bring Donovan to this day, this hour of understanding. He was adrift, being swept out to sea. He continued working on Shannon, trying to save her.
He saw those other waves, the ones from decades ago. The world around him went quiet, and he could picture his mother thrashing to stay afloat, could hear her screaming for him. As Donovan rode up a swell, clutching Shannon, for the first time in his life, he understood he wouldn’t have been able to save his mother. She probably would have pulled them both underwater. He had only been fourteen, terrified, and a far cry from the man he was now. He pictured Abigail; the prospect of her growing up without a father created a tangible shudder that snapped him back to reality. Fear and determination rippled through his entire body, and he used thoughts of Abigail to refocus him, until all Donovan had was Shannon and their next breaths together.
An almost unbearable whistle grew louder as Donovan continued breathing into Shannon’s mouth and nose. A shadow swept over him, and he looked up and found the Eco-Watch helicopter slowing to a hover above him. A figure jumped out of the passenger door and splashed heavily nearby, followed moments later by a second figure. The noise was deafening, and despite his exhaustion, Donovan leaned in and spoke directly into Shannon’s ear. “Keep fighting, we’re almost there. Keep fighting.”
Michael reached him first, rising up from the water next to them. He pulled up his mask and put his arms around both Donovan and Shannon. “I got you, buddy.”
Ethan surfaced next and took Shannon from Donovan. They floated a short distance away with Ethan working to maintain their position.
“We’ll get her aboard, and then you and I will be next,” Michael said.
“William?” Donovan asked as his teeth continued to chatter.
“He’s aboard. Sorry it took us so long to get here.”
“How did you find us?” Donovan asked as he surrendered and let Michael keep him afloat.
“Montero spotted you on the helicopter’s camera. She and Lauren are onboard the Buckley, and they kept us apprised of your position. We were always there, never doubt that, ever.”
Donovan watched as Janie brought the helicopter down closer to the tops of the waves. She positioned the helicopter downwind of Ethan and Shannon. Then she turned broadside to the swell. She timed the maneuver perfectly. As the slope of water swept them upward, Janie guided the helicopter so Ethan, holding Shannon, met the helicopter at the apex of the wave. Ethan reached out and hooked an arm around the skid, and then used their combined momentum to leverage Shannon onto the floor of the passenger compartment. As the wave receded, Ethan kicked his legs out in space and climbed inside. Janie maneuvered the ailing helicopter around in a wide circle to move back into position to retrieve Michael and Donovan.
“We’re next,” Michael said, as he kicked to position the two of them into the trough to catch the next big swell. “I know how you feel about all of this—mixing big waves with helicopters has got to suck.”
“I can’t kick very well,” Donovan said.
“Never mind, just relax. I’ll get us to the helicopter. Ethan will be waiting to help pull you inside.”
Donovan felt the sea begin to propel them upwards. Downwash from the beating blades churned the surface, and faster than he expected, the sky was filled with helicopter. Ethan’s arms joined Michael’s as the two of them were propelled into the passenger compartment.
As Janie banked away, Donovan spotted William, who was lying on his back. He felt a surge of relief to see his chest rising and falling. Ethan had already started steady CPR compressions on Shannon. Donovan rested his head, closed his eyes for a second, and then signaled for Michael to lean closer. “We’re not done yet. I saw people trapped on the old fishing wharf in Monterey.”
“How many?” Michael asked. “Can we pick them up with the helicopter?”
Donovan shook his head. “There’s at least a hundred, maybe more.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“WE’VE GOT ALL of them aboard,” Janie’s voice came through the speaker. “Donovan is injured but seems to be fine. No change for William. Shannon is unresponsive and they’re doing CPR.”
“This is the Buckley,” Ryan said into the microphone. “Say your intentions.”
“Buckley,” Janie transmitted. “Prepare to receive the injured. There’s no way I can fly this helicopter over any terrain to reach medical help inland.”
“Buckley copies,” Ryan radioed in return.
Lauren closed her eyes and took a moment to collect herself. She and Montero had watched intently via camera as Donovan and Shannon were being swept farther out to sea. When Michael and Ethan finally pulled William aboard the helicopter, Lauren was able to guide them straight to Donovan, unaware that Shannon wasn’t breathing. When the helicopter arrived overhead, she realized that her husband was performing mouth-to-mouth on Shannon.
“Buckley,” Janie said. “Donovan just informed us that there are maybe a hundred or more survivors stranded on the old fishing wharf in Monterey harbor.”
Ryan turned and scanned the shore with his binoculars. “Lauren, can we get a real-time picture of what’s going on? Are those people still alive?”
“We’re cut off.” Lauren looked at her phone and confirmed that there were no missed calls or texts. “Martial law has put us in the dark. Even if Cal Air or the Air Force would take my call, the last thing they’d give us is information on the potential collateral damage of civilian lives.”
“Helm, set a course for Monterey, and maintain flank speed,” Ryan said and then picked up the microphone. “Janie, we’re changing course toward the pier, running at twenty-two knots. If needed, we can slow for you when you arrive.”
“No worries,” Janie said. “Landing isn’t a problem. Just have the medical team ready for our arrival.”
Lauren felt the ship heel over in the turn. She stood up from the chart table and scanned the horizon for the helicopter. The shoreline was a whirling cauldron of smoke and fire, and the sea between them and the shore roiled with almost solid whitecaps that were still building. Off the port bow, she finally spotted the helicopter, low and slow, flying almost directly into the wind.
Lauren’s phone pinged. She quickly read the text and then announced, “I just got a text from the Pentagon. They’re ordering us away from shore, said that we’re in violation of martial law.”
Ryan picked up the microphone, paused a second, and began talking. “This is Captain Pittman. We have a helicopter inbound and we need personnel and stretchers to transport three survivors directly to the infirmary. I want all crew to go to action stations. We’re headed at full speed toward Monterey Bay to pull survivors off a pier. I need everyone to be sharp. Pittman out.”
Lauren started for the hatch with Montero a step behind. As they stepped out onto the exposed helipad, the wind, which was howling from starboard, hit them full force. Lauren put her hand on the railing for support as the deck tilted. The bow dropped to meet a wave and as the water exploded outward, the noise wasn’t unlike the sound of a car wreck. Lauren flexed her legs as the Buckley, unscathed, continued toward the shore.
“The hull is ice capable,” Montero said. “Four inches of reinforced steel can take a beating. From listening to Ethan, these seas are nothing compared to what they’ll encounter up north.”
In between the roar of sea and steel, Lauren could hear a distant rumble. The shoreline at this point looked to be only smoke and flames. Somewhere just beyond, the Air Force was still laying down explosives to try to stop the fire.
“Here they come,” Montero said, pointing off to the left as crewmen began collecting around the perimeter of the helipad. A single crewman in a bright orange jacket held fluorescent paddles in each outstretched hand and stood tall on the deck.
Low and off the port side, the helicopter drew even with the ship. Janie slowed and was paralleling the Buckley. Lauren plugged her ears with her fingers as the shriek from the rotor blades grew painful. Both machine and rotor blades fought the buffeting winds as Janie pivoted the helicopter ninety degrees to the right and moved toward the pad.
Janie brought the struggling helicopter in and hovered briefly above the pitching, rolling deck as the crewman with the paddles gave her instant feedback. The second the skids touched, Janie dumped the collective, killing all the lift as crewmen ran from each side and secured the helicopter to the deck. Janie shut down the engines and the rotor blades screeched to a halt from the rotor brake.
Lauren bolted toward the door.
“Bring the stretchers!” a crewman shouted as he opened the door to the cabin.
Montero pulled open the cockpit door to check on Janie.
Lauren stood on the skid. She spotted Donovan. He had his arms around William, steadying him. He turned when he saw her, tried to smile, but couldn’t. Lauren thought he looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.
With no wasted motion, crewmen secured William on the first stretcher, and an instant later, he was off the helicopter, being rushed to the infirmary.
On the other side of the cabin, Michael and Ethan were leaning over Shannon performing CPR as a crewman climbed into the cabin with stretcher number two.
“I thought I heard something!” Michael cried out as he leaned down and placed an ear on Shannon’s chest. “Ethan, don’t stop!”
Lauren could finally see Shannon’s face. Her skin was shock white, her wet hair matted to her forehead and neck. She looked small and frail.
“Come on, Shannon!” Michael cried out as once again he leaned down to listen. “You’re on the Buckley. Open your eyes!”
Shannon sputtered, shook her head back and forth, and heaved seawater onto the floor. Taking one huge gasp after another, she drew in much-needed air. Lauren looked across the cabin and watched as Donovan closed his eyes, knowing a great weight had just been released from her husband.
When Shannon opened her eyes, she momentarily fought against the hands that held her. “Shannon, it’s Michael,” he said. “Breathe, slow and deep. You’re on the Buckley.”
Her eyes grew wide and she turned her head, confused. Ethan gathered her up in his arms and handed her to several waiting crewmen. They placed Shannon on a stretcher and whisked her below deck.
Montero worked her way from the cockpit to Ethan, where she moved in close and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
As a crewman tried to help Donovan out of the helicopter, Lauren saw him wave him off, and call out to Michael. “I’ll catch up with you. Go take care of the others.”
As everyone moved off, Lauren went to her husband and wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. She felt his arms close around her, and despite his cold, wet clothes, they held each other for what seemed like forever.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Lauren whispered as she pulled away and kissed him. Donovan held her face in his hands and returned the embrace.
“I got here as fast as I could,” Donovan said.
Lauren wanted to cry in relief as she thought back over everything that had transpired over the last twelve hours.
“I want to hear all about it—later. Right now, I need you to help me out of the helicopter,” Donovan said.
Lauren steadied him as he limped to the door. Janie was there and with their help, Donovan slid from the helicopter to the helipad and quickly hugged Janie. “Like I told Lauren, I want to hear everything that happened, but later. What’s the helicopter’s status? Can you take a team to the wharf?”
“No way,” Janie said as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. She’s got really messed-up rotor blades. The vibrations finally started shaking important things apart. I was getting a bit nervous those last ten minutes. We’re lucky we made it back to the ship.”
“Well, you made my day,” Donovan said. “I understand you’re friends with Shannon. I’d like you to go be with her. She’s had a rough go of it. See if you can do anything for her.”
“You bet,�
�� Janie said.
“Attention on the deck,” Captain Pittman’s voice sprang from the loudspeakers. “Heads up, we’ve got two F-18s inbound, twelve o’clock, two miles out, intentions unknown.”
Lauren spotted the fighters—they were coming low and fast. Seconds later, they flashed overhead, followed by the excruciatingly loud roar of their jet engines. Lauren felt like the Pentagon had just slapped her across the face, and her anger spiked. The Global Hawk was recording every violation Eco-Watch was committing. Shut out of the loop and told to go away, she stepped away from Donovan and strode out from beneath the helicopter. Exposed, out on the heaving foredeck, Lauren looked up at the sky and raised her arm, offering her middle finger in a hi-resolution statement as to how she was feeling.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THE BUCKLEY’S HEAVY bow destroyed waves and exploded them outward as the ship continued its relentless charge toward shore. Limping and leaning on Lauren for support, Donovan walked onto the Buckley’s bridge and shook Ryan’s hand.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in the infirmary?” Ryan said as he stepped back and noticed Donovan’s leg.
“It looks worse than it is,” Donovan said then changed the subject. “Lauren just explained to me that the area is under martial law and we’ve been ordered to withdraw. How far out are we from shore?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Ryan said. “I’ve got an overlay of the harbor. I’d like to know exactly what you saw. Where are those people?”
Donovan followed Ryan to one of the large computer screens used by the helmsman. He stood behind the crewman and studied the screen. He studied the image, a full-color chart of Monterey harbor, with contours denoting depths and clearly marked obstacles. The pier in question was shaped like a twelve-hundred-foot hockey stick, jutting out from the shore and creating the northeast breakwater for the marina. The final section angled thirty degrees from the longer initial portion. Donovan pointed at the spot and turned toward Ryan. “Right here, at the end of the pier, is where I saw the bulk of the people. We were flying low and there was smoke and flames, but I estimate there could be as many as a hundred, probably more.”
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