Jack and Eric rushed to his side and propped Stacie’s uncle against a fallen log.
“Jesus, Ernie, how the hell did you get here?” Jack asked.
Ernie struggled for breath and was clearly in shock. He pointed a shaky finger toward the bay. “St…Stacie. She was taken by some guy from the plane crash.”
“Oh shit!” Eric muttered. “Stacie’s here with you?”
“Yeah,” Ernie replied. “Her and I were going to see Paul. She wanted to tell him about the baby.”
“What baby?” Jack and Eric asked simultaneously.
“Her baby. Their baby. She’s pregnant and wants to tell him.”
“What happened to you?” Jack asked. “What happened to your head?”
“Shot,” Ernie muttered. “Some big guy came out of the woods. We tussled a bit, and I was going to kick his ass.” He paused to try and remember how he went from dominating the brawl to laying flat on his back. “Sonavabitch pulled a pistol and shot me.”
“Good thing you’re a tough old bastard, huh?” Jack tried to lighten the mood.
Then the three of them froze in fear. They all listened as several shots echoed from the bay. The sound was faint, a small caliber firearm for sure. It was nothing like the HK from Blankenship or the .357 the Canadian was shooting. Their years of hunting and shooting told them the sound came from a .22 caliber pistol or rifle. But who’s?
A couple more shots echoed in the distance.
“What the hell is going on?” Eric had no idea that the sound he was hearing was Blankenship firing his pistol at Paul.
“I don’t know, but it’s not the shotgun Paul was carrying.”
“Think he’s okay?” Eric asked.
“The big fella,” Ernie started, “had a small pistol. Maybe a .22. I think that’s what we just heard.”
“Eric, we’ve gotta find Stacie!” Jack exclaimed.
Eric was on the move before Jack could finish the sentence. “Stay with Ernie, I’ll find Stacie.” He took off in a sprint, darting between the pines and crisscrossing over Stacie and Blankenship’s tracks. His clothes were still damp and made his stride sluggish, but he persevered. He ran with fear in his veins. He ran like he’d never ran before. And he ran with purpose.
Eric realized that when they saw Blankenship on the ice, he was alone. Stacie was never with him at the bay. Where was Stacie then? Were they too late? Was she already dead?
Eric knew it might be too late. He raced even harder, thinking about how his brother would react to the news.
Chapter 23 / Never Give Up
Paul was starting to feel the temperature of the water affect his muscles. Blood leaked from the hole in his hand. His fingers were stiff, and his back was teasing to cramp up. He tucked the .38 Special into his belt, flipped around and made a bold decision. A few powerful dolphin kicks, working with the current, sent him down the river. His big hands pulled through the water as he kicked with every bit of power he could muster.
He was swimming harder than he had ever swum before—away from his struggling wife and her attacker. It was a risk, but he knew it was the only chance to get back to the surface. He went deep so that he could see the fishing holes. The light barely penetrated the water at 12 feet down, but this helped him see the holes that he and his brothers had drilled through the ice.
The perforations in the ice formed a straight line, spaced 20 feet or more apart. The dull sunlight shined through the holes, lighting them up like street lights above. Paul followed the path until he found his target.
The large hole in the ice from the plane’s initial impact was just 30 more feet, so Paul pointed his fingers upward, and dolphin kicked twice to rise to the surface. His lungs were burning now, begging for fresh oxygen, but he denied them the pleasure. He began to exhale, relieving the tired lungs from the build-up of carbon dioxide as he approached the ice above him.
Paul’s head finally broke the surface of the water, and he grabbed the broken and jagged ice to keep himself from slipping under. Once he oriented himself, he found Stacie and Blankenship in his vision.
Paul knew it would take him about ten seconds to run across the ice, but he was optimistic that Stacie could hold on that long. He put both hands on the ice and pulled himself up, but not enough. He tried again and again. His tired muscles seemed to reject his mental commands. Blood spilled from his hand and coated the slick ice, making the surface even more slippery. He could not get out of the water.
Frustration grew in his head. He was a champion swimmer. He’d picked himself out of the pool a thousand times with the ease of a seal. He realized that was 9 years and 15 pounds ago. To add to the incumbrance, his wet clothes added another 20 pounds and the slippery ice gave him no assistance.
Paul propped himself the best he could on his elbows. The broken ice stabbed his armpits, and he knew this was as far as he was going to get out of the water. He pulled the Taurus revolver from his waistband and cocked the hammer.
Blankenship was straddling Stacie with his back to Paul. Luckily, Blankenship’s long arms prevented him from having to bend forward too far which left his back exposed as Paul’s target.
Paul peered down the four-inch barrel, lined up the front sight on Blankenship’s back and squeezed the trigger.
Boom!
The shot sailed high and left, missing Blankenship’s head by a foot. He readjusted and compensated for his error and squeezed another shot from the pistol.
Boom!
The elevation was perfect—he hoped—but the bullet still went left. He figured the broken bone in his hand was causing him to pull left with each shot. Three rounds were left in the cylinder, and he needed to make them count. He peeked down the barrel again, readjusted his grip, and centered Blankenship in the front sight. The tight grip on the pistol was agonizing to his right hand, but he kept the pressure and blocked the pain from his mind. The distance from the barrel to its target was 70 yards—a difficult shot even with a rifle. Right now, Paul needed a miracle to hit Blankenship and stop him from taking the life of his wife and the baby growing in her womb.
Boom!
Again, the bullet missed.
Paul’s numb body was cramping. His entire body violently shook from the cold, but his hands were steady. He envisioned his father standing behind him, giving directions to shoot. “Take a deep breath. Now exhale half of it slowly. Hold it. Squeeze the trigger gently; let it surprise you.”
He followed his father’s guidance.
Boom! Thwap!
Paul heard the bullet hit Blankenship in the middle of his back. The bodyguard reeled with an arching back. He let go of Stacie’s throat long enough for her to gasp for air. The bodyguard had the wind knocked out of him, and now he was the one struggling to breathe. But when Blankenship saw how far Paul was shooting from, he decided the fisherman had just gotten lucky. Enraged, he continued his attack on Stacie, and when he finished, the husband would be next.
Paul realized Blankenship was wearing a bulletproof vest. The little victory of hitting his target slipped away, as he would soon slip under the ice. He had one shot left. One chance to save his wife. One bullet to put through that sonovabitch’s head.
Boom!
Blankenship felt the fifth and final shot rip through the back of his left arm. The tricep muscles exploded and the humerus bone split in half. The arm was useless now, and he gave up choking Stacie for a moment. Stacie seized the opportunity to suck in more oxygen before his right hand clamped around her throat again.
“I’m gonna squeeze the fuckin life out of you, bitch. Then I’m going to finish your husband!”
He was so close to her face, drool spilled from his mouth as he salivated from the thought of victory. He was sweating now, and she could smell his rotten breath in her nostrils.
Stacie’s eyes closed. She didn’t want his face to be the last thing she ever saw. She thought visions of Paul and her baby would flood her mind. She thought her whole life was going to flash before her eyes—wa
sn’t that what was supposed to happen? She relaxed her body and waited for the visions. The quick slideshow of her life never played.
Instead, a green coffee cup flashed into her mind. She saw herself sitting at Aunt Marie’s table with her hands gripped around the warm mug. She read the words she had traced with her finger earlier that day. “Never give up on the things you love.”
Her eyes popped open; adrenaline flooded her veins. She was not going to give up on her baby. She was not going to give up on Paul.
Stacie straight-armed Blankenship’s bony chin with her right palm. His bottom and top teeth smashed together. The attacker straightened with the blow, giving Stacie enough room to bring her right leg up and hook his left shoulder. Blankenship could not stop her leg after Paul’s bullet shattered his upper arm bone. Stacie grabbed his limp arm and twisted. The bone fragments sounded like raw spaghetti cracking inside his arm. With all her strength, she pushed him back with her leg.
The bodyguard flipped backward, releasing his grip and cracked his head against the solid ice. They both rolled away from each other. Stacie gasped for air while Blankenship shook off a minor concussion. Paul watched the drama unfold, helpless in the hole that he was sure would be his grave.
“Thatta girl,” Paul whispered with his weakening voice. “Kick his ass.”
But Blankenship wasn’t done yet. He struggled to his knees and smiled at Paul. Paul tried to fight his way out of the ice again. He could feel the current, although slower here, pulling at his legs and threatening to drag him under the ice. He tried to kick his feet, to give him a push, but the heavy boots hindered the effort. The loss of blood and hypothermia were starting to take their toll. Muscles cramped throughout his body and his legs were resisting his commands to keep kicking.
Why was Blankenship so smug? When the answer came, Paul had regretted the question.
Blankenship held up the shotgun that Paul had brought with him from Andy’s. The gun was hidden in the snow until Blankenship rolled over and inadvertently landed on it. He held it so Paul could see the prize in his hands.
“The Canadian was right,” Paul thought. “He is a lucky bastard.” Paul had one shot left with the pistol. He’d wait for Blankenship to stand and present himself as a larger target.
Blankenship took his time. He taunted Paul by pointing the gun in his direction. Then he pointed it at Stacie and back at Paul—a sadistic game of eeny, meany, miny, mo.
“Come and get me, you bastard!” Paul screamed, forcing his voice to work. “Come on! What are waiting for?” He wanted Blankenship to forget about Stacie. He wanted the battered bodyguard to make his way across the ice. Then he’d deliver the final bullet into Blankenship’s skull.
Blankenship didn’t take the bait. He set the gun upright on the ice and used it to prop himself up. Paul’s eyes scanned the woods. Where was the Canadian?
The Canadian was nowhere to be found. Paul took aim with Ozzy’s pistol, but struggled to keep the front sight trained on its target. He was shaking uncontrollably now.
Blankenship just stared at Paul with an audacious smile across his lips. He paused to regain his breath and find a small surge of energy, but his hesitation was a mistake.
Stacie had already recovered from Blankenship’s attack.
Blankenship wasn’t the only one to get lucky and find something in the snow. He never saw Stacie sneak up behind him. He never saw her pick up the five-foot-long steel ice spud. And, he never saw it coming when she swung it with all her might, breaking two vertebrae in his neck.
Blankenship hit the ice limp. His torso rolled to the left, and he laid half-twisted, looking to the sky. Stacie dropped the heavy ice spud and collapsed to her knees in exhaustion and relief.
Paul smiled and whispered as if she could hear him, “Thatta girl.” Tears burst from his eyes at the satisfying sight of watching his wife kneel in victory.
Paul’s head slumped to the ice as the exhaustion overtook him. He’d been in the water too long and used every ounce of energy trying to free himself from the frigid trap that threatened to take him under. His boots, full of water, weighed him down as the current pulled. His grip slipped, and he felt himself going under. His face was just inches away from being completely submerged.
Stacie saw Paul sinking out of sight. Somehow, she recovered from Blankenship’s assault like someone had flipped a switch. She sprung from her knees and bolted across the ice with all of her speed. Within 12 seconds, she was at the hole, only to see Paul lose his grip and drop under the water. He kicked weakly at the dark water when he saw her standing over him, but he was succumbing to the unyielding power of the Raquette River.
Stacie dove onto her belly and reached into the 40 degree water. She was able to grab three fingers on Paul’s ungloved hand, but the grip was starting to break. Then she heard footsteps—no, foot stomps! Boots running across the ice, thumping louder and louder as someone approached.
Stacie didn’t dare take her eyes off Paul. She didn’t care if it was Blankenship coming to finish her off. Without Paul, she had nothing to live for. A voice cried out that she could hardly hear, as her focus was on Paul. The grip loosened more, and then it broke completely. Her husband sank out of sight. Stacie felt as though her heart was tied to Paul because she could feel it being pulled from her chest.
The voice cried out again. Stacie finally looked up as Eric reached her side. He was holding the rope he had braided from fishing line earlier and handed an end to Stacie.
“Hold this!” Without hesitation, he jumped back into the cold water for the third time in one day. Eric didn’t have to swim far. He could see Paul drifting backward with the current, one arm still outreached toward his wife. Eric swam toward his older brother and wrapped the line around his wrist. He tied it off as fast as possible, knowing Paul didn’t have much longer.
Once the line was secure, Eric used the rope to pull himself back toward daylight while Stacie held tight. As soon as Stacie saw Eric returning to the hole, she knew the weight at the end of the line had to be her husband. She began pulling hand over hand, nearly pulling herself into the water. Eric treaded water while holding the edge of the ice and helped Stacie by pulling, too. Stacie cried as conflicting emotions swallowed her. She was happy that Paul was coming back to her as she pulled, but she was also afraid that the rope might break any second and she’d lose him again. She wrapped the rope around her arm, determined to maintain her grip. The rope cinched around her wrist and sawed into her skin, but she blocked the pain and continued reeling in her husband. If her husband reversed direction now, he’d pull her with him, but that was a chance she was willing to take.
At that moment, Paul and the baby were both attached to her by a cord, and she made herself a promise to never let either of them go. She promised she would give her life to either of them, if necessary.
Paul’s head came to the surface, and Eric hoisted him as high as he could. Paul coughed and then sucked in a breath of fresh air.
“He’s okay,” Eric was thankful. “He’s going to be okay.”
“Paul!” Stacie cried. “Paul, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” his voice was weak. “Thanks, Eric. Thanks.”
Paul was almost delirious in his exhausted state. A smile came across his lips as he rested his head on Stacie’s lap. “Hey, Eric, guess what? I’m going to be a dad. I’m going to be a dad.”
Stacie smiled down at him. Tears dripped from her cheeks. “Yeah, you are.”
“Congratulations,” Eric said. “But, let’s get the hell out of this water before we freeze our nuts off.”
Stacie and Eric helped Paul out of the water. Then Paul assisted Eric. When all three were on the solid ice, they heard Blankenship half moaning and babbling out load. They all walked in silence toward the crippled man lying on the ice. Paul’s hand bled some more as he squeezed his fist in anger while approaching Blankenship. He’d never be able to unsee that arrogant smile on Blankenship’s face as he tried to kill
Stacie.
They arrived at the fallen man and stared down at him in disgust. Stacie picked up the ice spud again, determined to finish what she started.
“This is for killing my uncle you sonovabitch!”
Paul grabbed her arm and stopped her from bashing Blankenship’s skull.
“No, Stacie.” He pleaded. “You don’t want to have to live with that decision.”
Eric put his arm on Stacie’s shoulder and consoled her. “Stacie…” Her eyes were focused on Blankenship.
“Stacie!” Eric shouted. He wanted her full attention. “Ernie’s alive. He’s okay.”
“He’s okay?” Stacie cried. “Uncle Ernie’s alive?”
Eric nodded, and she turned and cried into Paul’s shoulder. He squeezed her back, knowing how close they were to losing each other.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Paul whispered. Stacie nodded with her head against his chest.
They heard a gurgle and cough behind them, only to find Blankenship trying to turn his head enough to spit the blood that was accumulating in his throat.
“What about him?” Stacie asked.
Chapter 24 / The Promise
Paul, Stacie, and Eric stared at Blankenship, wondering what to do. Paul could see the fear in Blankenship’s face, and that satisfied him. He wanted to pick up the shotgun and finish Blankenship, but he’d had enough violence for one day.
The bay was quiet now, except for the labored breathing coming from the paralyzed man lying on the ice. Then Paul heard the sqeaky boots approaching from behind him. He turned to see the Canadian limping toward them, fiery eyes that could have melted the ice, staring down at Blankenship. He struggled with every step and Paul forgave him for not appearing sooner. He was carrying the case that contained three million dollars and dropped it with a thump on the ice. The noise caused Blankenship to whirl his head to the side.
Depth Finder Page 18