Heart of Ice (39 page)

“What?”

“He took Julie down the path.”

“What path? What are you talking about?”

She pointed to the left. “Over there.”

Louis looked in the direction Maisey was pointing. If there was a path there in the trees he couldn’t see it. But he did see footprints cutting away from the house.

“Where does the path go?” Louis asked.

“Down to the main road that circles the island,” Maisey said.

Louis did a quick calculation. About twenty minutes had passed since Maisey’s call and Rafsky was now sitting at the airport.

“Ross has a knife,” Maisey said.

Louis looked to the path. He couldn’t wait for Rafsky. He had to follow Ross.

He took Maisey by the shoulders. “Go back inside and lock the door,” he said. “Call the police station and tell them to radio Detective Rafsky. Tell him I’m following Ross and that Ross is headed down to the main road.”

Maisey started to cry.

“Where’s Cooper?” Louis asked.

Maisey shook her head. “He went to Doud’s.”

“Lock the door behind me,” he repeated. “And then call the police.”

Maisey nodded woodenly. After she closed the door Louis waited until he heard the click of the lock, then he jumped off the veranda. He followed the footprints through the snow toward the trees. As he drew closer he could see the tunneled opening of the path.

He pushed through the icy branches and trudged forward, tripping several times before he finally got the feel of the uneven ground as it sloped downhill. The chaotic footprints and drops of blood in the snow told him that Ross was dragging Julie and that she was fighting hard.

The wind grew brisker the closer he got to the lake, the icy snow like needles in the face. He drew up the hood
of his parka and dipped his head, his steps slowed by the deepening drifts, his breath fast and hot.

Finally he emerged from the trees onto the road. He faced a canvas of frozen white lake and blowing snow that slithered across the horizon like chalk dust. There were no prints on the iced-over road, and he didn’t know the island well enough to figure out where Ross had gone.

Then he realized he was not very far from the lodge. It was maybe a half mile up the road. But why would Ross take Julie there?

He wanted to run but couldn’t manage more than a cautious trot on the icy road. He rounded a curve and spotted something moving in the distance—two dark figures standing out starkly against the vast white backdrop.

It was Ross, dragging Julie by the arm.

But Louis realized they weren’t heading away from him. They were moving perpendicular. They had veered sharply left and were moving faster now.

Where the hell was he going?

Then Louis saw the line of small dark spots in the white—Christmas trees. Ross was heading out onto the ice bridge.

Louis squinted to make out the trees that formed the bridge. Some stood erect, but most were lying on their sides, blown over in the storm. He finally reached a snowy patch in the road and got some traction. By the time he reached the place where Ross had left the road, Ross had dragged Julie about fifty feet out on the lake.

He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Chapman! Stop! It’s over. Let her go!”

Ross spun around. So did Julie. When she saw him, she
pulled harder to get away from Ross. He gave her a vicious yank and began dragging her farther away.

Louis peered over his shoulder through the snow at the road, but there were no flashing red lights, no buzz of snowmobiles. Where the hell were the cops?

He looked back to the lake. Ross and Julie were almost lost in the swirling white. He had to go after them.

Louis slogged through a high drift and stopped. It was hard to tell where the shore ended and the lake began, just an even blanket of snow stretching before him.

He stepped out onto the ice, cautiously at first, then, as he gained confidence in the thickness of what lay beneath him, he moved more quickly. He had gone maybe fifty feet before he was close enough to Ross to shout at him again.

“Chapman!”

Ross didn’t look back this time. Julie was fighting him harder now, dropping down onto the ice in an attempt to slow him.

“Get up!” Ross screamed. He jerked her to her feet.

Louis stopped. Ross had the knife at Julie’s throat. Louis was only twenty feet away, but he could see her eyes locked on his, dark with fear.

“Let her go!” Louis yelled.

“Stay away! I’ll kill her!” Ross thrust the knife out at Louis.

Louis saw her move before Ross did, saw her leg come up. Ross screamed as her knee smashed into his groin. He doubled over, losing his grip on her coat and falling to the ice.

She stumbled away, crying, but found her footing and
began to run. She was running away from Ross but also away from Louis. And in her panic, she was running away from the tree path.

“Julie!” Louis shouted. “Julie!”

His eyes shot to Ross, still kneeling on the ice, then back to Julie.

“Julie! Stop!”

She was still moving away from him, stumbling now in the blowing snow. He knew she was disoriented, probably not able to see the shore. He had to go out to her.

“Julie! Stop where you are! Don’t move! I’ll come to you.”

He looked back at Ross. He was standing, the knife at his feet. He looked in the direction where Julie had gone. Then he began to walk in the opposite direction.

Let him go. They’ll get him later.

Louis looked back to Julie. She had stopped, a small blur in Maisey’s green plaid coat.

“Julie! Stay where you are! I’m coming out there!”

The nearest tree marking the ice bridge was just five feet away, its silver tinsel rippling in the wind. Louis moved beyond it and started toward Julie. Five feet, ten . . . maybe twenty.

A loud crack, like a rifle shot.

Louis froze. Afraid to look down, afraid to even take a breath.

Another crack.

The world dropped.

C
old. Blackness. Cold, cold, cold.

As the shock of it engulfed him he gasped and water poured into his mouth. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. But something made him kick hard and he bobbed to the surface.

Breathe!

Oh God . . .

Breathe!

He coughed hard, trying to empty his lungs of water. His hands clawed at the edge of the ice, and it gave way with a crack, plunging him back into the water.

He kicked up again, his bare fingers grasping for a hold. He got his forearms up on solid ice and tried to be still. He could see nothing, just a swirl of white. He shook his head hard, trying to clear his brain of the panic that was streaking like acid through his body.

Breathe!

And then . . .

Breathe. Stabilize. Get out.

The four words they had taught him back at the academy. That day they had all jumped into the water to learn how to survive. But that had been a warm pool in a gymnasium. This . . .

He didn’t move, afraid if he did the ice would give way again. But he was losing the feeling in his hands.

The instructor’s voice was in his head.

Your uniform will act as a floatation device.

He had no uniform.

You can use your gun magazines as ice picks to pull yourself out, hand over hand.

He had no gun.

He was alone, and he was going to die. He closed his eyes. What else had they said? He couldn’t remember. He could barely think.

Another voice. Was it real?

Kincaid.

Someone calling his name. And it was coming from outside his head. He opened his eyes and squinted into the whiteness.

“Kincaid!”

There, far off in the distance, a dark blur. A man, far away on the shore. A spot of red. Cooper’s red wool hat.

“Cooper!”

His cry came out strangled and weak.

Through the swirl of blowing snow he saw the spot of red move toward him. Then, suddenly, it stopped. Louis blinked hard, trying to get the ice water from his eyes.

Cooper was just standing there like he was frozen. Then he started backing up.

“Cooper!”

It took every ounce of air to get it out. His lungs were burning. Everything was going blurry.

His fingers were numb and he could feel the weight of
his clothes pulling him downward. He needed something to stick into the ice, something to hold him up.

Lily’s knife!

The key-ring knife she had given him the morning she left.

He thrust his hand into the water to the pocket of his jeans. He prayed the key ring was in the left pocket because he knew he didn’t have the strength to try again.

He could feel the bump of it. He wedged two fingers into his jeans and finally felt the ring. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the ring out. When he got his forearm back on ice, he stopped, panting.

With shaking fingers, he worked to pull out the blade from the knife, but he couldn’t work it free with just one hand and he couldn’t risk losing his grip on the ice’s edge. He pulled the tiny blade out with his teeth.

He reached out as far as he could and plunged the blade into the ice.

It held firm.

Kick. He was supposed to kick and pull himself out, but his legs were deadweight beneath him. He clutched the tiny knife and laid his head down on his other forearm.

Kincaid . . .

Kincaid . . .

Kincaid!

From the deep fog of his brain, he heard his name again. It took all his will to open his eyes.

A blurry spot of red.

“Kincaid! Can you hear me?”

Cooper. It was Cooper. He was on his hands and knees maybe thirty feet away.

He couldn’t answer.

“Goddamn it! Hold on!”

His eyes started to close. He couldn’t stop them.

“Kincaid! Listen to me! Look at me! Look at me!”

Louis forced his head up.

The red dot was closer now. It look him a second to realize Cooper was now flat on his stomach. Close . . . so close . . .

“No,” Louis whispered. “Don’t come.”

Cooper said something, but it was drowned out by a droning noise in Louis’s head. Louis felt his fingers slipping off the knife. The buzzing was alive in his brain now, like insects eating him alive, like Danny’s beetles eating away at him.

No. No. I am not going to fucking die like this.

Joe . . . Lily. I am not going to leave you.

He forced himself to focus on the red dot of Cooper’s hat. But the buzzing in his head didn’t stop, it got louder.

Snowmobiles.

Something hit him. On the shoulder. Blurry movement now. Two men behind Cooper. And voices, but he couldn’t figure out what they were saying.

Another smack of something, this time on his forearm. Bright orange. A circle. Rescue disk . . . it was a rescue disk, but he knew that if he let go of the knife to grab it he would go under.

But . . .

He had to try. He let go of the little knife and groped for the spot of orange. He touched it but he couldn’t curl his fingers around it.

Falling. He was falling slowly, so very slowly, into the blackness.

Waves washing over him, around him, against him. Something hard hitting his chest. Then nothing but black.

The cold of the air hitting his lungs brought him back. He spit, coughing and gagging. So cold, but his insides were on fire.

White. But things moving within the white.

A blob of red bobbed close.

Cooper. He was in the water next to him.

Voices. It took a moment for the words to make sense.

“Got him! Pull!”

A hard tug around his chest. Then he was out, lying on the ice, his chest heaving. He tried to roll away from the hole as they had taught him but he couldn’t move. Then he realized Cooper was lying there next to him, so close Louis could feel his breath warm on his face.

A pink face in a dark fur hat hovered above him.

“Chief,” Louis whispered.

“I’ve got you. It’s okay,” Flowers said. “You’re going to be okay.”

A
faint humming. It grew louder, building into a ball of sound rushing toward him until it exploded into a stream of words.

His name. Someone was calling to him. Saying his name over and over.

He could feel the light dancing just beneath his eyelids, but he didn’t want to open his eyes. He was too tired. He was too tired to do anything, even shiver. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Louis? Can you hear me?”

He forced himself to open his eyes. Bright lights. And pale green amoeba-like things moving around in the lights. He tried to move his hand. Something warm and soft closed over it.

“Don’t move. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

He tried to nod, but his neck muscles felt as if they were rusted shut. His brain felt rusted shut.

“You fell through the ice. You might have some amnesia.”

He could remember Christmas trees. He could remember seeing Joe—no, not Joe, Julie—far away out on the ice. He could remember the crack of a rifle. No, the sound of the ice breaking. After that he could remember nothing
but the cold blackness covering him and seeping deep inside him.

A pinprick somewhere on his arm.

“We’re getting a little warmth back in you,” the voice said.

Again he tried to nod but couldn’t. All he could do was feel the awful throbbing pain. It was everywhere in his body. He blinked hard and strained to look down at his left hand. It was dotted with white blisters. In his fogged mind the blisters started to balloon and he could see his fingers and toes turning black and falling off.

“Will they . . . ?”

“Your hands? The damage looks to be superficial,” the voice said. “They should be okay in a week or so. Your feet, too. You were lucky.”

Louis closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Slowly, so very slowly, the throbbing in his body began to lessen, and he could feel warmth, wonderful warmth, flooding into his chest. He started to drift off, and he dreamed he was home, the sun hot on his face, the warm Gulf waters flowing over him.