He didn’t need to be told twice. He began to run, heedless of the fact that he ran past the rear of several other businesses and dashed between parked cars and a monument, then tore across a street where he might have been hit by oncoming traffic.
He reached the place; he knew it, of course. He’d followed the tunnel to its end when he had first arrived. He’d checked the hatch, put in by the city years ago.
The hatch was unsealed?
It wasn’t just unsealed, it had been thrown open.
He turned toward the river. There was someone in it—someone swimming, towing another person. He raced to the water, digging for his phone, then called Jackson and told him where he was and what was happening. Then he threw the phone aside and dove into the water.
Abby seemed to be a strong swimmer but she was slowing down. She had a young woman in a life-saving hold as she swam toward the embankment. He made his way to her with strong, hard strokes, swimming as quickly as he could. The current was fierce that night.
She seemed startled as he approached her. He saw her eyes widen with alarm. He could almost see her mind working as she weighed her options in fighting off an attacker while preserving the life of the victim. He saw the woman she held; she was unconscious—possibly dead. A trickle of blood streamed through the water but he couldn’t figure out its source. As the water sloshed around them, he saw that the skin on the woman’s wrists was raw and red, badly chafed.
She’d recently been bound. And she was bleeding—she might be alive.
He realized that Abby was trying to kick away from him.
“It’s me, it’s Malachi!” he said.
He saw relief flood her face.
“I’ll take over,” he told her.
He had no idea how far she’d swum out, and knowing her as he was beginning to know her, she would have made it in with her burden.
But she was tiring.
When she nodded, he slipped his arm around the woman’s torso and Abby eased her hold. The woman seemed to be dressed in voluminous clothing; in fact, the weight of her clothes was enough to have drowned her.
The sound of sirens was loud in the night. Abby began to swim toward the embankment and he followed. River water lapped into his mouth, and as he neared the embankment, he felt sea grass pull at his feet. But he was there.
He saw Jackson leaning over the supporting wall, grasping Abby’s arms. Abby was hauled up. “Hang on!” Jackson called to him. A moment later, he saw paramedics and police divers. Two more men jumped in, as well as a floating stretcher. The rescue team relieved him of his burden. He saw Jackson reaching down again and he grasped his friend’s arms, grateful for the assistance.
Abby stood near him, shivering. He walked over to her without thinking and put his arms around her. He felt chilly in the night air, as well. They were both cold, but together, they seemed warmer.
They watched in silence as the rescue workers hoisted the stretcher from the water. When the stretcher and the woman on it were brought up, the EMTs started artificial respiration. He listened to the counts as two men worked together, trying to breathe life into the victim.
Water suddenly spurted from the woman’s lips.
“She’s alive?” Abby whispered.
“She’s alive,” an EMT said.
Malachi saw the river-diluted blood that was smeared on much of her tangled clothing. He winced, suspecting what it signified.
Abby began to shake in earnest.
Malachi held her more tightly. “Pretty incredible, Abby,” he told her. “A few more minutes in that river with all that clothing tangled around her... She wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
Abby looked at him, her blue eyes enormous against the ashen color of her face.
“It’s Helen, Malachi. It’s Helen Long. And thank God, she’s alive.”
*
Hard to believe how quickly the media arrived on the scene.
Or maybe not. The newscasters followed calls for police and rescue vehicles.
David Caswell moved to keep the media at bay, but before anyone could decide what information to keep secret, someone had guessed that the missing Helen Long had been found, and reporters immediately began setting up, even while rescue personnel and police worked the scene.
Abby stood there shivering, watching it all, grateful for Malachi at her side. And grateful that David was shielding them from inquisitive—and sometimes aggressive—reporters.
The situation seemed personal to her, very personal. She was grateful; they’d saved a woman.
They’d saved a woman she knew.
Helen Long was rushed to the hospital, and Jackson climbed into the ambulance to drive with her. Soaking wet, Abby and Malachi again made the drive to the police station, where David Caswell met them. Encased in blankets, they gave more statements.