Page 17 of Endless Depths

Javi kneels beside the monitor, watching Cole’s EKG.

“You gave Cole a chance,” I say. “If you weren’t here… Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Helicopter blades rumble overhead.

“Is that the Coast Guard?” I ask.

“Yeah. If we can hear them over the storm, they’re close. Go pack a bag. You need to go with him and get checked out too.”

“What about Seb?”

“Wes took care of it. The rescue swimmer will stay here and help with the search until the second helicopter reaches us. The boats in radio range are on the way too.”

Thank god I can depend on the crew to lead when I can’t. I kiss Cole’s forehead and memorize his features.

“Get up slowly.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

I throw clothes in a backpack at random, both of our toothbrushes, Cole’s glasses, and an extra pair of his contact lenses. Maybe that’s too optimistic. I mean, of course it is. But I want to be superstitious right now. Maybe if I bring the things Cole needs, he’ll survive to use them. I hurry back out to the hall.

“You look like shit,” Javi says. “Sit back down by Cole.”

He tosses me a Gatorade. I twist the cap off, bring the bottle to my lips, and…

Alarms blare from the AED. The drink falls from my hands as I rush to grab the Ambu bag. Cole’s pallor shifts to gray.

No. This isn’t happening. He can’t die.

Javi frowns at the scribbles on the heart monitor.

“Shock advised,” a robotic voice says.

I lift my hands, and he presses the button on the machine. It’s so anticlimactic. On TV, the doctor rubs electric paddles together, and the patient jolts off the bed, zapped to life like Frankenstein. But Cole’s body twitches more than jolts.

“Take the mask and do what I taught you,” Javi says, starting compressions. It’s so violent, I have to suppress the urge to scream at him to stop.

I apply the mask to Cole’s face, and squeeze the bag, chantingone-two-three-four-five-six-squeezeinside my head. We continue until the robotic voice says, “Stop compressions. Analyzing rhythm.”

Javi pushes more medicine into Cole’s IV.

The robot says, “Shock advised.”

I scoot backward and out of the way.

Cole’s body twitches. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the flat line on the monitor spikes with the precious sound of his heartbeat.

“You’re doing a great job helping him breathe. Can you keep doing it?”

I nod.One-two-three-four-five-six breathe.

Another wave crashes into theBriar, this time on her starboard side. The hull groans in protest, and the force of impact teeters us to port. I’m still so weak, it’s hard to keep the mask in place over Cole’s face, but I manage.

I can’t worry about the storm pummeling theBriar. I can’t think beyond counting because then I’ll have to acknowledge that Cole almost died and it took two shocks to revive him.

One-two-three-four-five-six breathe.