Page 109 of Jameson’s Salvation

This wasn’t the first time they’d performed a water resuscitation while towing a person to shore. They had the rhythm down to a science. Nixon provided four respirations between each of Jameson’s strokes. It was a precarious dance and slowed them down considerably. As much as they needed to get her to land as quickly as possible to start CPR properly, she’d been deprived oxygen for too long. They had no choice.

Jameson finally felt his foot hit dirt and he stood. Scooping her lifeless body out of the water, he ran the last ten feet. Nixon already had his knife out of his pocket and open, and with a slice of the blade, the rope fell away. Jameson dropped to his knees, gently laid her down and started chest compressions.

“Come on, Kennedy. Breathe, baby.”

After a full count of thirty, he tilted her head back and gave her two fast respirations, watched her chest rise instead of her cheeks inflating—a good sign—and checked her pulse.

Nothing.

Fear nipped at his soul as he leaned over and restarted compressions.

“Breathe, goddammit. Breathe.”

Sirens wailed in the background and he prayed they weren’t too late.

“Brother,” Nix said with caution.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say it.”

Dread crowded Jameson’s chest and threatened to choke him as pain seared through his soul.

“Kennedy!” he roared. “Fucking breathe.”

34

Kennedy

I couldn’t breathe through the retching. I vaguely felt my head being pushed to the side and agonizing pain burned my chest and throat.

Was I throwing up?

Dying?

“That’s it.” I heard Jameson coax.

Definitely dying. I was hallucinating. I’d finally conjured up his voice in my head. I spent much of my time in the hot car thinking about Jameson. Wishing I could hear him one more time before I died. I’d finally done it.

“Come on, Kennedy.”

My chest seized again and fire shot up my throat and scorched my nose and mouth.

What a painful way to die.

“Get her on her side.”

Nixon?

My body was not my own, I couldn’t stop the force of the movement, even though I wanted to. Something sharp was piercing my shoulder and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

“That’s it. Breathe, baby.”

Breathe?

“James—”

“Shh, baby. Don’t talk. Just breathe.”

Suddenly there was a flurry of commotion and more voices invaded my sleep. Commands were given, my body was moved, hands touched me, but I comprehended nothing.