Page 35 of The Deadly Shallows

He looked at the clock on the dash. They were losing precious time. The more that went by, the less likely . . .

He took a steadying breath.

Please, Jesus, let her be alive. You know exactly where she is. Please guide us there.

Brooke scrambled onto shore. Hair clinging to her face, cold seeping into her bones, she army crawled her way for the tree line.

“There!” Saul shouted.

No. Please.

She took a rapid glance back. The two men remained in the boat, rowing furiously toward her.

Pulling the clump of seagrass from her ankle, she mustered herself upright and raced for the trees.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Gunfire ricocheted around her, a chunk of the tree an inch to her right blasted off, sending splitters into her hair.

Ducking and hovering low, she raced deeper into the brush, ignoring the pain riddling through her. Cold air seared her lungs as adrenaline burned her limbs.

A splash sounded behind her and footfalls followed.

They were coming.

Nearly stumbling over her own feet, her limbs trembling with pain, she pushed forward.

She likely couldn’t outrun the men, so she scanned the woods for a place to hide.

Please, Jesus. It’s all you.

Copter blades whooshed overhead. She looked up through the leaves that remained, still heavy for this time of year.

Coast Guard Search and Rescue. Thank you, Jesus. She waved her arms as it circled overhead.

The men’s thrashing through the underbrush grew closer.

“Please,” she whispered, waving her arms as she ran, stumbling over tree roots and rocks.

The copter circled once more and banked west.

No! Tears rolled down her cheek, burning her swollen left eye.

Footfalls pounded heavily on the hard ground. They were closing in.

She raced forward. There was no turning back.

An engine zoomed by less than sixty feet ahead. A road. She just had to make it to the road and pray another car showed. Someone. Anyone she could flag down.

“Get her now!” the second man yelled.

She looked back and saw who she guessed was Saul. His grisly gaze hardened as he aimed and fired. She ducked, running as low and fast as possible up an embankment.

Another car zoomed by. So close. You can do this.

She scrambled, tumbling forward, catching herself on her outstretched hands, righting herself and continuing.

Saul had not yet crested the embankment as her feet hit pavement.

She looked to the left. No cars.