Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

her. Gabe saw a boat pole laying on the deck. He grabbed it and hurled it at the bike. He hit Wyatt square in the shoulder. The bike went down. Wyatt turned, firing at Gabe.

“No,” Carol screamed. She fired low with the 12 gauge, hitting the bike’s fuel tank. The motorcycle spewed gas, which exploded in flame, and slid directly at her. She jumped out of the way and came up with the shotgun ready. There was no need.

Wyatt Bodine, soaked in gas, was caught in the blaze. He dropped his gun and screamed in pain as the fire reached his face and he inhaled the flames. Gabe tackled Wyatt, and without slowing down carried his screaming, burning body off the dock into the river.

In a rage, Gabe held Wyatt under until the fire was out. Bodine’s body went limp. Gabe surfaced quickly for air, assumed Wyatt was dead and then dove, pushing him down until they were both caught in the current. Gabe yelled, “Wyatt Bodine, awake.”

Nothing. He’s still alive. Gabe hesitated. If he killed Wyatt he was sure to get answers. But—Gabe pulled Wyatt to the surface and let him breathe. Terribly burned but alert, Wyatt struggled to escape Gabe’s grip. Gabe pushed Wyatt back under and held him down longer. This time, when Gabe pulled him to surface, and he could breathe again, Wyatt gave up the fight.

“Where is she?” Gabe demanded.

“The dive chamber,” Bodine gasped and coughed.

“She still alive?”

“Yeah. I never intended to hurt her. Look, Jones, I’m done. End it here. Put me under and go get her. Please, man, end it, man. The pain is—”

Gabe raised him high enough to see half Wyatt’s face was gone along with the flesh from his shoulders and chest. His ribs were exposed and charred, and the deep tissue beneath oozed blood.

“Please, Gabe, the air burns. Put me under.”

“Why did you do it, Wyatt? It didn’t have to end like this.”

“It’s Catherine. I love her.” He gasped for breath and painfully coughed. “She wanted the company. Worth millions.”

“But if her dad destroyed it with murder and fraud there’d be nothing to sell.”

Wyatt coughed more blood and nodded.

“Then you never intended to destroy the company. You were trying to save it. If you could cover up the murders and the fraud and get rid of her father, she’d get everything?”

“She loves me . . .” His coughing and bleeding were nonstop. Flesh was pealing from his scalp and face.

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt gasped. “End it. Let me go. Please.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry too. Sorry you made so many bad choices,” Gabe said. He released Wyatt into the dark water. As Wyatt sank, brilliant iridescent light welled up from the bottom then was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “What?” Gabe asked. “No, there’s been a mistake. You don’t understand! He doesn’t deserve—”

He saw Carol running along the shore and swam across the current into shallow water. She crawled up the bank and waded in to help him to his feet.

Soaked, covered in mud, and crying, she held Gabe as though she wanted to shake him and angrily said, “He’s dead. We’ve lost Emily!”

“No, we’ve found her.” Gabe took her arm, “Let’s go.” The police chopper, with Bob on board, had landed in the parking lot. Drenched and dripping mud, she helped him on board and climbed in beside him.

“Where is she?” Carol shouted over the engine roar.

“He put her in the dive chamber. Don’t worry. She’s safe.”

“Oh, please, God. I hope it’s not that dream.”

CHAPTER 41

1845

McFarland Barge

Inside the fifty-four-inch diameter, double-lock recompression chamber, Emily was freezing. With river temperature in the low fifties, and only her light clothing, each breath stabbed her lungs like a dull bread knife.

Recompression chamber doors seal from the inside out, designed to keep pressure in. They are not designed to be submerged, where water pressure would be pushing the doors open. When her white steel prison dropped forty feet to the concrete bridge span and slid another fifteen feet to the mud, water began leaking in and compressing the air inside. As the water rose she climbed to the highest point she could get and shivered, alone in the terrifying darkness. In a fetal curl, she cried softly for her mom and dad.

“We’ve been trying to find a crane operator ever since you called,” one of the uniformed officers told Gabe. “So far, no luck. Sorry.”

Gabe climbed up into the crane. He had operated smaller Hendry cable drum cranes in the past. This one was hydraulic. There were no labels on any of the controls, but as he examined them a pattern emerged: boom up, boom down, cable in, cable out, swing right, swing left. Where’s the starter? He found and hit a green button. Nothing. Hit the button again: nothing. He climbed out of the seat, found a battery box with four, hundred-pound batteries. The cables had been cut.

“I need help here,” he yelled. Two uniforms came running. “Get me jumper cables.”

Carol was beside him. “Can you run this thing?”

“Enough. If not, I’m going for a swim.”

The officers returned with jumper cables. Gabe connected them and climbed back into the cab. He hit the green button and the big diesel fired to life. “Please, God,” he prayed and pulled back on the lever he hoped was the cable return lever. The drum rolled and retrieved line. Gabe kept it slow and steady until the boom strained and rocked the barge toward the crane line. Gabe eased the strain, and the barge leveled. The boom was lowered almost parallel to the water, extending as far as possible out from the barge.

Huddled in the dark, Emily screamed when the chamber moved. Jarring the chamber caused one of the oxygen masks to fall, striking her shoulder. She grabbed at it, realized what it was and hit the purge. A blast came from the mask. She hit the metal button again and held the mask to her face. The oxygen was cold and