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

up the chamber’s side, using it to block the current. The outer hatch was warped and the seal broken. The four dogs easily released. He pushed the door open. The inner hatch, in spite of its broken seal, refused to budge. It took all the strength of his legs to break loose the dogs, but with adrenaline pumping and back aching, he got all four dogs open and shoved in the hatch. But he was tangled in something hanging from the ceiling that would not let him enter the inner lock. It’s the dream. Why would Cas do this? As Gabe struggled to free himself he suddenly realized he was not alone. A luminescent glow warmed the chamber.

“Charlie?”

Gabe saw Charlie holding Emily gently in his arms. In the light, he could see the oxygen masks hanging from the ceiling, one of which had snagged his tank valve. Gabe cut it free and moved into the inner lock. Charlie looked at Gabe with sad eyes. He didn’t speak. There was no need. With a sad nod, he kissed his daughter and passed her to Gabe. Then Charlie smiled at them. His visage faded, taking with it his warmth and gossamer light.

Gabe was gasping, and he had no idea how much air was left. No matter. He was going up with or without air. Gabe pulled the oxygen mask from Emily’s face and gave her the regulator. He pushed the purge as he forced it into her mouth, then pulled her to the outer hatch.

Completely disoriented without the buoy line, he pushed off the bottom and began kicking as hard as he could, asking for all the power his cramped legs and rotting fins could deliver. Praying he was going in the right direction—up.

Gabe put a hand on Emily’s chest. She wasn’t breathing. His tank was empty. He kept the regulator in her mouth to keep her airway open. He kicked harder, exhaling the last of his air just before they hit the surface.

Holding Emily’s face above the water with one arm he waved to the boat with the other. He heard the outboard fire once, then start. The boat was on the way. He held Emily close and prayed hard for her recovery. Carol lifted her from Gabe’s arms and began CPR as soon as Emily was in the boat. Soaking wet and freezing cold, Carol kept at the ventilations and compressions until they got to shore. Only when the paramedics took over did she briefly look at Gabe and say, “Thank you.”

Paramedics used an AED to restart her heart and an oxygen ventilator to get Emily breathing, then they ran with her gurney to the waiting Life Flight helicopter. Emily and Carol were in the air and gone before Gabe was carried to an ambulance. Layers of blankets couldn’t stop his shivering. He collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep for the next twelve hours.

CHAPTER 43

0900

St. Francis Hospital

Carol and Alethea were beside him in the hospital when he woke. When she saw him move Carol came to the edge of his bed, dropped the rail, sat beside him, and took his hand.

“Emily?” he asked.

“She’s still in intensive care,” Carol said. “We won’t know for a while yet. Sleep if you can, I’ll wake you if there’s a change.”

He woke again hours later, to a dark and empty room. He found the call button and summoned a nurse. “How is Emily Evans, the little girl who was flown in from the river?”

The nurse took his arm, checked his pulse, and examined the IV connected to the needle in his arm. “I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I know you tried to save her. It doesn’t look good.”

“I want to see her,” Gabe said.

“You need to rest,”

“After I see her. Please help me.”

“Wait,” she answered. “I’ll get a chair.”

He waited, but she didn’t return. He pulled the IV needle from his arm, lowered the side rail, and swung his legs from the bed. There were bruises and bandages on his arms and legs. He felt like rigor mortis had frozen his back. He pushed his way out of bed and stood. He stumbled forward, grabbing the over-bed table to steady himself.

“Told you,” the nurse said from the door. “You’re not ready to be up yet.”

“I need to see her,” Gabe insisted.

She looked at him like an obstinate child, then said, “Okay, I’ll give you a ride. Have a seat. But we’ll have to make it a quick trip.”

On the way to intensive care they passed a windowless door with a cross. The entrance to the small chapel was slightly open, and Gabe saw Alethea on her knees in front of a large crucifix. Gabe asked the nurse to wait. White candles were burning on the table below the cross. Alethea was praying softly and rocking forward and back before it. Gabe quietly closed the door, and they proceeded down the hall.

In the ICU Carol and Paul waited outside Emily’s room. Carol was in borrowed scrubs and had gotten a shower. But it was doubtful she’d slept since they’d left the river. She got up from the chair and went to him.

“What are you doing up?” she asked.

“I needed to see her. Any word?”

“They did an EEG. The cold water saved her brain. They call it mammalian diving syndrome. That’s the good news. The bad news is acidosis. Her blood chemistry is bad. They can’t get her bradycardia, sorry, her slow heart rate, back to normal. It’s going to be a long night. She could certainly use your prayers.”

“She’s going to make it,” Gabe said. “She’s got help, and she’s going to be all right.” He wanted to tell her the rest, that Charlie had been there, that Alethea was in the chapel, but there were other ears.

Carol looked at him, trying to understand.

“We need to take you back and restart that IV,” the nurse scolded. She turned to Carol. “He was in such a hurry he pulled out the line. Now we