The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 74

JASON dropped his head onto Frank's gently rising and falling chest and allowed himself a moment of respite. As he crouched there, breathing heavily, overcome with weariness, he heard another sound that made his blood run cold. Somewhere outside, the unmistakable sputtering of an outboard motor trying to start could be heard.

He leapt to his feet and hit the ground at a dead run. MacQuery was getting away.

Once he was outside, his eyes swept left and right and found the boathouse, just visible through a break in the trees at the edge of the property. He sprinted toward it, his wounds and exhaustion forgotten. In his haste, he had neglected to grab his weapon, but there was no time to go back for it.

Seconds later, he crashed through the trees and shoved his way through the heavy swinging doors into the interior of the small wooden structure. His clinical cool was nearly undone at the sight that greeted him. On the boat, Chris was unconscious, draped across the seats in the open bow. He could not see Brianna, but he could hear her screaming.

George cast an anxious glance over his shoulder and cranked the motor again. This time it roared to life.

The bow of the vessel rose out of the water as it sped away. Jason gave chase. He raced along the dock and leapt into the air, catching the side of the boat. He held on for dear life. George gunned it and steered directly into the chop, trying to throw him off.

As they plied the erratic waves and headed for the open sound, Jason held on for all he was worth. Muscles straining, he fought against the bucking vessel. The water dragged at his feet in a desperate attempt to claim him. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he hooked one leg over the side and used it to lever himself up and into the boat.

As Jason dropped onto the deck, George rose from his seat behind the wheel and came around toward him.

The boat continued ahead on its current course, completely unmanned. Pointed directly into the swells, it was launched into the air with each crest it encountered. The deck lurched violently. In spite of the treacherous footing, George managed to stay upright as he made his way toward Jason. Jason scrambled to his knees and, throwing himself at George, pulled him down onto the deck. They struggled, but the older man was no match for him---even wounded and weakened as he was.

Sensing he could not overpower Jason, George wriggled out of his grasp and skittered backward.

He flipped over and dove into the open bow. As Jason crawled toward him, George glanced over his shoulder. With an evil sneer, he heaved Chris over the side. Jason watched in horror as Chris plunged into the water with a splash. As the boat raced away, leaving him behind, Jason saw his head bob once, twice in the wake, then sink beneath the greasy waves.

George laughed. "Fight me or save him," he said, obviously congratulating himself for the clever dilemma he had just created. "He won't last long in this water." He obviously expected Jason to leap to Chris's rescue. His look of surprise was almost comical when, in a flurry of action, Jason launched himself across the deck and caught him by the throat.

"I think I'll do both," Jason said. He wound up and coldcocked him.

George's eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped into a heap.

As George dropped, Jason threw himself back over the windscreen, latched onto the wheel, and pulled hard on the throttle. Engine roaring, the boat swung around under his control. He scanned the rippling surface of the sound, back along the wake of the boat, searching desperately for some sign of where Chris had gone over. There was no hint, and Jason's heart sank. He was going to have to guess.

When the boat reached the spot he thought was right, he jammed the throttle into reverse to stop the watercraft's forward momentum and dove over the side. The water was icy cold as he plunged in headfirst and kicked rapidly downward. He could see no sign of Chris in the murky depths. Down and down he swam until he thought his lungs would burst.

There. Just ahead. He could vaguely make out Chris's limp form through the gloom. He reached out, kicking hard to propel himself forward, and clutched a handful of Chris's hair. Dizziness threatened, and his lungs screamed for oxygen. He rolled and climbed for the surface.

His head broke through the choppy waves, and he gulped greedily at the air. Huffing, spitting, he pulled Chris's head above the water and swam hard for the boat.

Once he arrived, he held tightly to the swim step and hauled himself up. Reaching down and hooking his hands beneath Chris's arms, he dragged his slack form onboard. Chris's face was ashen, and he was not breathing.

"No," Jason cried, tears springing to his eyes. "He looks dead."

Brianna scrambled out from beneath the seat, wailing and calling, "Daddy! Daddy!" as she crawled toward them.

Jason pinched Chris's nose closed and clamped his lips over his mouth. With force, he blew air into his lungs several times. Clasping his hands together, he shifted position and began chest compressions. He alternated between breathing and chest compressions. Back and forth, back and forth. His distress increased with each passing second that Chris remained unresponsive. Despite his own exhaustion, he did not relent, fighting desperately for Chris's life. "Come on, Chris, breathe. Please, breathe," he begged.

The sound of Chris sputtering as he drew in his first tentative breath was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever heard. Weakly, Chris choked out a frothy gout of seawater onto the deck.

Sobbing in relief, Jason pulled him to his chest and held him tightly.

"That's it, Chris. Just like that. Keep breathing," he urged, rocking him gently in his arms. "I've got you. Stay with me." He reached out and