The height. The treacherous footing. Fear for Lily.
Adrenaline had me wired to hell and back.
I pushed on.
Ten minutes scrabbling upward, then I rounded a curve.
A black cutout rose from the ridgeline above, roughly twenty-five yards from me. Square. Concrete. A leftover from World War II.
I could see a figure on the near side of the pillbox. Ryan, crouched, ready to spring.
At that distance, I couldn’t tell what held his attention. Lo was nowhere to be seen.
I took a moment to assess.
The pillbox faced the sea. My approach would be invisible to anyone in it. The wind would mask any sounds I might make.
Gingerly placing each foot, I crept forward.
I was ten feet out when Ryan whipped around, ready to attack.
His eyes widened, then tensed in anger. His upraised arms relaxed a hair. A downward move of one hand gestured me behind his back.
I scurried to him and dropped to a squat.
And noticed the boy.
He lay hidden in shadow cast by the pillbox, dreadlocks haloing his head like snakes around Medusa. His eyes were closed. His chest looked still.
I placed shaky fingers on the boy’s throat. Felt no pulse.
I was trying again when his lids fluttered. Half-opened.
I found and squeezed his hand. Bent close. Heard breath rattling in his chest.
“Sarah?” His words barely carried above the wind. “It’s so cold.”
I whipped my jacket off and spread it across him.
He frowned, puzzled, a faraway look in his eyes.
“It’s so cold. I’m freezing.” His limbs shivered uncontrollably.
“You’re going to be fine,” I whispered close to his ear. “We’ll get you to a hospital. You’re young. You’ll make it.”
“I can’t see, Sarah.”
“Hold on.” I tightened my grip, felt slight pressure in return.
“Everything’s black.” Mumbled. “Sarah, I’m dying.”
I trembled from cold or fear. Goose bumps puckered my flesh.
The boy coughed wetly. His mouth looked dark. Too dark.
I pressed my chest to his, willing my warmth and strength into his body.
“I’m scared.” His lips were right at my ear. “Shit. I don’t want to d—”
His words were cut off.
By death?
Hot tears streamed my cheeks.
Beside me, I felt Ryan coil.
I raised my head.
Followed Ryan’s sight line.
Every muscle in my body went rigid.
A man was dragging Lily through one of the pillbox’s doorless openings. One beefy hand wrapped her throat. The other held a gun tight to her temple.
Pukui? It had to be. Out to collect his twenty grand.
Ryan tensed to spring.
Pukui forced Lily toward the seaward side of the pillbox. I could see that the path at that point was less than a foot wide.
Lily’s eyes looked like those of a terrified dog, the whites huge, and distorted with fear.
I craned over Ryan’s shoulder, terrified to watch, terrified not to.
In the gloom, Lo materialized atop the pillbox, hunched, Glock held two-handed and pointed at Pukui. He inched forward, feeling with his feet, not daring to glance down. One step. Two.
