always excelled at was shutting out the world around him and focusing in on the task at hand. Why should it be any different now?
Willing strength into his legs, he pulled himself upright and stood. He swayed slightly, but the harder he concentrated, the steadier he got.
Gunderson circled toward him. “Like I said, Barney. Too little, too late.”
And all at once, he was gone — only to appear, a split second later, behind Donovan. But Donovan hadn’t missed it this time, had sensed the move before Gunderson made it. He wheeled around and blocked another blow to his ribs, then immediately countered with a backhand to the jaw, once again feeling the solid connection of tissue against bone.
Gunderson reeled, stumbling back, but caught himself, steadied his feet. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he found blood. “You should play tennis, Jack. That’s a helluva backhand.”
Behind Donovan, the abyss crackled and sparked hungrily.
“Unfortunately for you,” Gunderson said, “it’s forty-love and I’ve got the serve.”
He brought his hands up, holding his palms outward.
A sound rose in Donovan’s ears, like a thousand bees swarming inside his head. What looked like a ripple in the surface of the air emanated from Gunderson’s palms, radiating straight toward him.
It hit him with the force of a small tsunami. His feet flew out from under him and he felt himself falling backward — straight into the abyss.
Rachel watched Wong work, his hands roaming over Jack’s chest and head, finding and massaging pressure points.
For the first time today, Wong looked worried.
Nothing was happening.
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s not responding. If anything, he seems to have gone deeper.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“Shut up and let me concentrate.”
He continued to massage Jack’s chest, then suddenly balled his fists and pounded on it. “Pump, you piece of shit!”
“The defibrillator,” Rachel said. “Use the defibrillator.”
Wong glanced at the ancient machine. “You’re kidding me, right? Thing hasn’t been fired up in decades.”
“What?”
“It’s part of the sales pitch. I tell every client the same goddamn thing. I’ve just never seen one go this deep before.”
“You son of a bitch,” Rachel said, crossing to the defibrillator. She found the plug and shoved it into a nearby socket. Grabbing the paddles, she searched the control panel for the power switch and flicked it on.
The thing moaned in protest as if being awakened from a deep sleep, but it was coming alive and that was good. Rachel studied the panel, trying to figure it out. “What now?”
Wong was still working on Donovan. “Third switch on the left, I think.”
“You think? ” Without waiting for a response, she flicked the switch and the machine began to whir, a high, unpleasant whine that quickly rose in intensity.
“Move,” she shouted, shoving Wong aside, then raised the paddles over Jack’s chest.
As he fell, Donovan flung his arms out, grabbing desperately for the walls of the abyss. Focusing his concentration, he hooked his hands around a grouping of rocks and jerked to a stop, feet dangling.
Hugging the cliff wall, he found purchase on a small, practically nonexistent overhang. It crumbled slightly as he stepped on it, sending dirt and rock into the blackness below.
The sparks intensified.
A clap of thunder boomed and a small jolt of electricity shot through Donovan’s body-a mild hit to the chest that surprised him, but wasn’t strong enough to dislodge him from the wall.
Had it come from Gunderson? Looking up past the lip of the abyss, he saw an already turbulent sky begin to churn, dark clouds gathering, swirling restlessly.
Then Gunderson appeared, crouched near the edge, and glanced up toward the sky. “Isn’t that sweet?” he said. “They’re coming for you, Jack. Too bad you’re gonna miss the ride.”
There was a second clap of thunder and Donovan felt another jolt. Directly above Gunderson, a vague but unmistakable wormhole began to form in the clouds.
Gunderson watched it a moment, then returned his gaze to Donovan and raised his hands again, palms outward, a fresh new smile on his face.
Rachel was about to go for round three when Wong checked Jack’s pulse and said, “Wait, wait! I’ve got something.”
“He’s back?”
“No… maybe. It’s pretty weak.”
“For godsakes,” Rachel said, then flicked the switch. “Move.” There was a whir and a high, sustained whine, and she brought the paddles down on Jack’s chest. He jerked in response, his body bucking beneath her.
Wong felt his wrist. “No change.”
Rachel wanted to scream. Wanted to grab Jack by the shoulders and shake him awake. Slap him a few times for being such a goddamn fool.
Instead, she flicked the switch again and readied the paddles.
Wong, meanwhile, yanked open a nearby drawer, rifled through it, then pulled out a vial of medicine and a syringe big enough to vaccinate a small elephant.
“What the hell is that?”
“Epinephrine,” he said. “Stimulates the heart. If this doesn’t do the trick, nothing will.”
Rachel stared at the syringe dubiously, then brought the paddles down.
There was another clap of thunder and the wormhole expanded, swirling furiously above Gunderson’s head. He felt a jolt in his chest and a twinge of triumph. His time here was about to end. He was only moments away from his new life, his new career.
His new Sara.
Oh, the things they’d do.
He remembered the moment he’d been shot, that sudden feeling of loss, the abrupt end to life as he’d known it. Then the wormhole, the light, the yearning to head toward its promise-but at the same time resisting, not yet ready to go.
And suddenly there he was, stranded in limbo, refusing to accept his fate, using his time here to learn the rules of the place, just like he had in prison.
Then Deputy Fife showed up and he knew that was it. Fate intervening. The Ching giving him his second chance.
He’d only had time to hitch a ride, but after a while he thought, why not go for the big prize? Sharing was a blast, but a nice warm body of your own is even better. A nice new body, unblemished by a pesky little thing called a criminal record. A body that placed him right smack in the middle of enemy territory.
And the best part? Everyone would think he was one of them.
He felt another small jolt and the clouds above him grew more frenzied, the wormhole widening.
Arms outstretched, palms facing Donovan, he gathered up his energy, working up a really good hate, ready to knock Barney even deeper into the pit, where he was sure that Bobby and Luther and God knew who else were waiting for him.
He almost felt sorry for the guy.
Almost.
Donovan stared up at Gunderson’s hands and braced himself, knowing what was coming. The minuscule
