Something snapped to within him. It couldn’t end like this. He had been so close. He pulled Caroline with him, but it was no use. She weighed him down, anchored him to the purgatory beneath the ice. He glanced at her, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. He released his grip on her and fought with the last ounce of strength left in him. Hand over hand, legs pumping as he surged upwards towards the cracked and broken ice; everything that had been good in his life beneath him and sinking into the depths.
60
King powered out through the ice, the air tearing his lungs and bringing the light back to his eyes. His head steadied, and as he grabbed hold of the edge of the ragged hole, he could feel the water already freezing on his face. He took another breath, deep and steady, then pushed himself back down. He caught hold of Caroline by the ankle, pulled her against the current and heaved her close to him, hugging her with both arms and frog-legging towards the hole. He had dropped the torch, not sure when or how, but imagined it would have been as he breathed and gulped like a landed fish on the ice. He could see the hole, a faint circle where the water lapped, and the ice shards bobbed in the wake. He heaved Caroline to the edge, the hours spent training each week paying off, the weights and pull-ups, the press-ups and squats giving him just enough strength to get her out of the water. He almost collapsed, slipped back under with the exertion, but kicked and clawed, thrust and heaved until he was clear.
Caroline’s lifeless body lay face down in the snow. Her soaked clothing starting to freeze. King could barely move his arms and legs. He crawled to her, rolled her over and felt for a pulse. He couldn’t even feel his own fingers. He put both hands on her, midway between her chest and stomach and pumped six times in quick succession. Water pumped out of her mouth, and he kept pumping another two revolutions. He then clamped her nose shut and breathed into her mouth, a full and steady breath. He moved to her heart, linked his fingers and pumped out to the Bee Gees song Staying Alive. An ironic title, but the lyrics worked in perfect time with CPR. He stopped and breathed for her, repeated the process. More water seeped from her mouth, but she still wasn’t breathing, and when he tried to check her pulse, all he felt was his own fingers burning as if he’d touched the stove. He was getting desperate, could feel his stomach knotted and his chest pounding. He was getting lightheaded again. He knew that he had to get warm, or the elements would claim him. And if he did not continue, then death would claim Caroline. He pumped her around the chest and stomach again, then breathed for her and started chest compressions. He had done this before, and he had seen it done. He knew enough to know that it wasn’t looking good.
He looked across at the two men laying inert on the snow. They were thirty-metres further away. That was how fast the water had been running, how long they had been under. He pushed himself up, staggered in the snow towards them. He fell onto the sniper. The man moaned, and King hit him in the face, but it was a feeble attempt. It did nothing more than shake his head a little as he slept. King crawled over him and tore at the pack on the other man’s back. He recognised its squared form. Designed to carry a specific item, or various items in compartments. He could not release it, but instead he drew the knife on the man’s belt and sliced through the strap. He pulled and fell backwards onto the snow. He pulled at the tabs, his fingers barely able to grip them, but he opened it enough to see the medical supplies within.
King crawled most of the way, his legs too unsteady to stand. He emptied the contents onto the snow, pulled through the items looking for something that would help him. A defibrillator would have been ideal, but he found the next best thing. He opened the packet and took out the syringe. He removed the cap to reveal a wicked-looking needle over four-inches long. He tore at Caroline’s clothes, opened the zippers and Velcro enough to get to her chest. He knew where her heart would be. He did not need to feel. In his time, he had reached people’s hearts with bullets and knives, it had been second nature. He held the syringe, placed his thumb on the plunger and struck down hard, driving the four-inch needle directly into Caroline’s heart and releasing the shot of adrenalin. Almost at once, her back arched and her limbs went rigid. King clamped her nose tightly and breathed for her. He pounded out six chest compressions and breathed for her again.
Water spewed from Caroline’s mouth and he turned her head as she started to cough and splutter. He could hear her breathing hard. Huge intakes and sharp and ragged exhales. King got unsteadily to his feet, caught hold of both her ankles and dragged her the thirty-metres to the two men. He dropped onto his knees and picked up the man’s knife. He saw Caroline looking blankly at him, like a child woken in the middle of the night by the bedroom light. He couldn’t spare the time to reassure her, but he told her he loved her and that she would be ok as he cut and slashed at her clothing and started to strip one of the unconscious men bare. He tore off her boots, pulled
