No Quarter Given (SSE 667) (16 page)

Gripping the steering wheel, Griff felt a surge of grief such as he'd never felt before. Dana could be dead. No! Dammit, if anyone could fight that riptide, it was Dana. She wouldn't let Vickie die, either. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 0400. In another hour the horizon would lighten to a dull gray—a warning that the sun was on its way to give light to this endless night.

The hours had stripped away any pretense of how Griff felt toward Dana. Praying wasn't one of his strong points. He'd stopped going to church on a regular basis when his mother died. Before then, he'd only gone because she'd asked him to. Often he'd wondered why a God who was supposed to love humanity so much would allow his mother to suffer as she did. It never made sense to him. But tonight Griff felt the need to reach out to something beyond himself. He was doing all he could. Praying was an extension, filling a need in him, for Dana's sake. For his own sake.

Gravel crunched beneath the wheels of the car as Griff stopped, and he left the headlights on and the engine running. The twin beams stabbed down across Parham Beach, illuminating the dark. As he got out the warm, humid gulf air surrounded him. Griff took the flashlight and walked down across the sand to the shoreline itself. Inside, he was crying—crying for a chance to find Dana alive and start all over with her.

"Dana!" His voice carried strongly across the quiet beach. "Dana, where are you?"

***

Dana's legs were cramping with terrifying regularity. Each time they knotted, she had to expend her precious remaining physical strength and roll over on her back to float. Her teeth chattering constantly, her body jerking and convulsing as if it had a mind of its own, Dana floundered weakly, trying to force herself to keep her head above the waterline. Vickie was sleeping. Somewhere in Dana's shorted-out mind, she knew the little girl was dehydrated and had probably lost consciousness. The only good thing about their situation was that it was night. Sunlight would have sapped her strength twice as fast, and Dana knew she'd never have made it even this far.

The blinking shore-lights were much closer now. Her eyes were playing tricks on her, and so were her ears. The beach was so close, so close. It hurt to lift her arms; her shoulder sockets were fiery with constant pain. Her flesh was badly wrinkled, her lower lip split in several places from the salt water. Every now and then, she tasted the blood on it, wondering frantically if it would draw sharks.

Her legs were numb from so many jellyfish stings, and Dana dully worried if her gasping for air was actually an allergic reaction to all the venom she'd absorbed. Every part of her was breaking down. Each sloppy splash of her arm hitting the water could bring a shark. As much as she tried not to make a sound, Dana no longer cared. Either they would reach the beach soon, or she would sink like a rock, unable to control the eroding reflexes of her exhausted body. Shark or drowning. Which did she prefer?

Kicking feebly, Dana forced her dissolving concentration onto lifting one arm at a time over her head, bringing it down into the water, pulling herself and Vickie a few more feet toward the shore. Griff's face wavered in front of her, and hope trickled through her. Somehow Dana knew he wouldn't give up on her. He might be a stubborn cuss who was in so much internal pain that he lashed out unconsciously at others, but he would never deliberately allow her or anyone else to die.

Thinking about Griff gave her hope, and Dana doggedly pushed on, Vickie in silent tow next to her shoulder. The beach was so much closer. If only...if only she could make it. Less than a mile of dark water remained. Her Rolex read 0430. A cramp started in her upper arm, and Dana groaned. The entire extremity reflexed on her. Unexpectedly, Dana sank into the water. The salt rushed into her nostrils and down into her throat, burning and choking. Fear jerked her head out of the water, and she flailed around, coughing violently, retching up the salt she'd swallowed.

Every movement sucked precious, last minutes of energy from her. Dana wanted to cry, but she had no tears; her body had used the water as a resource to feed itself. She sank below the surface again. Feebly, fear forcing her to respond, Dana fought back. If she sank, Vickie would drown. Gasping for air, Dana sobbed. Should she release Vickie? The cramp in her arm stopped. Immediately, Dana struck out toward shore. Could they make it? Or was she going to die a half mile from making it home?

***

The gray ribbon along the horizon told Griff it was 0500. Dejectedly, he stopped at an unmarked beach above Par-ham and climbed out of his car. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Taking the binoculars, he rested his elbows wearily against the top of his car to steady his hands. He swept the length of the deserted beach, looking, always looking. With light came the awful realization that Dana probably had drowned. He had kept in contact with the Coast Guard and Dana's friends on a hourly basis via the handset. The CG hadn't spotted Dana, although they'd widened the search as far as twenty miles off the island. Storm Gallagher had refueled and was now making a low pass close to the beach for a thirty-mile stretch of the island, saying that if Dana had survived, she would be closer to shore. The words from the seasoned Coast Guard pilot gave Griff renewed hope.

His mouth coated with bitterness, Griff felt a heaviness in his heart that threatened to crush him. Tears squeezed into his eyes, and he pulled the binoculars aside, letting the moisture run freely down the stubble of his cheeks. Griff hadn't been able to cry over the divorce. He hadn't cried at Toby's funeral. Now the stinging, burning sensation gathered momentum, and a sob, like a fist pushing up through his chest, tore out of his mouth. Griff laid his head in his arms, and allowed the punishing sobs to continue. His shoulders shook. Like an injured animal, he surrendered to the glut of emotions he'd tried so long and hard to suppress.

The harsh sounds were absorbed into the peace of the beach parking lot. How long he stood there crying, Griff didn't know. Nor did he care. Finally, the storm within him abated, and he lifted his head, blinking away the remnants of the tears. Inside, he felt cleaner, less pressured. His mother had always told him it was good to be able to cry, but the military saw it as a weakness, so he'd stopped doing it long ago.

The sharp pain left in his heart was for Dana. Miserably, Griff looked out toward the beach. He blinked once. His heart thudded heavily in his chest. Was he seeing things? The gray light must be playing tricks on his watery eyes.

Lifting the binoculars, Griff saw a dark lump of something in the shallows. It could be a huge pile of kelp washed ashore. Or an old log that had come to rest after a long journey across the ocean. The light was still too weak to make out any details. Quickly, he jumped into his car and jammed his foot down on the accelerator. Hope warred with dread. Griff had predicted Dana would come ashore somewhere in the area of Parham Beach. Whatever had washed ashore was a mile from that point. Could it be?
Oh, God, please, let it be Dana! Let it be her.... Let her be alive…

The screech of brakes biting into the asphalt of the parking lot filled the early-morning air. His hands shaking, Griff scrambled out, leaving the door open and sprinting toward the dark shape in the water. It hadn't moved. If it were kelp, or a log, it should move back and forth with the tide. Taking huge strides, his heels sinking deeply into the sand, Griff quickly covered the distance. In his hand he carried the beach towel—just in case.

Squinting, Griff saw the darkened shape begin to take form. His heart soared. It was Dana! She lay on her back in the shallows, Vickie sitting beside her, huddled close for warmth. Griff wished for more light. As he slowed, splashing into the ankle-deep water toward them, he saw the stark exhaustion on Dana's unconscious features. Her eyes were closed, one arm around the girl.

"Dana..." he whispered, crouching in the water. Her hair was stiff and plastered around her skull. As he placed his fingers against her neck, his breath suspended. He waited, trying to feel a pulse at the carotid artery point. There! A faint, weak pulse. Griff hauled Dana upright and cradled her against his body. Her head lolled against his jaw, and Griff became alarmed. Her flesh was cold. Cold as ice. She was shaking so badly that he automatically placed his other arm around Vickie.

"It's going to be all right," he said quaveringly, holding them, pressing both of them against his chest. Neither answered. Pulling away, Griff quickly assessed Vickie, who rested against him with her eyes closed. She was in good shape by comparison. He had to get them out of the water and up on the beach.

"Can you stand, Vickie?"

"I—I think so...."

Gently Griff lifted Dana into his arms. She was completely unconscious, little more than a feather in his arms. "Follow me," he told Vickie hoarsely, waiting for her to grip his pant leg to help herself stand.

Once on the beach, he laid Dana back down on her side and covered her upper body with the towel. Vickie fell beside her, starting to sob, her small arms around Dana.

"I'm going to get the blanket from the car, Vickie. I'll be right back for both of you. Understand?" Griff crouched down, his hand on the girl's shaking shoulder. Anxiously he stared at Dana. Her teeth were chattering, her limbs jerking spasmodically. She was in deep shock.

"Y-yes...."

Griff left, running as fast as he could through the thick, dry sand. Grabbing the blanket, he hurried back to them. Tucking the blanket around Dana, he devoted the rest of his attention to Vickie. Gently crooning to the little girl, Griff extricated her from Dana's side. Lifting her into his arms, he wrapped the thick beach towel around her and carried her toward the car, trying to assure the child that she was safe. Vickie only sighed and rested her head wearily against his chest.

Once at the car, Griff placed Vickie in the driver's seat and ran back out to where Dana lay unmoving. Fear made his hands shake as he reached down and gently eased her into the shelter of his arms. She was like boneless putty.

"Easy, easy," Griff coaxed, pressing her tightly against him. Searching her face, he realized her eyes barely opened. Did she know it was him? How could she? How many hours had she been swimming? Griff wrapped Dana in the warm, thick blanket.

"I'm going to take you to the nearest hospital, Dana. Do you understand me?" He was frightened at how cold her flesh had become. Hypothermia was a real possibility. "God, I thought I'd lost you, Dana...." And he choked up, unable to say anything further as he lifted her. Time was of the essence. His left arm ached like hell beneath her weight, but he didn't care if he broke the finger all over again.

As Griff hurriedly started his trek back to the Corvette with her, his alarm turned to panic. The blanket had slipped away from her thigh. The light was improving, and he could see huge, long red welts crisscrossing her leg. Jellyfish? Griff had never seen so many stings on a person before. His fear paralleled his admiration for Dana's raw courage and indefatigable strength. His arms tightening around her, he pressed her closely against him, wanting to share his body heat with her.

"Dammit, Dana, you've got to hang on," he told her in low gasps as he jogged toward the car. "You're safe now. Vickie's going to make it. Fight back, sweetheart. Fight back for both of us...."

It had to be one of her hallucinations. Dana emerged momentarily from the numbness and cold surrounding her to hear Griff's low, urgent voice. She felt weightless, as if someone were carrying her. Impossible. Had she drowned? Or was she still fighting to keep her head above water? It was simply too much to lift her weighted lids.
Griff.
How badly she wanted to make it to shore to see him again. All her anger toward him had been used up. All her hope had gradually been stolen away by the chilly ocean. Where was Vickie? Dana stirred, moving her fingers, feeling her flesh stretch in protest. Pain reared up her arm as she tried to find Vickie.

"Don't fight me, Dana."

Who?
Dana felt her cheek pressed against something warm and solid. It wasn't water. Where was she? Was she really dying and imagining that Griff was holding her? Dana didn't even have the strength to cry out his name any longer. The ocean had swallowed her cries of anguish, her cries for help.

"Relax. Relax, sweetheart."

Unable to find the necessary spark of strength, Dana stopped trying to locate Vickie.

Griff gently placed Dana in the passenger side of the car. Vickie was sitting up, looking at him with huge eyes. He came around the car and gave her what he hoped was a smile.

"Where's Mommy?" she whispered.

Taking the girl into his arms, he shut the door. "I'm going to call her right now, honey. My name is Griff, and I know yours is Vickie." He wrapped the towel around the child, and kept her tucked beneath his arm.

Dana heard a man's voice again. It had an emotional tone. How could it be Griff? She was still at sea, trying to reach the shore that was so close and yet so far away.

The calls to the hospital, to Maggie and the Coast Guard station had been made. Griff drove his car down the Santa Rosa Island highway as fast as possible. Vickie was content to sit in his lap, snuggled deeply in his arms, seeking his warmth. Worriedly, he glanced over at Dana, who was unconscious, her head tipped back against the seat, her lips parted. Griff tried to quell his mounting panic. As he neared the hospital emergency entrance, the light had improved enough to show some of the torture Dana had endured. Long red welts covered her slender, lovely throat. Her flesh was a blue gray, a telltale sign of hypothermia. Everywhere were jellyfish stings, her flesh swollen around the marks. Was Dana allergic to them? If she was, she could die from the venom alone, much less the physical hell she'd endured in endless hours at sea.

Griff brought the Corvette to a screeching halt at the emergency entrance. To his relief, two gurneys and several nurses and doctors were waiting for them. He saw Veronica Tandy, her hands pressed to her mouth as he handed Vickie out of the car to one of the waiting medical teams.