"Ten yards, twelve o'clock." According to the infrared, there were two figures on either side of the open space, but given their close proximity she couldn't tell if either of them were Jack. Chloe tightened her jaw, and despite having faced this situation hundreds of times, her heart beat faster, her stomach quickened. "Tell me what you see Cole."
Cole narrowed his eyes and peered into the dim enclosure. There was a cop on the right, standing near some sort of control panel, with his back to him. Cole narrowed his eyes. No, two cops. One on the left, facing him but looking down, and fidgeting with a police radio. There was a roar throughout the hollow enclosure, not quiet mechanical but not readily identifiable as organic, either. The sound seemed like something Cole should recognize, but he couldn't place it. He lowered his voice to barely a whisper as he spoke into the comm. "Two cops, three and nine. They appear to be alone."
Not alone, Chloe thought as she looked at Jack's tracking signal still glowing brightly on the grid. Three men, but only two infrared readings. She worked her mouth, her thoughts working double-time. The grim incongruence could mean only one of two things: that Jack's heat signature was shielded by some unknown interference or, that he was dead.
Jack can't die. She had filed that away as a maxim years ago, had decided upon it after having shepherded him through numerous hells, seen him shot, tortured, broken, only to rise again like the proverbial hero or villain of so many B-movies. She clung to it now, but it was only a delusion designed to anesthetize her analytical mind. Jack was all too human, she knew, in some ways maybe more than most people, and he could certainly die.
"Are you sure you don't see Jack, Cole?" Her voice, just an octave higher than her usual tone, carried a brittle edge. She stared at the signal, brighter than ever now yet pale in comparison to the heat signatures nearby.
"Negative," Cole said tightly. He swallowed. "There's something else. The ship's still on emergency power, right?"
"Yes," she said tightly, unsure of where this was going. Cole continued. "There's a noise here…a roaring sound. I can't figure out where it's coming from."
Chloe checked the schematic. "There is no generator near you, Cole. Can you get closer?" From his place in shadow, he eyed the two policemen. He filed through a half a dozen plans, then dismissed them. "Not yet," he said tightly.
-0-0-0-
Things would go faster if he could just stop shaking. The bone-clattering ague that had seized him in the last few minutes wracked his body in waves, and Jack found it more and more difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. His mind was clouded, and he found himself looking at his hands in an effort to remember how to make them move.
The rapidly rising water had so diminished the space that, had the ambient static from the influx of water not been so all-encompassing, Jack's breath and ministrations would've rang loudly against the roof and walls of the flooded corridor. The space had been tight before, but with less than one third of it now breathable space, the corridor was as close as a tomb.
Unbeknownst to Jack, he was actually making headway. There was water leaking out from under the maintenance hatch, but there was no way he could discern a difference in the water level when more was coming in than going out-no way to gauge the progress of his efforts. He forged ahead anyway, working in near darkness. An inky black had settled around his feet, up to his knees, and it somehow made the water seem colder, so much so that the cold was a part of him now, a caulking to plug his numerous leaks, a plaque to slow the heart and blood, crippling him. A few of the emergency lights along the floor had winked out, their older casings having succumbed to the sheer ferocity of the flood. The few that remained made a brave but futile stand against the pervasive dark. Jack wondered how long it would be before they relented, too.
-0-0-0-
Cole looked at his own schematic as the curious din hummed around him. He glanced at the wall to the right, where both officers now stood strangely interested in the wall and floor in front of them. Though his voice was low, the rumble from the enclosure just ahead of him did much to conceal his presence. "To the right of the two officers…is there anything behind that wall Chloe?"
She leaned in, squinting at the screen, and nodded even though he couldn't see it. "Yeah, a service corridor. My schematic says its no longer in use, though." She looked at the tracking signal as it blinked alongside the two heat signatures. She knew the positioning relayed by the tracker was imperfect, but Jack was undeniably in the vicinity. On screen, Jack was in the passage with the two officers. On site, he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps…
Cole cocked his gun, his mouth a firm line. "I'm going to check it out," he said tersely, and before she could formulate a response, Cole was pressed flat against the inner passage, moving in shadow.
-0-0-0-
The dexterity in his fingers was nonexistent, and he worked the bolt above his head with numb stumps of flesh attached to the end of his hand. Holding his arms like this created new warmth in his shoulder, a rising tide of pain that steadily pulsed, burning hotly in an almost welcome counterpoint to the insidious cold. His shoulder made him think of Chloe, and he was suddenly glad he'd said those things to her in case—
No.
Thinking like that would only get him killed. He cleared his mind and, ignoring the shoulder, refocused all his might on loosening the last bolt.
Jack was losing water under the hatch; he could tell that now. The gentle suction caused by the passing water was barely perceptible against his legs. It renewed his hope, and the confirmation of his progress seemed to strengthen is will. But with the new clarity came new questions. Yes, he was escaping, but into what? The passageway from whence he came, or the inner bowels of the ship? It was dark, and with the water, the cold, and his own compromised state, Jack had no way of knowing if he was breaking into freedom or trading one watery grave for another.
-0-0-0-
Cole crept along the inside of the enclosure, his stealth made easier by the dim interior and ample shadows. The floor was wet, oddly; a good two inches of standing water spread steadily about the enclosure. The two police officers stood near each other, regarding it thoughtfully and talking, though above the din Cole had no hope of making out the words. He was a breath away from detection if he didn't gain the upper hand.
He had to draw them out. Creeping along the inner wall, he found a support beam or a vertical pipe (he wasn't sure in the darkness) close to the wall where all the noise was coming from. On the floor, about an inch of water lapped gently at his boots.
With the slightest of motions, he tapped the metal beam just to the left of him. The resultant noise was not so predictable as to cause sudden alarm at intrusion, but perhaps irregular enough to warrant inspection. He hoped. Despite its proximity to the roar, the metallic ding rang sharply against the thick steel beam.
Sanderson looked warningly at Richards. The older cop froze, made a hand signal, and slowly approached the impenetrable dark, his weapon drawn. Cole held his breath, waiting.
The man drew close. Any sound his boots made was quickly eaten by the muted wet floor and dissonant rumble from behind the wall. When he passed into his peripheral vision, to the left, Cole pressed the blunt end of his gun against the man's temple and smoothly stepped out of the shadows. "Lemme see your hands," he said crisply.
Sanderson complied, backing up slowly under the Cole's direction, and dropped the gun heavily onto the floor. Cole leveled his eyes at Richards. "You too," he said roughly. He backed Sanderson into his younger counterpart and cuffed them together. Pushing them to their knees, he secured them to a pipe underneath the control panel.
Cole leveled his gun at the pair. "Where's Jack," he said, his voice liquid steel. He followed the younger cop's finger as it pointed to the adjacent wall.
-0-0-0-
Chloe tried the comm channel again, but to no avail. Cole had gone dark, which meant whatever he was doing he didn't need her to hear, or that he preferred that she didn't. After an endless moment she heard the crisp pop that signaled his channel was open.
"Chloe." Cole's voice was strained, and she could now hear the noise Cole had mentioned earlier. It sounded like water.
"Did you find Jack."
Cole pulled harder on the seamless door, prying it open with Richard's night stick as he helped apply leverage. "Yeah. He's—behind this wall, and it's flooded—with water." His sentences were staccato under the duress of his physical labors, and, though Richards had explained briefly his previous misgivings about Sanderson's plan and was now trying to help, his effectiveness at getting the door open was limited.
Chloe's eyes scanned the schematic, looking for a manual override for the water main. She found it, but it was on the other side of the maintenance corridor.
"I can't turn the water off." Her voice was thin, as if she was speaking through a straw, and beneath the practiced control there ran a ribbon of cold fear. "You have to get to Jack Cole." Before it's too late, she didn't say.
"Copy that," he grunted, as more water streamed forth from the warped bottom of the door.
-0-0-0-
Jack was having a hard time orienting himself, and the pressure on his chest from the rising water made it difficult to breathe. He looked down at the water, imagining he could see his face there reflected on the black foam. Battered, broken, would he recognize what looked back at him? His body felt warm, suddenly warmer than he'd been since he'd been on this godforsaken ship, and the warning flags that feeling should've sent up just weren't there and he didn't miss them. He floated on the warmth a bit, allowing it to buoy him along; just a small moment of rest from the hard work he couldn't remember doing or for what purpose he had done it. For just a second it didn't matter. He was so tired…
It was morning. He knew that much. The water pressed around him, enveloped him, and he could feel Renee's hair as it fell over his bare shoulder, feel her smile into his neck. The morning light as it filtered through the windows cast everything in a diffuse glow, and he had the undeniable urge to submerge himself in Renee's embrace. As he slipped beneath the water, he was warm and safe and happier than he'd been in a long time.
-0-0-0-
The small door burst open, slamming against the wall under the immense pressure. Cole and Richards jumped back, allowing the torrent to expel itself sufficiently as its greedy tide spread ate its way into open space. It took a minute or two of steady irrigation to clear the passage enough for them to wade in knee-deep.
"We're in." To Chloe, the sound of water had grown even louder, and there was a tinny, hollow quality to Cole's voice. He looked down at his schematic. "Where's Jack Chloe."
She worked her mouth, mentally doing the calculations necessary to compensate for the space, the signal differential, and the imperfect schematic. She still came up with only an approximate direction. She sighed unevenly. "He's at the end of that corridor, near the stern. Maybe twenty-five yards." She swallowed. "Not moving."
He and Richards sloshed through the corridor, their lights bouncing off the surface of the water, the close walls. If Jack was in here, Cole thought darkly, but refused to finish the thought. "Jack!" he called loudly. He didn't care if he was heard. "Jack, can you hear me?"
Up ahead, his light fell on something. A smudge of dark fabric, a flesh tone amidst the dreary pallet. It was Jack…propped at an unnatural angle, wedged against the door of a small hatch.
"Oh my God."
"Cole?" Chloe's heart skipped a beat, and her stomach plummeted like an elevator dropping fifty floors. "What is it?"
Jack's lower half lay submerged, legs out in front of him as he sat propped against the small hatch. Cole could see he'd been working on the heavy bolts in the hinge of the small opening behind him and had almost managed both of them. His arms hung lax beside him, his head lolled to one side. His face was waxen and gray. He was a discarded rag doll, slumped and still against the door of the hatch.
Cole rushed to his side, lifting his head from where it lay angled toward his left shoulder. He slapped him lightly on the face. "Jack, Jack!" He shook his shoulders, felt for a pulse. Richards gaped behind him, little more than debrief fodder for when the paperwork was filed. Jack's heart was quiet and still beneath Cole's fingers.
Cole hoisted him over his shoulder. "Chloe, I can't get a pulse on Jack." Despite the chilling words, she stayed eerily focused. Jack can't die, she reminded herself, and the comforting lie kept her emotions in check.
After what seemed like an eternity, Cole burst out of the corridor and onto the floor of the enclosure. With Richards' help he lay Jack down.
Cole began compressions immediately, counting and breathing into Jack's mouth in the eerie quiet. Richards had found the manual override and had managed to shut off the main. The only sounds now were Cole's sharp, efficient locution, the nervous pacing of Richards, the occasional lapping of the settling water. And Chloe, over comm, her meticulous monotone assuaging any sign of panic but belying nothing of the terrible dread that closed over her thoughts with every passing moment.
He sat back on his knees, arms trembling as he looked down at Jack's still form. He wiped a shaking hand over his face. "He's gone Chloe."
Her mouth went dry and she swallowed hard. "Use the epinephrine."
"Chloe—"
"Dammit Cole use it!" The calm veneer that had been so perfectly in place shattered into a million pieces.
Cole opened the kit he had with him and grabbed the syringe. He stripped off the plastic cap on the long needle and plunged it directly into Jack's heart.
A few seconds passed—an eternity, and then Jack coughed, gasping and sputtering for air. His eyes flew open, wild but looking at nothing, and he coughed up lungfuls of water as Cole leaned his head to the side.
Chloe exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding, and when she spoke her voice was shaky with a cocktail of adrenaline and emotion, but still in check. "Assess his other injuries. Get him warm, he's probably in shock. Make it to the extraction point and I'll handle NYPD."
She didn't wait for an affirmative. She took the comm from her ear and exhaled a long, shaky breath. Moving to an adjacent workstation, she opened a secure line.
-0-0-0-
"Jack." Cole said his name just loud enough for him to hear it, and he waited until Jack's eyes focused on his face as he leaned over him. "Jack, it's Cole. Chloe sent me."
Jack tried to lift his head. "Chloe?"
Cole pressed him back down. "No Jack, she's not here. Just lie still, ok?"
He closed his eyes. "Renee," he said quietly, but Cole didn't respond. Cole looked at Richards steadily. "I'm gonna need your clothes."
-0-0-0-