CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
She touches her temple and winces sharply. Fingertips come away red as she tries to shake the fuzziness from her vision.
Wiping the blood off on her trouser leg, she notes the light tendrils of smoke escaping from beneath the mangled hood. "We gotta go!" she rushes, already shoving the passenger door open, expecting Barry to do the same.
But he is unresponsive as she turns.
Covered in chunks of glass from his broken window, blood mars the entire left side of his face. A similar wound to hers no doubt, but much - oh god - much worse.
"Frost!" she chokes out, tries to rouse him as the image of a cold, gray headstone assaults her vision and steals her breath.
"Frost! Please…" she sobs, hands trembling as they grasp and plead at his arm, shoulder, cheek. She can't be responsible for his… she can't… he can't be… please god no. "Come on, buddy," she sniffs, closes her eyes and prays because this isn't what she'd planned, isn't what she wanted, this… this… nightmare. "You gotta wake up, pal, you – we have to…"
You gotta wake up! She screams internally, because the fates doing this to her, making her do this to herself, is too fucking much.
When he groans a second later and lifts his head, she hiccups another sob and whispers to the sky, "Oh, thank god!" But, now that she hasn't killed her best friend, the relief is quickly smothered by urgency, yet more panic, because they aren't the only casualties. "Can you move? Can you – we have to get out, Frost, we have to go – Frankie, he…"
"Go," he groans, waves her off weakly, his face screwed up in pain. "Ungh, go."
"You'll be okay," she assures him. They just need some extra bodies, she thinks. Recalls her request for backup, though she's yet to hear any sirens approaching, and snatches up the radio. "10-50, 10-50! The suspect hit us and we wrecked! Officer down! Send an ambulance! Suspect is loose and possibly armed. GET ME THOSE UNITS NOW!"
She throws the radio down and leans back to Frost, palms splayed as if to check him over, as if it isn't pointless, because only someone like Maura, with her medical bag and massive purse kitted out for every eventuality, would have a real chance of taking care of his injuries. "I'm going after him," she blurts, restless limbs itching to climb out, "stay right here and I'll -"
Frost grits his teeth, winces. "Just go! Go help Frankie."
"I'll be back," she promises, climbing out and backing away. Keeps her eye on him for as long as possible.
"I'll catch you up," he says, tries to wink and draws a smile to her lips. He's not dead, but she has three more people to worry about, and so she turns and sprints away.
She doesn't hear any sirens. Not even those of Frankie's cruiser. And it's then that two and two suddenly make four and she's off, through the gap in the railing.
Of all the places to crash, anywhere in Boston it had to be here. No god no. She stumbles down the rough terrain of the embankment. Barrels through the torn brush and broken branches as her eyes follow the path of muddy tire marks, all the way to the edge of the reservoir.
And there, just as she feared, she finds Frankie's car and Charlie's truck both nose down in the icy water and sinking fast.
She wades in without hesitation. Squeals as the freezing cold water takes her breath away and makes her teeth chatter.
"Frankie!... F-F-Frankie!" she cries as she inches toward his cruiser. Arms above her head, she grits her teeth and growls, fights the frigid water as it climbs up over her chest. The ground falling away fast. "Goddammit. FRANKIE!"
Within moments, she loses her footing, falls under and then breaks the surface with a shriek as the cold shoots pains into her skull. But she doesn't stop moving, just swims as hard as her water-heavy suit and the infiltrating numbness in her limbs will allow.
She's not more than ten feet away, fifteen at the most, when Charlie's truck groans and shifts. It sinks fast, water bubbling up on the inside, air bubbling up on the outside. And she can see Frankie's darkened form from here, hunched over in his seat, unconscious from the crash no doubt, but a small hand pounding at Charlie's rapidly disappearing back window and the cries of a young girl halt her progress.
"NO!" she gasps. "Kelsey? KELSEY!"
The hand pounds at the glass as fiercely as it can manage, but it is tiny and helpless and Jane can't breathe.
Why would the universe do this to her? She knows why.
The water level rises inside the truck and the wailing turns to a garbled scream. The sound tears at her lungs, makes her strangled breaths shudder as she watches the scene, wide-eyed and frozen in horror as Frankie's car sinks, too. But there's no movement from within, no pounding, no screams. Nothing.
What kind of sick decision is this? She knows what kind.
This is the price she has to pay. Her debt. Her punishment.
Well, so be it. But it stops here and now.
"I'm coming, Frankie," she yells. Swims for her life towards Charlie's truck as the roof becomes submerged. "Just hold on please, hold on!"
Grabbing at the truck's rear door handle, she pulls with all her strength but it doesn't budge. Even when she sucks in a deep breath and ducks below the surface, plants her feet on the bodywork and pushes with her legs as she yanks, once, twice. Nothing moves.
Deep grooves and rough scratches mar the driver's side all the way to the truck bed. The metal is pierced in several places - mangled and sharp from what she can make out through her blurred vision in the murky water – and the door is jammed.
Rising for a desperate breath, she pants, spits in fury and growls at the heavens.
Then, after another deep inhale, she dives again. Swims down far enough to press her face up against the rear window so she can check the position of the little body still strapped in the back seat. Placement confirmed, she quickly pulls her weapon, braces her feet against the bodywork again, and fires off five shots in quick succession, trying to break out as much glass as she can as the bullets scream away from her in a flash. She takes care of any remaining glass with the butt of her gun, or a fist where necessary, until there is enough room for her to reach the whole of her upper body inside.
She drags the girl free, limp and lifeless up to the surface. Swims them both as hard as she can toward the edge.
Water gurgles behind her and she turns her head just enough to witness Frankie's cruiser disappear.
"No, no," she cries, low and broken. She can't let go of Kelsey now, drags them both onto the muddy embankment, scrambles desperately until they are both out of the water, one hand still clutching her gun, the other under Kelsey's arms, until she can lay the little girl out and breathe life back into her.
"Come on, Kelsey," she begs under her breath as she runs her hands over a small pale body. Thinks hold on, Frankie, just hold on as something rustles the bushes up ahead.
"Jane!" Frost yells, braces himself against a think branch, clearly banged up and suffering but rushing to her side regardless.
And she would cry, would fall to her knees with relief if she weren't there already. But just points to the water and screams, "FROST, GET FRANKIE! The car, he's – still inside – get him, get him, just -" But the cold is hindering her brain and she can't say what she wants to fast enough even though Frost is following her flailing, desperate directions, already diving in. "SHOOT THE GLASS, FROST, GET HIM OUT!"
Her partner vanishes beneath the surface and she looks down, tries to blow some heat into frozen hands that burn red and gingerly starts CPR. Miraculously, with one cycle of sharp pumps to Kelsey's chest and one puff of air the child coughs, water erupting from between blue lips.
Another ragged sob escapes her as her head falls forward. Oh god, thank you she prays, eyes screwed tight as she pants. With shaky hands, she scoops the girl up to her chest, twists and drops to her butt in time to see Frost break the surface with a gasping Frankie in tow.
Nothing can stop the tears that stream down her face as she hugs the now whimpering child to her body. "Shhh. You're okay, baby. I've got you. You're okay." She watches as Frost hooks Frankie's arm behind his neck, helps haul them both out of the water. "Everybody's okay," she whispers, swallowing thickly as the mental image of row after row of headstones evaporates.
"Well that… didn't go… to plan," Frankie splutters as he stumbles up beside her and falls heavily to the ground.
The quip makes Frost laugh, which makes him cough and she thinks maybe he swallowed some of that water, too. But then, as she hears sirens finally approaching, she notices the arm he's holding across his abdomen and she frowns hard.
Beneath a wave of guilt, she realizes Frost has probably broken some ribs in the crash. Broken some ribs and then dived in to a freezing cold reservoir to rescue her brother!
Frost chuckles weakly, "No, it didn't."
But they have no true idea. And they're both far better people than she deserves.