Savage Son (James Reece #3) - Jack Carr Page 0,136
the wooden shaft of an arrow protruding from the left side of his chest. He admired its craftsmanship, trying to place where he’d seen it before as his body jolted forward, a second shaft appearing alongside the first. Aleksandr gazed at the native arrowheads in an odd mix of wonder and bewilderment, then fell forward into the crashing surf.
* * *
“Raife! Raife!”
Reece scrambled down the rocks toward the beach, sliding along with the scree in a semi-controlled descent. He had watched Raife fall to his side and disappear beneath the waves, the powerful undertow dragging him out to sea along with the man who, moments earlier, had him dead to rights.
Reece hit the beach at a dead sprint, the wet pebbles doing their best to impede his progress. He crashed into the surf, arms searching desperately for his friend.
A body.
Reece held tight and heaved it out of the water, turning it over and looking into the open death stare of Aleksandr Zakarov.
Fuck!
Reece pushed the body away, frantically feeling for a second one.
“Come on!”
There!
A shoulder rolling in the surf.
Reece surged toward it as the ocean gave him one last chance.
Got him!
Reece grabbed his friend as another wave surged over them, quickly rushing back out to sea underneath itself and working to bring the two warriors along with it. Reece wrestled through the icy water, looking back at the incoming waves, dragging Raife toward shore. He dug in to resist the undertow, then heaved forward in the brief respite between waves. In knee-deep water, then ankle-deep, Reece continued to hoist his comrade from the current that threatened to pull them into the depths.
Finally, above the relative safety of the low-water mark, Reece scanned the cliffs above for threats before turning his full attention to his friend.
Reece had no idea what had transpired before he sent the two arrows through Zakarov’s heart, so he immediately assessed his patient, worried that the cold water could mask a massive arterial bleed. Even through his pant leg, Reece could tell there was something seriously wrong with Raife’s leg. His right arm was bent in an unnatural position, the swelling increasing by the second, to say nothing of the arrow shaft that protruded from his shoulder. Reece felt for breathing and a pulse. Pulse was weak. No breathing.
Shit!
“Stay with me, buddy!”
A quick check of Raife’s airway confirmed that it was clear, so Reece delivered two quick rescue breaths, watching his friend’s chest rise and fall with the lifesaving respiratory assistance. Reece jerked back as Raife’s body involuntarily lurched up, his eyes opening wide as his lungs drew in the much-needed oxygen.
Raife’s eyes came to focus on the man who had just saved his life. As he returned from the dead, he was hardly able to form his first word: “Zharkov?”
Reece shook his head. “It’s done, brother.”
Raife closed his eyes and nodded.
“We need to get you off this beach,” Reece said, assessing the routes up.
“Get this fucking arrow out of me!”
Reece knew he had to do something with the bolt. It had penetrated completely though Raife’s shoulder. The razor-sharp broadhead was projecting out his back.
“Turn on your side and try to think of something pleasant.”
Reece positioned his friend on his side and carefully unscrewed the arrowhead from the bolt. He then grabbed the shaft from just below the fletchings and, without warning, pulled the carbon intruder from Raife’s body.
A heavy grunt was all that escaped the SEAL’s lungs.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” Reece said.
“Speak for yourself. I think my leg’s broken. Arm, too.”
“I believe you’re right,” Reece responded, checking Raife’s distal and pedal pulses. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Reece charged up the rocky shore and grabbed two pieces of driftwood, snapping one over his thigh before running back to his patient.
“I’m going to splint these, buddy. No sense in dragging you out of here if the bones are going to grind through those arteries.”
Reece attached the thicker makeshift splint to Raife’s upper leg, lashing it in place with his tourniquet and belt. He then did the same for Raife’s arm, using Zakarov’s crossbow sling to secure the improvised splint in place.
“How did you get here? How are we getting out?” Raife asked.
“Your dad and Thorn are coming in with the Albatross. The boys are here, too; Farkus took some shrapnel to the leg. He’s in bad shape but Eli, Devan, and Chavez are moving him to extract along with your cell mates. Even Edo made the trip.”