Read Online Detroit Combat by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online Page B

screamed again, and something else cracked him from behind.
    It was then he realized he hadn’t been hurt in the car crash. The man in the back was clubbing him.
    Hawker tried to pull himself out the open window, but couldn’t. He swore softly between clenched teeth—he hadn’t unsnapped the seat belt. He yanked the belt free, then hauled himself through the window. The car was up to its door handles in water.
    Still holding onto the car, Hawker reached back through the window. The goon and the woman were fighting each other to escape—straining to be the first to squeeze through the narrow opening before the car went down, straining to escape the nightmare horror of being trapped in a sinking prison. They both made desperate animal noises as they fought the freezing water to get over the front seat and out.
    Hawker probed with his hand among the bodies until he felt the satin texture of the woman’s hair. He knotted his fist in it, braced his feet against the car, then pulled steadily, steering her over the front seat and out the window.
    She exited gasping and floundering, clinging to Hawker in the cold. The man, Hawker noticed, had stripped off her jacket, blouse, and bra. Her breasts were round and full and erect from the cold. Her only clothing was the dark skirt.
    She was babbling and clawing at him nonsensically, her hair a stringy mess.
    Hawker shook her roughly and said into her ear. “You’re going to be okay. Get hold of yourself, damn it! Can you swim? Can you?”
    Her teeth were already chattering. She nodded her head. “Yes.”
    â€œGood. Let’s go—and make it fast. No stopping to rest until we’re out. Water this cold doesn’t take long to kill you.”
    On the other side of the car, Hawker heard a splash and whoof as the man surfaced from the other window. Now it would be a race back to shore. Hawker hoped with everything he had that the man had lost his weapons. If he hadn’t … well, they were taking a very cold swim for nothing.
    With no moon, the December sky was a black swirl of stars, and the lake was darker yet, reflecting nothing. The water was like ink had the stunning texture of slush. The momentum of the car had carried them about twenty yards from shore. Hawker began to do a strong crawl stroke toward the embankment, but he left the girl behind so quickly that he stopped.
    â€œCome on, damn it! Don’t rest. Swim!”
    The woman tried to reply, but all that escaped her lips was a fast series of inhalations. “Too … co-co-cold,” she chattered finally.
    Hawker reached out and yanked her toward him. “God damn it,” he snapped, “you either swim or sink, lady. You’d better get tough—and get tough quick—if you plan to survive this.”
    Even so, Hawker threw his arm across the firm swell of her breasts and began to pull her along in an awkward sidestroke. Not far away, he could hear desperate splashing as the goon paddled toward shore.
    Great, Hawker thought. If he still has a gun, he’ll just wait for us and shoot us as we crawl out of the lake.
    Hawker began to angle toward a more distant corner of the quarry. It was a longer swim, but it might give them a better chance of survival.
    The water was almost beyond endurance now. It was so cold that it was like being in a vat of molten metal. His skin burned and his teeth ached. Hawker felt his head growing sluggish and his muscles becoming cramped, yet he knew he had to force himself onward.
    And he did. Still clinging to him, the woman made a token effort to kick and stroke. Hawker took it as a good sign. If she was willing to swim, she still had the will to live. In freezing water, you had to want to live—or you wouldn’t. You didn’t have a chance.
    As they neared the shore, Hawker began to use his feet to explore for the bottom. But the quarry walls were abrupt, and he was within arm’s length of the bank