Claire took charge, answering their questions. What happened? How long had they been in the water? Susan was glad they were talking to Claire. She didn’t think she could talk without crying.

An EMT took the jackets off Archie and wrapped him in a Mylar survival blanket. It looked like it was made out of aluminum foil, like something an astronaut would sleep under. Archie tried to wave the EMT away. “Take care of the boy first,” he said. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but faltered, and the EMT took him by the shoulders and guided Archie back down. Susan put her arm around him, taking his weight as the EMT got him seated.

The EMT sat on his heels and looked Archie in the eye, making sure he had his attention. “You’re hypothermic,” the EMT said. “We need to get you warm. No sudden movements. You move around, you send all that cold blood in your extremities to your heart. You want to have a heart attack?”

Next to them one of the gurneys was raised, and the boy, wrapped in another space blanket, was wheeled away through the hushed crowd.

“Is he okay?” Archie asked.

“He will be,” the EMT said.

Susan and Claire stepped aside as two EMTs gingerly positioned Archie on the remaining gurney and strapped him in. Susan’s father had been wheeled from the house strapped to a gurney just like it when she was fourteen years old. He never came home.

Archie seemed to sense what she was thinking. “I’ll see you soon,” he told her.

She picked his coat up from where it lay on the concrete and laid it over his lap.

The EMTs raised the gurney and its legs extended.

“Wait,” Archie said. He lifted his head and looked around, his eyes settling on Susan. “The guy who grabbed us. It was Carter, wasn’t it?”

Susan nodded.

“I want to talk to him,” he said.

Susan looked around and quickly spotted Carter and motioned him over. “Hey,” Archie said to him. Archie smiled weakly. “You did good, kid.”

Carter straightened. “Yes, sir.”

They were moving then. The EMTs pushed Archie through the crowd, one on either end of the gurney. Some people applauded, some took pictures. Susan and Claire tried to shield Archie from the flashes. Susan knew it was no use. His picture would be everywhere online by midnight. She wondered if these people recognized him—Archie Sheridan, hero cop, the one who’d been tortured by Gretchen Lowell, the one who’d caught her, twice. They probably didn’t. But eventually someone would.

They cleared the bridge. Susan could see the rotating red and blue lights of two ambulances. They’d parked on the promenade.

“Do you want me to call anyone?” Claire asked Archie gently.