She ran the light down the length of the stone, tracing the ground around it.

She almost missed the hand. The brain has a way of making explanations for things, and for ignoring those that don’t make sense.

By the time she’d processed what she’d seen, she’d already moved on with the penlight, and had to go back.

A hand, palm up, fingers curled.

“Claire?” Susan yelled.

Claire came running.

Susan’s penlight was still trained on the thick fingers peeking out from behind the stone. A man’s fingers.

“Hello?” Susan called tentatively to the fingers. She was frozen with fear, afraid to get closer, of what she’d see.

Claire wasted no time. She scrambled up the bank and knelt behind the stone. “It’s Henry,” she said. “He’s not breathing.”

Susan could hear Claire on the phone, calling for an ambulance, but she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to go up there. She didn’t want to see Henry like that. He was a strong man.

Not breathing.

What had Robbins called it?

Respiratory paralysis.

“Help me,” Claire said. “Susan, now.”

Susan snapped to, and hurried up the rock embankment. Henry was slumped against the back of the stone, head bent forward. Clothing drenched. Rainwater beading his face. From a distance it probably looked like he was sleeping. Up close, it looked more permanent.

“I need to get him flat,” Claire said. She was crying, wiping snot from her nose with her sleeve.

“What do I do?” Susan asked.

“Get his feet.”

Claire got her arms behind Henry, under his armpits, and Susan pulled his legs out and they managed to work him into a prone position.

“Do you know CPR?” Claire asked.

Susan had taken CPR for her babysitter certification in high school, but right now she was drawing a complete blank. “Not really,” she said.

Claire unzipped Henry’s jacket and grabbed Susan’s hands, putting the heel of one on Henry’s chest between his nipples and over his sternum, and then placing Susan’s other hand on top of the first.

“Push,” Claire said quickly. “Like this.” She pushed Susan’s hands down. “Two inches. “You should be pumping at a rate of a hundred times a minute, so do it fast. Faster than once per second. Count. And when you get to thirty, stop, so I can breathe for him.” She bent over Henry’s face, plugged his nose, put her lips to his, and exhaled. Then she turned her head and listened at his mouth for a moment. Then she put her lips to his again and repeated it. “Now go,” she said to Susan.

Susan started to pump. Two inches. “One,” she counted. “Two, three, four…”

She was on the ground, the cold mud seeping into the knees of her jeans. She kept pumping. She didn’t look up. She didn’t want to see Henry’s face.

Chapter 12

CHAPTER

12