Chapter 6 - The Freezing Deep
The water was a shock of pure agony. The absolute cold pierced Robert’s skin like a thousand needles, instantly stealing the breath from his lungs and constricting his muscles. He plunged deep into the black depths of the lake, the surface above him lighting up with the erratic, sparkling trails of bullets cutting through the water.
He kept his eyes open despite the stinging cold, swimming downward and away from the dock, using the structural wooden pilings as cover. His heavy winter coat was dragging him down, filling with water like a lead weight. With desperate, clumsy movements, he managed to shrug out of the coat, abandoning it to the dark deep, and swam parallel to the shoreline.
Above him, he could hear the muffled, distorted shouting of Marcus’s men over the sound of the rain. They were shining powerful spotlights onto the water’s surface, searching for his body.
Robert’s lungs were burning, screaming for oxygen. His vision began to blur at the edges, dark spots dancing across his consciousness. He knew he could only survive a few more seconds without air, but if he surfaced near the dock, he would be instantly executed.
He swam another twenty yards, guided by memory, until his hands touched the thick, tangled roots of a massive willow tree that grew right at the water’s edge. The roots had eroded over decades, creating a small, hollow underwater cavern beneath the bank—a place where Logan used to hide his toy boats when he was a child.
Robert broke the surface of the water inside the hollow root pocket. It was pitch black, freezing, and offered only a few inches of stale air between the water and the muddy roof of the bank, but it was enough. He gasped softly, taking shallow, silent breaths, his entire body shaking violently from the onset of severe hypothermia.
"Find him!" Marcus’s voice echoed from the dock, sounding terrifyingly close. "He couldn't have gone far in this temperature! Check the shoreline!"
Through the gaps in the willow roots, Robert could see the bright beams of flashlights sweeping across the water and the mud. He pressed himself flat against the freezing earth, holding his breath every time a light passed over his hiding spot.
"Boss! I found the box!" one of the thugs shouted from the dock. "He threw it before he jumped, but it fell into the shallow water near the reeds. It's intact."
Robert’s heart sank into absolute despair. Marcus had the ledger. The sacrifice, the run, the hope—it had all been for nothing. He had lost the leverage.
"Good," Marcus replied, his voice calm and satisfied. "Burn the cabin down. Leave no trace that we were here. If the doctor comes out of the water, the cold will finish him. If not, the lake can keep him. Let’s get back to the city. We have a loose end to clean up at Mercy Creek Medical Center."
The hospital. Robert’s mind screamed through the fog of hypothermia. Marcus was going back for Joanna, the baby, and Logan. With the ledger back in his possession, Marcus was going to eliminate the witnesses to ensure absolute security.
The sound of a heavy liquid splashing onto the cabin’s wooden walls echoed through the trees—accelerant. A moment later, a loud WHOOSH shattered the darkness as the cabin erupted into a massive wall of orange flame. The heat radiated across the water, casting long, dancing shadows through the willow roots.
Robert waited, shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering so hard he had to bite down on his own sleeve to stay quiet. He listened as the car engines started up, the tires spinning on the gravel before fading away into the distance.
They were gone.
With the last remnants of his strength, Robert crawled out from under the muddy bank, dragging his freezing, numb body onto the shore. The heat from the burning cabin was a cruel comfort. He stumbled toward his SUV, which Marcus’s men had left untouched, assuming he was dead.
He collapsed into the driver's seat, turning the key with trembling fingers. The engine roared to life. He turned the heater on to maximum, stripping off his wet clothes and wrapping himself in a dry emergency blanket from the first-aid kit.
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As the warmth slowly began to return to his limbs, his mind cleared, hardening into a cold, unbreakable resolve. He looked at the dashboard clock—5:45 AM. Marcus had a three-hour head start back to New York, but Robert knew the layout of his hospital better than any assassin.
He put the vehicle in drive and slammed on the gas, tearing down the mountain road. The final battle for his family’s survival was about to begin.
