Split Second
Page 104
But for now, Sean wanted to throw the Frisbee farther and farther—okay if they missed now, since they’d broken the record—until Savich saw Sean was panting, his face red. “Let’s take a break,” he called out, flipped the Frisbee to Sherlock, and headed for the cooler set against a huge old oak tree. He grinned, hearing Sean announce to Coop and Lucy that Daddy was tired.
He’d just turned, smiling, with bottles of lemonade in his hands, when there was a loud cracking sound.
Savich flew backward, blood spurting out of his chest.
CHAPTER 59
Lucy saw Savich hurled back, the bottles of lemonade flying out of his hands. All the blood, a fountain of blood—oh, God, he’s dead. She didn’t think, sprinted toward him as she grabbed the ring and yelled, “SEFYLL!”
Everything stopped.
After an instant, she saw Savich standing near the cooler again, and she ran all out, knew she had to get to him before eight seconds ticked away. If felt as if she was running in a dream, her legs moving molasses-slow, as if she was stroking against the tide, as if time itself was pushing against her, and she fought desperately to outrace the passing seconds. She knew if she didn’t reach Savich, he would die again. White noise filled her head, and every fiber of her strained to get to him before that eighth second clicked past, and the present would be past again, and Kirsten would shoot him in the heart. She wanted to scream at him to move, but she knew he couldn’t hear her. So far away he stood, not knowing that within a second, he was going to be dead.
Now Savich was rising from the cooler again, the bottles of lemonade in his hands, turning toward them, smiling. Lucy screamed at him, and he looked at her, startled, just as she smashed into him, sending both of them flying backward to the ground. Not an instant later, a gunshot rang out over their heads.
There were shouts and more gunshots, fast and close. Savich flipped her under him, covering her as best he could. All Lucy could think was I was in time; I got to him in time; thank you, God. She felt him unclip his SIG and roll off her, returning fire. She marveled at how fast he’d reacted to keep her safe.
“Stay down, Lucy!”
But she rolled over onto her stomach, unclipped her own SIG, and fired. She heard the others firing as well, all of them in the direction of the trees at the far end of the park.
Would Kirsten try to kill Sean? No, Sherlock was protecting him, not firing back, covering Sean, keeping him safe.
As suddenly as it began, it was over. Lucy heard no movement, no noise, not even from the birds, only her own heavy breathing. Then Savich was shaking her, his voice fast and impatient. “Keep behind that oak, Lucy. Thank God, Sherlock’s got Sean; they’re okay. I’m going to circle around after her.”
She heard Coop speaking to the 911 operator as he crouched down behind a park trash bin. She saw Sherlock with Sean in her arms, rocking him as she looked out toward them from behind a tree.
She heard faint shouts from people walking toward the park, wondering what had happened, but they really didn’t touch her. She was lost in a daze of numb shock mixed with such boundless relief she wanted to weep.
She looked up to see Savich trotting back to her, his SIG back in its belt clip, speaking into his cell. She ran to him, said over and over, “You’re all right. Thank God, you’re all right.” She rubbed her hands over his chest, unaware that Savich was standing still as a statue in front of her, staring silently down at her. Finally, he pulled her hands away, held them in his.
She closed her eyes a moment to block out the enormity of what had happened—she’d succeeded, the ring had succeeded, Kirsten hadn’t killed him. But what if she’d been two yards farther away? What if she hadn’t acted fast enough? Savich would be dead; his life would have been snuffed out by that psychopath.
“Yes, all of us are all right,” he said, keeping his voice flat and soothing. “She’s gone now, Lucy.”
“Yes, she’s gone.”
“Lucy—”
She pulled away from him and leaned back against the oak tree. She began to laugh, and her laughter became wild, uncontrolled.
Savich heard that laugh, saw that she was shaking, her eyes dilated, her face dead white. He began rubbing her arms as he said very slowly, knowing he himself wasn’t all that steady, “You were standing way over there, Lucy, Sherlock and Coop with you. I stood up with the bottles of lemonade, and suddenly here you were, smashing into me; then there was a shot. How did you get here so fast?”
Her laugher slowly died.
“Lucy, how did you know Kirsten was even here?”
He’d just turned, smiling, with bottles of lemonade in his hands, when there was a loud cracking sound.
Savich flew backward, blood spurting out of his chest.
CHAPTER 59
Lucy saw Savich hurled back, the bottles of lemonade flying out of his hands. All the blood, a fountain of blood—oh, God, he’s dead. She didn’t think, sprinted toward him as she grabbed the ring and yelled, “SEFYLL!”
Everything stopped.
After an instant, she saw Savich standing near the cooler again, and she ran all out, knew she had to get to him before eight seconds ticked away. If felt as if she was running in a dream, her legs moving molasses-slow, as if she was stroking against the tide, as if time itself was pushing against her, and she fought desperately to outrace the passing seconds. She knew if she didn’t reach Savich, he would die again. White noise filled her head, and every fiber of her strained to get to him before that eighth second clicked past, and the present would be past again, and Kirsten would shoot him in the heart. She wanted to scream at him to move, but she knew he couldn’t hear her. So far away he stood, not knowing that within a second, he was going to be dead.
Now Savich was rising from the cooler again, the bottles of lemonade in his hands, turning toward them, smiling. Lucy screamed at him, and he looked at her, startled, just as she smashed into him, sending both of them flying backward to the ground. Not an instant later, a gunshot rang out over their heads.
There were shouts and more gunshots, fast and close. Savich flipped her under him, covering her as best he could. All Lucy could think was I was in time; I got to him in time; thank you, God. She felt him unclip his SIG and roll off her, returning fire. She marveled at how fast he’d reacted to keep her safe.
“Stay down, Lucy!”
But she rolled over onto her stomach, unclipped her own SIG, and fired. She heard the others firing as well, all of them in the direction of the trees at the far end of the park.
Would Kirsten try to kill Sean? No, Sherlock was protecting him, not firing back, covering Sean, keeping him safe.
As suddenly as it began, it was over. Lucy heard no movement, no noise, not even from the birds, only her own heavy breathing. Then Savich was shaking her, his voice fast and impatient. “Keep behind that oak, Lucy. Thank God, Sherlock’s got Sean; they’re okay. I’m going to circle around after her.”
She heard Coop speaking to the 911 operator as he crouched down behind a park trash bin. She saw Sherlock with Sean in her arms, rocking him as she looked out toward them from behind a tree.
She heard faint shouts from people walking toward the park, wondering what had happened, but they really didn’t touch her. She was lost in a daze of numb shock mixed with such boundless relief she wanted to weep.
She looked up to see Savich trotting back to her, his SIG back in its belt clip, speaking into his cell. She ran to him, said over and over, “You’re all right. Thank God, you’re all right.” She rubbed her hands over his chest, unaware that Savich was standing still as a statue in front of her, staring silently down at her. Finally, he pulled her hands away, held them in his.
She closed her eyes a moment to block out the enormity of what had happened—she’d succeeded, the ring had succeeded, Kirsten hadn’t killed him. But what if she’d been two yards farther away? What if she hadn’t acted fast enough? Savich would be dead; his life would have been snuffed out by that psychopath.
“Yes, all of us are all right,” he said, keeping his voice flat and soothing. “She’s gone now, Lucy.”
“Yes, she’s gone.”
“Lucy—”
She pulled away from him and leaned back against the oak tree. She began to laugh, and her laughter became wild, uncontrolled.
Savich heard that laugh, saw that she was shaking, her eyes dilated, her face dead white. He began rubbing her arms as he said very slowly, knowing he himself wasn’t all that steady, “You were standing way over there, Lucy, Sherlock and Coop with you. I stood up with the bottles of lemonade, and suddenly here you were, smashing into me; then there was a shot. How did you get here so fast?”
Her laugher slowly died.
“Lucy, how did you know Kirsten was even here?”
