Read Online Absolute Zero by Chuck Logan - Free Book Online Page B

. . .” Sommer reared on a needle of pain, licked his cracked lips, and blinked away sweat. “Gotta tell Cliff . . .”
    “What? Cliff who?”
    “Cliff Stovall.” Sommer collapsed back on his restraints.
    Broker rested his wrist on Sommer’s forehead and came away jolted by the clammy hot flesh. “C’mon. C’mon,” he shouted to Iker.
    “Working on it,” Iker yelled back. Then—“Oh shit!”
    They collided with something hard and as the rivets holding the plane together groaned, Broker flashed on the claustrophobic but also indignant vision of scuttling and drowning in a blizzard. Another violent crash shook Sommer awake, screaming. What? Had they lost a pontoon?
    “Bingo,” the pilot yelled triumphantly. “Quick, help me with the rope.” He clambered over the seat, tunneled through the crowded bodies, and grabbed the coils of rope. “Think fast. Move. Open the hatch.”
    They struggled with the door, pushed it open, and squinted into the blowing snow and saw that one of the pontoons had snagged on the deck and pilings of a boat dock.
    The pilot yelled, “C’mon, we gotta tie her down before we float away.”
    Two bundled figures waiting on the dock turned out to be a county deputy and a paramedic, a woman. They helped Broker, Iker, and the pilot struggle up onto the slippery planks, and they all commenced to fasten ropes to secure the plane.
    Broker concentrated and tied a bowline. He squinted at lights that hurt his eyes and realized he was staring into powerful low beams that showcased the churning snow. A huge maroon Chevy Tahoe with tire chains idled at the end of the dock.
    When the plane was anchored, they hauled Sommer and Milt up to the dock. The robust brunette paramedic took one look at Sommer and yelled, “C’mon, let’s get him in the truck.”
    The pilot accepted a thermos of coffee and, armed with a Louis L’Amour paperback, stayed with his plane. Everybody else piled in the Tahoe. As they plowed back toward Ely, Sommer screamed and writhed and drew his knees up to his chest at every bump and shift. After three tries, the medic gave up running the saline IV. Sommer just thrashed them out.
    Broker huddled in the back, wrapped in a blanket next to Milt, who made a cramped pile on the cargo floor beside Sommer. He sipped a sloshing cup of hot coffee gratefully, but he couldn’t shake off the bone-deep chill from his last dip in the glacier water. He shivered and figured it was a sign of getting old.
    Iker and a deputy sheriff the size of a pro wrestler hunched in the front seat. The way the windshield was catching snow it looked like Star Trek when the Enterprise accelerated to warp speed.
    “Get ready for a hot belly,” the paramedic shouted into her radio. “His pressure is one eighty over a hundred. Pulse is one twenty and he’s running a temp of a hundred and four.” She listened, rolled her eyes, and poked Iker in the shoulder. “ETA?”
    “Fifteen minutes,” Iker said.
    “Make that one five minutes,” the paramedic said. Then she punched off the set and shook her head.
    “What?” Broker asked.
    “Procedure,” she said in a weary voice. “Obviously, the helicopter’s out from Duluth, so the administrator wants to throw him in an ambulance and put the ambulance behind a snowplow and ship him down the road to the nearest hospital where there’s a surgeon.”
    “In this weather? What about Falken, the surgeon who paddled out with me?” Broker asked.
    “They’re arguing about that right now. His license is current and they made some calls.”
    “So what’s the problem?” Broker asked.
    “Mike. The administrator. He wants to poll the hospital board before he signs off on surgical privileges. One of them’s in Florida.”
    Iker turned from the front seat and glowered. “Yeah, bullshit! After all we been through, this fucking guy isn’t going to croak because of red tape.”
    “Hey. What the hell,” said the huge deputy behind the wheel. His name was Sam and