Page 6 of Emi's Hero

At the last moment, he spun the wheel, sending the fishing boat to the right, avoiding hitting the pale, floating debris on the water’s surface.

As he passed the mass, it lifted on the boat’s wake, and something that looked like an arm swung up into the air.

“What the hell?” George rammed the throttle forward and kept spinning the wheel until the craft made a tight one-eighty and headed back the way it had come.

George slowed and shifted into neutral as the boat coasted up to the object he’d almost hit.

His heart leaped into his throat as he killed the engine and rushed to the bow.

“Holy shit,” he said as he stared down at a woman lying face down in the water, naked, dark reddish-brown hair a cloud around her shoulders.

Leaning over as far as he could without falling in, he snagged a thin arm and dragged her up and out of the water onto the deck.

Her skin was cool to the touch. She had a bruise and a cut across her cheek and bruises along her upper arms and wrists.

George touched his fingers to the base of her neck. For a long moment, he felt nothing. When he was about to call it, he felt the tiniest flutter. Was it a pulse? He held his breath and willed another flutter.

Nothing.

Her chest wasn’t rising. She wasn’t breathing.

Every man and woman in the military had training in basic life support, CPR and battlefield wound care.

George had used his training enough that it was second nature. Time was of the essence. If the woman had any chance whatsoever, he had to act fast.

He tipped her chin up, pinched her nose, covered her mouth with his and blew air in as he watched as her chest rise. After five breaths, he placed the heel of his palm between her breasts and started chest compressions.

He'd only performed three when the woman gasped, her body tensing beneath his hands.

She coughed up water and sucked it back down.

George quickly rolled her onto her side to keep her from aspirating.

The woman alternated between coughing and breathing until she sagged against the deck, breathing steadily.

George left her briefly to grab a towel from where he’d stowed it beneath one of the seat cushions. He hurried back to the limp, unmoving form and checked again to make sure she was still breathing.

The steady movement of her chest reassured him she was. He gently laid the towel over her naked body and rubbed it across her skin, absorbing the seawater.

As he did, he spoke softly. “You’re going to be all right. Just hang in there.”

She didn’t respond; she just lay on her side, her eyes closed.

George continued to rub the towel against her skin, hoping to warm her more. She was so cold.

When she was dry enough, he looked around for a more comfortable place for her to lay.

“I’m going to move you to one of the cushioned benches,” he said.

Since she didn’t say anything in protest, he scooped his hands beneath her back and legs and lifted her off the deck.

She was so light. Carrying her to the bench was like carrying a child.

When he laid her on the bench behind the captain’s seat, her head flopped back, and her eyes fluttered open, exposing the softest, moss-green eyes he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he said, smiling reassuringly down at her. “Feel better?”

She gave the barest shake of her head, and her eyelids sank.

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