Free Detroit Combat by Randy Wayne White

before he finally found bottom. He shoveled the woman into his arms and climbed laboriously out of the water.
    A strong northwest wind was blowing, and it was like razors against Hawker’s skin. He cuddled the woman to his chest, trying to warm her. “Are you okay? Hey, are you going to make it?”
    The woman’s teeth clattered together. “Just … jus-s-s-t a little sleepy—”
    Hawker swung her down to the ground. He positioned her on her feet and shook her gently by the shoulders. “Hey, wake up; wake up, damn it! You’re not sleepy—you’re dying. It’s hypothermia, and if you doze off now, baby, you’ll never wake up.”
    The woman’s eyes flipped open and she crossed her arms tightly across her breasts. “God, I’m so cold.”
    Hawker took off his soaking jacket and wrapped it around her. “Come on, we’ve got to walk. We’ve got to go find help.”
    The woman stopped in midstride. She shuddered, as if she had just remembered what had transpired that evening. “Oh, James—that terrible man, he shot Paul, and he … he tried to—”
    Hawker threw his arm around her. “I know what he tried to do, Claramae, but he didn’t. Anyway, we can’t think about that now. We have to get out of here before—”
    â€œBefore what?” called a voice from the darkness.
    The woman pulled herself tightly against Hawker as Queen Faith’s goon stepped up over the embankment. Standing above them, hands on his hips, he made a stark black silhouette against the night sky. Hawker studied the silhouette closely, looking for any sign of a weapon. For a moment, he thought his hands were empty, but then he saw the stiletto shadow of a knife.
    â€œWe have to get out of here before we all freeze to death,” Hawker called back. “Not just us, friend. You too. The body isn’t geared for the kind of swim we just took. We all need to get help, and we need to get help fast.”
    The man half slid, half fell down the embankment toward them. Hawker stepped in front of the woman. The man got to his feet, waving the knife as he said, “Real smart boy, aren’t you? Played a real cute trick driving into this lake. Saved your little girlfriend from having some fun and made yourself look like a regular hero, didn’t you?” Holding the stiletto like a sword, the goon lunged at Hawker. “Let’s see what kind of hero you are now, asshole.”
    Hawker stepped out of the way of the knife and shoved the woman. “Run,” he shouted at her. “Start running and don’t stop until you’ve gotten some help. Flag down a car or go to a house—but don’t stop until there is someone to take care of you.”
    He gave her another shove and turned just in time to see the goon charging at him again with the knife. Hawker had time only to let his feet drop from beneath him and roll his shoulder in a halfhearted body block.
    Hawker’s bones and muscles were so cold that the impact was hauseatingly painful. The man stumbled over him and fell face first into the brush. The vigilante dove onto the prone figure and hit him with a laborious combination of lefts and rights to the kidneys. The man swung back with his elbow, catching Hawker with a glancing blow to the nose. It sent a wave of shock through him, like the first full breath of ether, then his eyes began to water so badly he could not see. When Hawker tried to turn away, the man swung the other elbow into his face.
    Hawker rolled away and got slowly to his feet. As he did, he saw that the silhouette was already upon him and the silver blade of the knife was arching downward toward his face like a meteor. The vigilante caught the man’s wrist in both hands and twisted sideways. When the man bent over, Hawker kicked him once in the solar plexus, then twice in the scrotum.
    The man gave a wheeze of pain and the knife dropped