Bear surfaced then, dark hair slicked to his skull, beard dripping, eyes clear. He blew water from his nose the way a swimmer does and tapped the frame again: two beats, one beat, two. “He’s wedged shims under the axle,” Doc translated for the group without being asked. “It’ll buy us a little.”
Bear didn’t waste breath on speech. He reached for the window and braced his shoulder under the lower edge of the bus, buying June leverage. June’s arms flexed. The window slid higher. “Okay, Liam,” she said, voice a rope. “Can you give me one hand? Just one, love. I’ve got you.”
Liam’s hand came like a small bird, startled but brave. June took it. Zoe’s hand found Liam’s back and guided. Little by little, inches, then more, Liam’s knees cleared the frame. Doc’s arms were there, sure and careful. The chain received him, moved him along, set him on the bank. When he reached me, his eyes were wide and shining under the brim of the borrowed cap. I tugged the blanket tight and felt the fine shiver of relief rattle through him.
