At first, the vehicle didn’t slow down. Kimo prepared to throw herself to the side at the last minute. Apparently, the driver finally spotted her and slammed on his brakes, bringing the vehicle to a skidding stop a few feet in front of Kimo.
Her heart raced, and her breathing was ragged. She reeled toward the driver’s door. “Help me,” she cried. “Please, help me.”
The window lowered halfway, and a man peered out, a frown denting his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“My friend,” Kimo said. “We were doing a night dive when we were attacked.”
“By sharks?” the man asked, his eyes widening.
“No.” Kimo shook her head. “By men. Do you have a cell phone?”
The man shifted into park and pulled out a cell phone. “I’m calling 911.” He placed the call and pressed the phone to his ear. “I need to report an incident. A woman stopped me in the middle of the road, claiming to have been attacked on a night dive. Here, talk to her. She’ll give you the details.” He handed the phone to Kimo.
Her hand shaking as badly as her knees, Kimo pressed the device to her ear. “This is Kimo Kekoa. I was on a night dive with my partner, Alana Neal, when another boat attacked us. The boat struck my partner. The men on board dragged Alana up onto their boat. She was limp. I don’t know if she was just injured or…dead.” She swallowed hard on a sob and forced herself to continue.
“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?” the dispatcher asked. “Maybe they were bringing her aboard to take her to a hospital?”
Kimo’s jaw hardened. “It wasn’t an accident. They shined a spotlight on her, aimed the boat directly at my friend and ran her over. Then they came back around and dragged her on board. I heard one of the men say, ‘There has to be another diver. Find him. We can’t leave loose ends.’ Then they came after me, tried to run me over with their boat and then tried to shoot me in the water. Does that sound like an accident?” she asked, her voice hardening.
“No, ma’am.”
“Either way, you need to send someone out here. Police, Coast Guard, National Guard—I don’t care who. You need to find my friend.”
The dispatcher’s voice sounded in her ear, “We have your location based on the GPS coordinates of the cell phone you’re speaking from. A police unit is on the way, and I’ve notified the Coast Guard. Help is on its way.”
“Please, hurry,” Kimo whispered. She handed the phone to the driver and sank to her knees in the middle of the road. Her body shook so hard her teeth rattled. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
A car door opened and closed. A moment later, a jacket was laid over her shoulders by gentle hands. “We should get you out of the middle of the road.” The kind man who’d loaned her the cell phone closed his fingers around her arms and urged her to stand.
Her knees wobbling, Kimo let him guide her to her feet. He opened the back door of his car and eased her onto the back seat. “I hear sirens. Help is on its way,” he assured her. While they waited, he pressed tissues to the wound on her calf in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.
Kimo sat in numb silence, her body still shaking, her vision blurred.
The distant wail of sirens grew louder. Before long, a Maui Police Department vehicle pulled up behind the man’s car, and a uniformed officer got out.
He asked Kimo questions; she told him what she’d said to the dispatcher.
Within a few more minutes, an ambulance arrived.
An EMT rolled a stretcher toward her.
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Kimo said.
“Ma’am,” the EMT said, “you’ve received a gunshot wound. A doctor should treat it.”
“It’s only a flesh wound,” she argued as she fought a bout of nausea.
“Ma’am, blood loss and infection could lead to more serious complications,” the EMT informed her. “A doctor needs to assess the damage and prescribe treatment that could include antibiotics or surgery.”
Rather than keep her good Samaritan saddled with her, Kimo thanked him and let the EMTs load her on a stretcher.
As they strapped her down, she said, “I’m not the one who needs the medical attention,” Kimo insisted. “My friend, Alana, is the one who needs the help.” She glanced across at the police officer, tears welling in her eyes. “Please tell me they’re looking for her.”
The officer nodded. “Dispatch alerted the Coast Guard. They’ve sent out a helicopter from Oahu and a response boat from the Maui Coast Guard Station not far from here.”
His words were welcome but not total relief. Until they found Alana alive, Kimo would be tied in knots, dreading the worst.
They loaded her into the waiting ambulance to transport her to Maui Memorial Medical Center in Wailuku on the other side of the island. On the way, she asked to use the EMT's cell phone.
