Breaking the Circle (13 page)

She hadn’t been aware of spotting it, but an image had registered – there was a metal platform jutting out over the water.

Making small rippling movements, she propelled herself forward until she could hold her breath no longer, then she surfaced and gulped. The top of her head bumped against a flat piece of slimy
metal. She’d made it, she was under the platform. If she kept absolutely still, then she might not be detected. Gently moving her arms to keep herself afloat, she managed to keep her nose and
mouth above water level. But the man wasn’t giving up. He’d heard the splash; he knew she couldn’t swim far in her clothes.

Footsteps thumped on the hard mud.

‘Where are ya? Did I hit ya? Are you down there? Come to a watery end?’ He laughed – a harsh, joyless sound.

There was a clanging noise over her head and she could tell her pursuer had stepped onto the platform. He shuffled and grunted. She heard him flop down and guessed he was peering into the water.
If he leaned over far enough, he’d be able to see her!

She couldn’t hold out much longer. The small movements she was making weren’t enough to keep her afloat. She was sinking. Icy fingers wrapped around her. Chilling spikes of water
pierced her skin; her cells, blood and bone were freezing. Her brain was numb, she couldn’t think. There was no escape. If the man with the gun didn’t leave, she’d sink into a
watery grave.

Underwater, Maya’s head sank slowly as her feet rose. She could hear singing; she could see flowers, clusters of brightly-coloured petals dancing in the soft current.
Relaxed and silent, she lay, supported by the water that was slowly entering her mouth, her nose, her ears and lungs.

Ginger was above her, pointing his gun at the water. He waited for a few minutes, then shrugged his shoulders and swore. There was no sign of the girl. Either he’d shot and killed her or
she’d drowned. He played the beam of his torch over the sides of the canal. They were steep and slippery. Nobody could climb out without help, particularly not if they were fully-clothed or
wounded. Stefan would be happy – he wanted rid of the girl, well, that was sorted!

The beam from his torch swung over the water one more time, then, satisfied, he turned to walk back to the warehouse. There was nothing more he could do tonight and he’d made too much
noise already. He stood listening for a moment, worried his gunshots might have drawn the cops. Then he started to walk away.

Further down the river, an engine started up, a houseboat began to move. Air trapped inside Maya’s body gurgled, her clothes ballooned, taking her up to the surface. The chunky boat
ploughed through the dark water, heading upstream. The wake rocked Maya to the side, her head banged on the platform and she opened her eyes. In front of her, a thick chain dangled into the water.
She coughed, spitting out rancid bile and gulping in air. With her last bit of strength, she grabbed the chain and hauled herself up onto the platform, then crawled, gasping and choking, onto the
towpath.

She couldn’t breathe properly, her lungs weren’t working. She was like ice. Rolling onto her stomach, she pulled up her knees and tried to hug herself, but her hands were like lumps
of frozen meat flapping uselessly in the dirt. A violent spasm shook her; putrid canal water poured from her mouth and ears, her eyes watered, her throat burned, then she heaved her guts up.

‘Bit cold for a swim.’

She could hardly make sense of the words, but heard the laughter and looked up to see faces peering down at her.

‘She’s soaked,’ one of them said.

‘It’s a mermaid, it’s a mermaid,’ another voice joined in.

‘I reckon she should go to ‘ospital,’ another voice said, as a coughing fit seized Maya.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a face came close – a big square chin, squinty eyes. For a moment she saw him clearly before he dissolved. His features rippled as if she was back
underwater; his voice was muffled, water sloshed and slopped in her ears. Coloured lights drifted and circled her head. Something soft and warm touched her neck and then she was rising and jolting
and falling into oblivion.

‘It’s all right, lads, I know her. I’ll take care of her.’

‘She should get some treatment. She was, like, drowned.’

‘Could have brain damage.’

Maya’s eyes flicked open. Strong arms were holding her, beery breath on her face, ginger eyebrows like orange caterpillars bristling at her. A freckled fist clamped round her leg.

‘Yeah. I’ll call an ambulance. No need for you to worry, lads, you’ve done your bit. Blimey, if it hadn’t been for you, she could have been out there all night –
died of exposure. Heroic thing you done.’

‘We heard some shootin’. Wasn’t nothin’ to do with her, was it?’

‘Nah. Machinery over at the works. Often hear it at night.’

All Maya could do was lie and shiver, her teeth rattling, her skin prickling, her face and scalp stretched tight. Something was covering her but she couldn’t feel its warmth. She closed
her eyes, trying to think and sort out what had happened. The lads who’d found her had handed her over to Ginger. She was back in the warehouse. After all her effort to escape she was a
prisoner, once again.

The faces melted away, the voices faded. She heard Ginger’s voice.

‘It’s my niece, lives down on the houseboats, was just going home; must have fallen in. I’ll call an ambulance. You’ve been fantastic, lads. No, it’s all right.
I’ll see to her now.’

Laid out on an old sofa at the back of the warehouse, Maya tried to lift her legs, attempted to get up, but it was no use, everything span. She was vaguely aware of being lifted up and carried,
then she landed with a bang, her frozen limbs jarred, her head jolted.

‘Back where you started, princess.’

Ginger was standing over her, his arm blurred as he waved a gun. There was no fight left in her to knock it away. All she could do was lie and shiver.

* * *

The next time Maya opened her eyes, she looked up at a bare light bulb dangling from a wooden beam above her head. At one side of the beam, the ceiling seemed to sag and the
plaster was stained with watermarks. When she turned her head, a course blanket grazed her cheek – somebody had covered her up, but she was cold. A chill breeze blew in through the smashed
window; underneath her body, the mattress was cold and damp. When she moved, her joints were stiff and painful; the jeans she was wearing were twisted tightly round her legs as if they didn’t
fit right. When she tried to move her hand, she found she couldn’t separate her wrists – they were bound together.

Raising herself up on one arm was an effort, but she managed it and squirmed into an upright position. Looking down, she saw thin rope wrapped around her wrists. It wasn’t an expert job,
so hopefully it wouldn’t take too long to wriggle her hands free. Slowly, awkwardly, she turned round and saw Gerard lying on his back. One arm was thrown out, his face was almost as grey as
the blanket that covered him, his mouth gaped open and his eyes were staring up at nothing.

Crawling over to him, Maya’s heart fluttered as she looked down at his blank face. She swallowed hard, turned her head away, wanted to crawl back to her own mattress without touching him,
but she had to make sure. Easing the blanket down, she wriggled her fingers until she could touch his wrist. There was some warmth, but she couldn’t feel a pulse.

Without freeing her hands, she couldn’t help Gerard or herself. It took a while, twisting and turning, her wrists rubbed raw by the rope, but eventually the binding slipped off and she was
free. The next task was to get warmer. She was so cold she could hardly think and violent shivers were rattling her bones.

Deliberately focusing, she controlled her mind.

Think of one thing at a time, just one thing. Warmth, if you get warmer you’ll be able to think.

On a corner of the mattress, behind Gerard’s head, was his leather jacket. She leaned over and pulled it to her, sliding it over his face. He didn’t move. She slipped her arms into
the jacket, then slowly, clumsily, undid her jeans and wriggled out of them. She pulled the blanket from the mattress and wrapped the dry part around her legs.

Gerard needed help. He was barely alive – if he got to hospital he might have a chance. She began to feel more focused, her body was waking up – she paddled her legs, slapped her
thighs. His jeans! Her eyes ran over his body – slim waist, long legs, her height. She tugged his remaining boot off and laid it aside, then squinted at his belt buckle. Her fingers gaining
strength, she worked quickly, tugging, undoing, pulling. His body was pliable, he didn’t protest, he was beyond that. It seemed a terrible thing she was doing and yet she knew it was right.
If there was a chance to survive she had to take it.

Wriggling out of her wet underwear, she threw it aside. Gerard’s jeans were a good fit when the belt was pulled tight, and she felt instantly better for having something dry around her. He
was heavy to lift and made no response as she pulled his T-shirt over his head, then she laid him back as gently as she could on the mattress. His bare chest was thin and bony; he was no threat
now. Quickly, she slipped off the leather jacket, put on his T- shirt and pulled the leather jacket on again. That was much better – she was warm and dry.

Scrabbling around, she searched for her trainers. They were nowhere to be found. Gerard’s boots? She pulled one on and reached for the other lying under the window. She tipped it upside
down to empty out any fragments of glass, then slid her bare foot inside.

Just as she was fastening the boots, she heard a heavy tread. Somebody was climbing the stairs. Throwing the blanket back over Gerard, she dived for the mattress and covered herself up. The door
rattled and Ginger entered.

She pretended to be asleep, but when the side of his shoe prodded her head, her eyes opened. He loomed over her, his legs apart, his stomach bulging beneath a tight black T-shirt, the bottom of
his bulbous chin covered in thick ginger stubble. He leaned down and wrenched the blanket away from her.

‘So, what’s been going on here? Untied yourself? Thought you’d escape again? You’re a barrow-full of trouble.’

‘He needs help,’ Maya said, sitting up and looking over at Gerard.

‘He’s all right. Happy tripping, just sleeping it off.’

‘He’s not all right, he’s unconscious.’

Ginger laughed and kicked at the mattress Gerard was lying on. Gerard didn’t move. ‘He dosed himself up, stupid moron,’ Ginger muttered.

‘Yeah, with bad drugs,’ Maya snapped. ‘He’ll die if you don’t get him to hospital.’

‘Good try. What you going to do? Shout for help while I call an ambulance?’

Suddenly Ginger was on top of her, rolling her onto her back, clawing at her neck. Maya tried to knee him but he was heavy, his weight holding her down.

‘Stupid bitch!’ he spat at her and then started to suck at her neck, his hard body pressing down on her. She squirmed sideways as his hands groped all over her, hands on her breasts,
squeezing, pinching. She tried to poke at his eyes, but his fist came up, knocking her hand away and smashing into her chin. Tears flooded her eyes.

‘Get off me! Get off me!’

He levered himself up, pulling his trousers down. She clutched at his face, clawing and scratching. She screamed in fury, twisting her body trying to get out from under him, but he was too much
for her – too heavy, too strong.

He started pulling at the belt she’d put on, trying to undo the buckle. She managed to get her fingers round his ear and twist hard. He yelled in pain and then they both froze as a
tortured gasping sound came from beside them.

‘What the. . .?’ Ginger muttered and, grabbing a handful of hair, he pushed Maya’s head back and peered over her.

Maya raised her head so that she could see Gerard. His face seemed to have turned blue, his head was arched back, his eyes bulging. Deep, rasping breaths raked his lungs, his mouth flapped open,
the air stuttering and echoing as he choked.

Mesmerised by Gerard’s fight for breath, Ginger’s hold on her slackened. With a mighty effort, Maya pushed his body off her.

‘He’s dying,’ she shrieked.

Sliding over to Gerard, she snatched up a piece of blanket, cleared his mouth and nose of vomit and, at the same time, slipped her hand into the pocket of the leather jacket she’d stolen
from him.

‘Call an ambulance,’ she said again. ‘He needs help.’

Ginger stared at her then scowled. ‘I ain’t calling no ambulance. Serves the little sod right.’

Shuffling across the mattress, he made a grab for Maya, but this time she was ready for him. Gerard’s flick knife was in her hand and she stood over Ginger, brandishing the blade near his
eyes. He reeled back, surprised, muttering curses.

‘Stay there,’ Maya said. ‘Don’t come any closer.’

Ginger wasn’t used to taking orders from a girl. He thought he could take her, but when he tried to stand up, his feet became entangled in his trousers. Off balance, he fell backwards,
sprawling on the floor.

Maya didn’t need a second chance. She leapt over Gerard’s body, wrenched open the door and clattered down the stairs. By the time Ginger had recovered she was a blur in the
distance.