The Well (40 page)

The temptation of a normal life hung in front of her for a second.

“My Mummy?” asked Sammy.

“She would be free as you,” said the voice.

It would be easy
, she thought. She only had to call Hannah over and then – just one push. She could blame Randle. No one would know.

“No,” she shouted, shaking herself free from the spell. In her mind, she saw Hannah, selflessly putting herself forward to Randle, to save
her
– someone she hardly knew.

Sammy put all of her weight against Randle’s body and pushed. He wobbled backwards but didn’t fall.
Harder,
she thought, bracing herself against him. His head wobbled on his shoulders, blood flowing from his two wounds.

Without warning, Sammy felt a punch in her stomach. A weak punch, but a punch. She drew back and looked down. Protruding from the side of her lower abdomen was Randle’s knife. Surrounding it was a growing bloodstain.

“Bitch,” choked Randle, smiling and drooling at the same time. He slumped back against the broken well wall.

Behind him, the woman laughed.

No
, thought Sammy, tears rolling down her face.
He stabbed me.
The blood seemed to be everywhere. She felt sick. Her hands reached for her stomach, feeling the knife buried within her. She looked at her hands; they were full of blood.

Randle reached forwards to grab Sammy, almost drunkenly. With great effort, driven on by anger, Sammy put her shoulder against him and pushed. He rolled backwards into the well and, with a groan, tumbled over the side. His body paused briefly as he hit what was left of the metal grating and then he vanished from view. After a second’s silence, there was a dull crunch followed by a splash. Somewhere, a woman screamed – an angry, terrible scream.

Sammy fell backwards onto the ground, clutching herself. She looked up; the sky was clear, but seemed to be spinning. The howling vortex of wind had vanished. “Mummy,” she said. She closed her eyes but the world kept spinning.

Then Hannah was kneeling over her, crying. “Sammy, Sammy! Oh God. Are you OK?”

Sammy opened her eyes and shook her head. Her mouth was dry.
He stabbed me
, she thought again. “You can kill him now, if you want,” she said, softly.

Hannah didn’t hesitate. She removed the largest stone she could lift from the well wall. Aiming it at the dark she threw it down with all of her strength, shouting “You bastard!” There was a sickening sound: a mixture of a thud, crack and squelch. Although it was impossible to see, the stone had hit Randle on the head, cracking his skull.

Hannah went back to Sammy and knelt beside her. She looked awfully pale to Hannah, a shade of white that she’d never seen before in a person. Hannah held Sammy’s hand.

“Mummy,” whispered Sammy. “Get Mummy. She’s in the quarry.” She closed her eyes.

16

Abby scrambled down the steep side of the quarry pool as quickly as she could. Twice she lost her footing and almost went head over heels, but both times she just about managed to retain her balance as she skidded downhill in the mud.

At the bottom of the hill, she stopped to scan the water. The ripples had almost vanished and there was no sign of Helen.

“Shit,” said Abby, discarding her shoes and jacket. She wasn’t a strong swimmer and was only average under water. The quarry pool was large and probably deep – if she didn’t look in the right place first time, it could take hours to find Helen.

She waded into the water, as quickly as she could. Although the morning was warm, the sun hadn’t yet warmed the water and its cold temperature took Abby’s breath away. The bottom of the pool quickly fell away, at which point Abby took a deep breath and struck out towards where she thought Helen had fallen.

Swimming in her clothes was like moving through treacle and Abby regretted not stripping off to her underwear before getting in – but it was now too late.

Abby reached her goal: width-wise, almost dead centre of the pool but close to the roughly cut vertical wall of the quarry. She trod water for a moment, orientating herself and then, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and forced herself under water. Once under, she kicked downwards and opened her eyes. The water stung her eyes and she blinked furiously, rubbing them. She’d never really mastered being able to see under water, always hating the sensation of water against her eyes. Between blinks, she looked around.

Everywhere was dark, misty and ethereal – a dirty, gloomy half-world of uncertain shapes. Abby started to panic. She was poor at holding her breath and already at the limits of her lung capacity. Cursing to herself, she surfaced, coughing and drawing water. “Helen!” she screamed pointlessly.

Calming herself as much as she could, she took another deep breath and submerged. This time she kicked down as hard as she could; she opened her eyes and scanned around. There was nothing solid to see, just vague, motionless shapes – but further down, to her right, something was moving, swaying. She kicked towards the shape, hoping desperately.

As Abby swam closer, the phantom shape resolved into that of a person, limbs flailing around. A silhouette, but recognisably Helen. She was on her back, four limbs waving around, her arms trying to reach behind her to free herself. Having fallen backwards into the water, she had caught herself on something submerged in the pool; it was impossible to see what. Abby kicked hard and found herself next to Helen, who hadn’t yet noticed her. Abby took Helen’s hand and gave it a squeeze; Helen turned to look at Abby, her face full of panic.

Lungs straining, Abby felt behind Helen. Her jumper was caught on some twisted metal cabling. Despite wriggling around and tearing her jumper, Helen had been unable to work herself free. Without being able to see what was holding her down, she probably felt more tethered than she actually was.

Abby got hold of each sleeve of Helen’s jumper and pulled her arms out; then she hurriedly pulled the jumper over Helen’s head – fighting against her panicking, flapping arms.

Once Helen was free, Abby grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her upwards. The return journey to the surface seemed to take minutes, Abby struggling to swim for both of them while taking random blows from Helen’s flailing arms and legs.

They broke the surface together, both fighting for air, Helen still thrashing wildly. Abby grabbed Helen around the middle and shook her, shouting, “Helen! Helen! It’s OK!”

Helen’s limbs slowed, but her breath remained frantic, punctuated by watery coughs. “Abby, Abby, I thought –” she spluttered.

“Don’t talk,” shouted Abby. “Don’t talk.”

Abby had never learned basic rescue training, but instinctively swam around behind Helen and held her from the back. “Lie on your back,” said Abby. “Kick with your legs.” Abby kicked as hard as she could and paddled with her free arm. Helen’s kicks were almost non-productive and getting back to the shore was a slow, tiring process. After the first few kicks, Helen had begun to sob and Abby didn’t have enough spare energy to calm her – so just kept on kicking.

Eventually, Abby felt her feet touch the bottom of the pool. She grabbed Helen firmly and dragged her out of the water.

Abby dropped Helen, exhausted, onto the muddy ground and collapsed at her side. They both lay there, gasping for air, Helen’s gasps and coughs mixed with sobs.

After a moment, Abby pushed her fingers through her hair, squeezing out the excess water. She knelt beside Helen. “Helen, are you OK?” Abby was desperate to run after Sammy, but needed to make sure that Helen was alright first.

“I think so – I – my back hurts like holy hell.”

Abby rolled her over. The metal cable had cut her back in half a dozen places; a couple of the cuts were deep and angry-looking. Helen’s arms sported a few less severe cuts – she’d lost the bandage from her arm and the knife wound was again open and bleeding. Mud, dirt and tiny stones stuck to her wet body and filled the bloody cuts on her back.

“Helen, I need you to get back into the water,” said Abby, “to clean the cuts.”

Abby led Helen back to the water and quickly washed her back and arms. The water was almost certainly far from clean, but it was better than leaving dirt in the wound.

She led Helen back out of the water and sat her down.

“Helen,” she said, “I have to go.”

Panic flashed across Helen’s face.

“Sammy needs help. I have to go. I’ll be back.”

Helen nodded. “Go. I’ll be OK. Abby –”

“What?”

“Thanks. I’d be – I’d be dead now.”

“Later. If you have to lie down, lie on your side not your back.” Abby took her jacket from the ground and put it around Helen’s bare shoulders. “Try not to move.”

Abby stepped back into her shoes and set off at a run. After just a few paces she paused and returned to Helen, fumbling around in the pockets of the jacket covering Helen’s shoulders. Abby pulled out her mobile phone. “I think we may be passing the point of keeping this to ourselves,” she said.

“You can’t,” said Helen.

“You need an ambulance,” said Abby. “End of story.”

She kissed Helen, quickly. “Love you,” she said – and was gone, clambering frantically up the steep path on all fours.

17

Eyes closed, sitting in the darkness, Becca had managed to calm herself. Her breathing was now slow and steady. The cavern was a place of unimaginable silence. If she kept perfectly still, the only sounds were her own breathing and heartbeat. Even in the well there had always been the distant sound of the wind, blowing the trees in the distance –
and that bastard bird
, Becca thought. She was almost completely relaxed and wondered if she had fallen asleep, if even for a moment.
Very likely
, she thought, dog-tired. Each time she had pushed her exhausted body through one more challenge, she had thought it would be the last. Yet still she had demanded more of it. But now, her muscles were a pump that had run dry.

If I stay here
, she thought,
I’ll die. I can’t go back, I’m too tired. If I go on, the chances are I’ll die panicking, afraid, clawing at the walls for air. Here, I slowly run out of air and fall asleep.
Of the two options, the latter seemed to Becca to be the best.

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The blackness surrounded her. She held her hand in front of her face but could see nothing. The only light came from the faint glow of the iPod, distant in the water.

Becca did a double take. The iPod was still in her hand, turned off.

She knelt in the water and peered carefully towards the light, straining her eyes. It was dim; barely there – but it was there.

The way out,
thought Becca, heart racing once more.
It has to be.
For a moment she thought that she might have lost her bearings and be looking the wrong way, but quickly decided otherwise.
The well is too far back to shine light in here.

She put on her goggles and submerged, staring ahead. The light was clearly there, a soft, distant yellow glow. But there was no way of telling how far away it was. She surfaced, elated.

You can do this,
she told herself, as she always did before and during races – time and time again.
You can do this.

She’d been foolish, she reflected, to abandon the empty water bottle. Once it had saved her, despite holding a trifling amount of air. Now, she had to move forward with only what she could carry in her lungs.
It will have to be enough
, she thought, determined.
It will be enough.

One more thing gave her hope. Where the water came out of the culvert into the quarry pool, it flowed with little more than a trickle. That meant that although the tunnel probably inclined upwards from where she was now to the outside, some of it – perhaps most of it – was out of water. It had to be.
That explains why the glow is so faint
, she thought.
The hole isn’t directly ahead, it’s slightly up.

Becca found that she was crying – and not, for the first time in days, from fear, anger, remorse, hate or pain. She was overjoyed.

When she’d first set off (which seemed like days ago, not minutes) she’d prepared herself: rested; slept; slowed her breathing. Now, she knew she didn’t have the time or the energy. She had to go – and quickly.

Becca allowed herself a scant few minutes’ deep-breathing exercises, which weren’t easy in the thinning air. By the time she decided that she was ready to go, she still felt drained and lightheaded.

She donned her goggles and took as large a lungful of air as she could. Then she submerged and crawled out of the cavern, into the tunnel.

Exhausted almost to the point of collapse, her stomach screaming with hunger, her flesh torn and battered, Becca pushed herself on with a determination that was beyond anything she had ever mustered before.

18

When Abby reached the top of the hill, she almost ran headlong into a girl running away from the estate.

“Are you Sammy’s Mum?” asked the girl, breathless.

“Yes,” she said. “Where’s Sammy? Who are you?”

Hannah pointed to the gap in the wall. “This way,” she said, “quick – she’s hurt.”

“Show me,” said Abby, desperately.

She followed Hannah, towards the wall of the estate. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“I’m Hannah. Becca’s friend. Rebecca Richards. The girl in the well.”

OK, I know who she is, but I don’t know why the hell you’re here
, she thought, but said nothing, realising that everything had spun hopelessly out of control.

They clambered over the wall, Abby slipping on the loose stones. Sammy was just a few yards away, at the side of the old well. She was lying on her back, holding her stomach. Between her fingers a knife protruded from her body. Her eyes were closed and her skin was the colour of paper. Around her hands, her shirt and skirt were covered with blood; the ground around her was soaked in it.

Abby dropped to her knees. “Oh Sammy, baby,” she said, stroking Sammy’s hair, tears falling from her eyes. She grasped Sammy’s hand; her arm was limp. “Oh dear God no,” sobbed Abby.
What the hell,
she thought,
was I thinking chasing after Helen?