A Witch In Winter (23 page)

‘You can’t go back – you’ll be late for the test!’

‘Let me
out
!’

I yanked at the handbrake and we jackknifed across the road, Seth fighting wildly to retain control of the steering. As we struggled the speed dropped, and I saw my chance. I tore open the door and leapt, feeling the gravel rip into my skin as I hit the ground in a flurry of grit and flapping textbooks.

I lay for a moment, stunned by the impact with the tarmac, then saw to my horror that Seth had stopped the truck at the edge of the road. He sat, his head thrown back and his chest heaving with spent adrenaline. Then he looked straight at me and his eyes were furious.

‘You lunatic!’ he yelled. ‘What were you … ?’

He stopped. Looked down at the foot pedals. When he looked back up there was panic in his face. The truck was moving – rolling backwards towards the cliff.

I saw him stamp furiously at the foot brake, then heave at the handbrake in a desperate attempt to stop the truck’s inexorable slide. Again and again he yanked the lever. But it was no use. Neither brake had any effect at all. The truck was picking up speed.

I began to run towards him.

‘Anna, get back,’ he yelled, fear in his eyes. ‘Oh God, if I can just get it into gear …’

I raced across the grass, feeling the terror rise in my gut, threatening to choke me. If only I could reach him in time…

But I knew it was futile.

As the truck shot off the edge of the cliff I exerted every ounce of power I possessed – and stopped it.

For a long moment, the truck hovered in mid-air, about three feet away from the cliff edge. It was incredibly heavy, but if I could just pull it back – inch it back towards the cliff edge …

Sweat broke out on my forehead and I fell to my knees on the short turf, every muscle, every bone in my body straining to keep the truck in mid-air and edge it backwards. The leaden weight tore at my guts. But it was working, incredibly it was working … The truck stayed level with the cliff, then trembled and jerked an inch or two towards safety.

My breath sobbed between my teeth and I let out a whimper of exertion. Sweat trickled down my nose. I was so tired. It wasn’t just the truck, there was something else, a huge, inexorable weight bearing down on my shoulders, crushing me to the ground.
Something
was fighting me.

I shut my eyes and bowed my head, summoning power from every cell of my body. I could do this. Then I opened my eyes.

A huge crow crouched just inches away from me on the turf, watching me with its glittering black gaze. As my eyes widened in shock it leapt, snapping with its curved beak, scratching for my eyes.

I scrambled back and my concentration slipped, just for an instant, but it was enough. The truck jerked, hung vertically by one wheel for a split second, and then fell.

What I did next, I did purely on instinct. I had no thought for anything except Seth.

I dived.

I fell, perhaps a hundred feet. I had barely time to notice the air tearing in my throat and ripping at my clothes and hair, before I hit the oregn="jussurface of the sea with a smack that sent my head ringing. The salt water forced its way into every pore of my skin with excruciating pressure, stinging my nose and eyes, and the momentum of my fall thrust me deep, deep into the sea, down into the murky storm-torn depths at the foot of the cliff. It was so cold I thought I’d die from the chill alone, but then I saw Seth’s truck, upended on the seabed, shaken by the waves that reached even to these depths.

I fell the last few feet in slow motion, all the air long since crushed from my lungs, only my witchcraft keeping me alive now.

Seth was in the truck, slumped over the steering wheel just a few yards away in the murk. Grabbing a rock from the seabed I flung it at the windscreen, but it was like throwing in treacle, and my strength, in this depth of water, was piteous. The rock fell yards short, drifting softly to the seabed with a little flurry of murk. Wearily I half waded, half crawled to the cab and tried again, pounding at the glass on the driver’s side window again and again. Inside I could see Seth, terrifyingly motionless, blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

At last – at last there was a crack. After that the pressure of the water did the work. A web of splinters swiftly spread across the pane, then, with a roar, the water entered, buffeting Seth sideways with its force. It didn’t take long – first Seth’s legs were wet, then his chest, and finally his head was submerged, the blood drifting away in the sluggish water like red smoke. I watched in an agony of impatience and as soon as the cab was pretty much full I yanked at the door latch with numb and trembling hands. It opened and I crawled into the rocking, unstable cab, tearing at Seth’s seatbelt catch.

It seemed like forever, but at last the belt came free and I ripped and heaved and tore Seth out of his seat, his head lolling. A silver stream of precious air bubbled from his mouth and nose, spelling out the fact that his life was slipping away with every passing second.

Now I only needed to get us both to the surface, but with little air in Seth’s lungs, and none in mine, we were both dead weights with no buoyancy to help me as I struck for the surface. I could barely support my own weight, let alone Seth’s twelve stone alongside me. Tiredness and chill were striking into my bones. I would have sobbed, but I had no oxygen to make a sound, and the tears just mingled with the salt of the sea. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. We were both going to die here, in the cold of the sea, just another car accident, another black statistic of young people too young to drive, but not too young to die.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It would be rest at least. I wouldn’t have to go on, fighting my way through the cold murk. My muscles tore with a fiery pain and my poor heart beat, oxygenless, with panicked bird-like flutters. My eyes stung and my lungs choked against the salt water. Wouldn’t it be easier just to give up? Seth and I could rest here, together.

I hugged Seth to me, threading my hands in his dark curls, running my fingertips over his closed lids, bruised and dark, and the contours of his throat. His beautiful face was blue, blood drifting in scarlet feathers from his mouth. It looked like this would be my last memory. A cold embrace, from the boy I’d loved – and had killed. His last memory wolas"0">uld be of my betrayal – of my leaping from the truck, letting it drop. He would never know the truth, because I’d never be able to explain. He’d always think I’d run away when he needed me most.

No! The searing agony of that thought tore through me, bringing heat to my numb, frozen limbs. Damn the Ealdwitan. I would
not
let us die here. Seth had saved me, twice. It was my turn to save him.

I struck out, fighting for the surface, fighting for Seth’s life.

Pain, pain in my chest, someone beating on it with a hammer, crushing me. Plastic at my mouth, light in my eyes. More pounding pain. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

‘The boy’s breathing by himself. I think he’ll make it, but looks to me like the girl’s a goner,’ I heard through a haze.

‘Well that’s for them to call at the hospital. Let’s get her intubated and we can start getting them up that cliff.’

Who were these people? What were they talking about? I tried to speak but there was something hard in my mouth and my lungs felt like they were clagged with some gross, sticky substance. The effort was too much. I let the darkness close over my head.

Sounds: a roaring in my ears, and the scream of a siren, very close, incredibly loud. The insistent beeping of medical machines, and – most heart-breaking – the sound of tearing, heaving sobs from someone very near.

‘Calm down, Seth. Calm down.’ A male voice, calm, official, comforting.

But the sobs continued.

Bumping, rattling, the screech of trolley wheels and a bang as the footrest hit a swinging door. A flurry of medical stats shouted to and fro.

‘CPR commenced at the scene by a passerby … intubated at ten thirty-eight … ten rounds of adrenaline and warm saline by IV … asystole throughout …’

I heard the other trolley rattle away down the corridor, and then a far off cry,

‘Anna, no! No! I won’t leave her!
No!
’ The sound receded …

Needles, tubes, pushing, shouting – everything hurt. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted everything to stop. And then I heard, ‘Sorry everyone, I’m going to have to call this one. Is everyone agreed? OK, stop resuscitation, time of death is…’

At last there was silence.

I lay, compl">Iwidetely at peace, feeling the warmth of the lights on my cold skin. Someone had pulled a sheet over my face, and the harsh, starched fabric rasped at my cheeks and nose. It was wonderful simply to lie still, not to fight any more, in this quiet corner of the hospital. I felt so tired, more tired than I had ever felt in my life before. I could have slept forever.

But there was the memory of those dreadful, tearing sobs … I had to get up. Seth. I couldn’t leave him in some far corner of the hospital. I had to go and find him.

My hand shook with exhaustion, but I reached up and pulled the sheet from my face. Then, tilting my head to one side, I vomited and choked all the phlegm, foam and seawater out of my lungs. There was an astonishing amount. It flooded the lino, a tide of gross pinkish foam.

Ripping air back into my lungs hurt far worse than drowning. Every inch was raw and scoured with salt, and the air cut like knives. I sat up, choking and sobbing and gasping. A monitor at my side flickered into life and began a slow
pip
,
pip
, in time with my reluctant pulse.

There was a scream.

‘The girl! She’s – she’s – she’s—’

My quiet corner was no longer quiet. Curtains were ripped back, feet came running, panicked shouts echoed down the corridor, hands pushed me back on to the trolley.

‘Christ, who called this? Why didn’t someone check her?’

‘We did! Dr Mahmood – the paramedics …’

‘Blankets! Get me a drip, quick! Where’s her chart?’

‘What’s her name? Quick, quick! What’s her
name
?’

‘Hell, where’s the chart?’

‘Somebody find the damn chart!’

‘Here it is … Anna – Anna Winterson.’

‘Anna, Anna, listen to me, you’re OK. You’re going to be OK.’

But I knew that already.

For what seemed like hours it was all tests and drips and cannulas and muttered, indignant conferences in corners about who’d missed what, who’d failed to check what, which protocols had been adhered to, or not.

But eventually the panic and shock subsided and – rather reluctantly, or so it seemed – the doctors were forced to admit that I was here, alive, with astonishingly few side effects from my long immersion.

‘I want to see Seth,’ I said, when they eventually unhookedualmedics … me from the monitor. A man in a white coat shook his head.

‘I’m sorry; he’s under sedation.’

Oh my poor Seth.

‘I have to see him,’ I said. ‘I can get hysterical if you like, but wouldn’t it be simpler just to let me see him now?’

There was a hurried conference and eventually a female doctor said, ‘You can see him, of course, Anna. But just for a few minutes. Don’t be alarmed when you see him – he’s fine. It’s just the effect of the sedative they gave him to calm him down.’

They wouldn’t let me walk, so I was wheeled in a wheelchair down endless corridors, the doctor pushing and a nurse following with my drip bag on a little stand. Doors opened and closed, more doors, a keypad, then a long ward full of cubicles.

‘Here he is,’ said the doctor, drawing aside a curtain. I got out of the wheelchair, ignoring the nurse’s protests, and knelt beside the bed.

His face was very pale, and he lay like a child who’d cried himself to sleep, with one hand under his cheek.

Traces of tears were still visible on his face.

The doctor spoke in a whisper.

‘He was very distressed. Your condition initially looked much more serious and …’ She trailed off. I suppose there’s no easy way to say,
We told him you were dead
.

I touched his cheek, very gently, and he stirred.

‘Seth,’ I said softly, ‘Seth, it’s OK, I’m here. I’m alive and well. It’s all OK.’

He didn’t wake, but he moved under the covers to face me, and his expression softened, relaxed. When I took his free hand, still bruised with the marks of the IV drip inserted into the back, his fingers closed reflexively on mine – his grip, even in sleep, surprisingly strong.

‘Please can’t I stay?’ I said pleadingly to the doctor. She looked sympathetic but shook her head.

‘I’m very sorry, Anna, but this is a male ward. Also the effect of the sedative won’t wear off for several hours. But we’ll come and get you as soon as he wakes up.’

‘Do you
promise
?’ I said fiercely. ‘Even if it’s the middle of the night? Even if I’m asleep?’

‘I promise,’ she said, and nodded.