The Well (38 page)

He gestured over towards the ruined cottage. “Walk,” he said. “Get in there.”

12

Inside the tunnel, almost everything was black. The iPod cast an eerie glow for about a foot in front of Becca; beyond that was nothing but dark. Her movements kicked up silt from the tunnel floor, reducing her visibility further.

Not that she
needed
to see: the light was something that helped her maintain her sanity and narrowly kept her fear in check. It provided just enough light to see if the space immediately in front of her was large enough to move into.

Becca wriggled forwards, as fast as she could without either panicking or wasting energy. Arms outstretched in front of her, she frequently had to twist and turn to negotiate the changing shape of the tunnel. If anything, the tunnel was a little larger than she had thought. It was tight, but not impossibly so.

She kept moving: rest meant death. This was not under water as Becca knew it. The familiar environment where she excelled was one of warmth and freedom, where arms and legs propelled you at speed. This was cold and harsh. As she moved, she felt herself continually scraping against sharp rock. Her shoulders, knees and elbows seemed to catch something with each movement. Sometimes the pain was almost enough to take the air from her lungs but she always managed to keep moving.

Every so often she would slow, holding the iPod high in the tunnel to check for air pockets. Always finding none, she nevertheless remained confident that they existed – although knowing that they existed and living long enough to find one were two different matters.

As best she could, she counted in her head, to try to keep track of time. Yet, once she had counted up to one minute – a duration that Becca could normally easily remain under water – she already felt as though she couldn’t hold her breath any longer and that somehow she had drastically miscounted.

Then the tunnel narrowed. She held up the iPod, pausing. It narrowed only briefly, but it looked too tight for even her slender body. She didn’t have time to think: going back would be far harder, she decided. It would take her twice the amount of time to go back that it took to get here. She pushed forwards, wriggling herself into the tight space.
Shoulders and hips
, she thought.
If I can get my shoulders through, I should be OK
–
although it will be tight on my hips too.

She moved her head into the gap and then tried to wriggle her shoulders through, but it was just too tight. Determined, she twisted her body around until she found the best position, and then tried to push just one shoulder into the tight space, bracing her feet against the tunnel wall. She inched forwards – and then pushed again. Her shoulder scraped along the sharp rock, sending a screaming pain up her arm and down her spine. She dropped the iPod, but just managed to hang on to the water bottle. She didn’t waste her time even trying to pick the iPod up. She pushed again and inched forwards, tighter into the gap. For four or five seconds, it seemed that she was firmly stuck; no manner of pushing and squeezing would move her in any direction. Then, with one hard push and a twist at the same time, her right shoulder almost literally popped through into the wider space beyond.

Getting her left shoulder through was easier, though still tough, but once that was through she retrieved the iPod and pulled her chest and abdomen clear. Getting her hips through was tricky, but she managed it, just, by wriggling and twisting continually. As she squeezed through, she felt her pelvis scrape along the rock agonisingly. She felt sure that she’d cut a gash where the hip bone was closest to the top of the skin, but had no way of seeing if she had.

Keep moving,
she thought.
You have to keep moving.

Once clear, she increased her speed. She’d initially wanted to move at a steady pace, to conserve air, but she had forfeited a lot of time. Worse, she’d now lost count completely – she didn’t know if she’d spent fifteen seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, or more trying to squeeze through the gap.

For a terrible moment, Becca thought that she was going to have a coughing fit. She halted, trying desperately to stop herself from coughing, knowing for certain that it would kill her. Of all the things that had happened in the last few days, that one moment was for Becca the most terrifying. Once she was sure that the need to cough had passed, she moved on.

Her right shoulder screamed at her with every movement. Becca didn’t think that she had dislocated it, since she could move it (albeit with a great deal of pain) but she suspected that she had either cut or sprained it badly.
It doesn’t matter
, she told herself.
You can live with the pain for a few minutes. By then, I’m either out of here or it makes no odds.

Becca could feel that both her confidence and strength were waning. There seemed to be no end to the tunnel. Her chest was beginning to seriously hurt and she wondered how long she had been under water.
Two minutes? Three? Four?
One thing was sure, she was well beyond the point of being able to go back.

For a few feet, the tunnel widened out and Becca had the luxury of being able to move a little more freely. She paused, checking for an air pocket; finding none, she moved on.

It’s much further than I guessed
, she thought, starting to feel real panic. Just as she’d lost track of time, she had no idea how great a distance she had covered. She could be halfway there, or a quarter.

With each passing second, the pain in her chest increased. Often, when swimming under water, she would slow and rest – the brief pause would usually be enough to buy her a little extra time under water. Right now, Becca didn’t feel that she could waste even a second.

Then she felt it.

It was unbelievable, but unmistakable: a cold hand slowly wrapped long fingers around her ankle and held her fast. She kicked, but the hand remained firm. Then it started to pull her back.

She gritted her teeth and kicked vigorously with both feet, only to find that she was kicking against empty water.

You don’t like this, bitch, do you?
she thought, knowing that this meant one thing: she had a chance of success. But Becca also realised something else. If the woman had really wanted to hold on, she would have. She was being teased, to the last.
Does she want to kill me
, Becca wondered,
or frighten me?

Her determination doubled, she pushed forwards even harder – trying her best to disregard the agony in her chest.

13

Abby and Helen left the car at the bend in the lane. Abby had to help Helen (who held her injured arm tight to her chest) over the stile; then they ran up the hill towards the quarry.

It was deserted.

Abby closed her eyes and searched for Sammy with her mind, but couldn’t feel anything.

I hope that doesn’t mean anything
, she thought.

They climbed the grassy hill at the side of the quarry pool as quickly as they could, Abby holding Helen’s good hand to help her balance. Where the hill was steepest, they struggled – Helen unable to scramble on all fours.

“You go ahead,” said Helen, panting hard. “I’ll catch up.”

“No chance,” replied Abby. “You’ll slip. Come on, there’s no time to argue.”

Despite their panic, when they reached the top they both stood for a moment, doubled over, gasping for breath.

A woman’s voice ahead of them brought them sharply upright.

“Te-am avertizat. Negru căţea.”

Helen unconsciously took a step back, sick with fear. Long curly hair blowing in the wind, feet outstretched in a confident stance, the woman blocked their path.

Abby stood her ground. “I want my daughter,” she shouted.

The woman laughed, hawked and spat on the ground. “As do I,” she said.

Abby advanced on the woman. “You can’t stop me,” she said, defiant.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. You try. You see.” The woman drew a long knife from behind her. “Ask your lover-woman. She tell you how real I am.”

“Abby, don’t,” said Helen, touching Abby’s arm.

Abby ignored her and rushed forwards. The woman sidestepped Abby’s lunge neatly and pushed her to the ground. As Abby fell, the woman kicked her hard in the stomach. Abby doubled up on the wet ground, screaming. The woman knelt beside Abby; she grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Abby screamed again. The woman drew back the knife, ready to plunge.

Helen rushed forwards and grabbed the woman’s forearm, holding it back. The woman’s flesh was icy cold, almost burning Helen’s fingers. The woman spat at her. “Mâinile de pe mine, căţea!”

She stood, dropping the knife, and pushed Helen back towards the edge of the quarry.

“Helen!” shouted Abby.

The woman ran forwards and kicked Helen in the stomach. Helen doubled up and dropped to her knees, gasping for breath. “I warn you,” said the woman. She grabbed Helen by the hair, dragged her to the quarry’s edge and pulled her to her feet.

“I warn you,” she said again. She took a step back and kicked Helen hard. Helen fell backwards, screaming, against the rotten fence. The fence offered no resistance to Helen’s fast-moving body; it fell apart readily – and Helen went through it as if it wasn’t there. She disappeared over the edge. Her scream only ended when she splashed into the water below.

Abby grabbed the knife and almost dropped it – it was cold to the touch, burning like ice. She rushed forwards, bringing the knife down hard towards the woman’s chest but striking only empty air. The woman was gone.

Abby peered over the edge of the cliff into the quarry pool. Ripples were expanding across the water, but Helen was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit,” said Abby under her breath, torn between going back for Helen and pushing on to find Sammy. “Shit,” she said again. But when you have to choose between the life of your child and that of your life’s love, there’s little contest. “Oh, Helen, I’m so sorry.”

She gratefully dropped the icy knife into the grass, turned and ran towards the estate wall rubbing her chilled hand against her leg.

And then, in her head, something unexpected: Sammy’s voice. “Helen,” it said. “You have to save Helen. She’s dying.”

Disorientated, Abby spun around, half expecting to see Sammy nearby.

“Sammy?”

“Trust me, Mummy,” said Sammy’s voice. “You have to get Helen.” The voice in her head was more than mere words: it was more like a command; a
touch
inside her head.

Time seemed to telescope. Abby took only moments to decide, but it seemed that entire minutes passed. She’d felt Sammy’s voice – and she knew her daughter well. She could tell that she was scared – way beyond scared. Abby sensed for certain that she was in terrible danger. But she also knew that Sammy saw and felt many things that she didn’t. If she said that Helen was dying, and dying now, it was the truth.

“I’ll be back, baby,” whispered Abby, hoping that somehow her daughter could hear her. She turned, fighting her every instinct as a mother – and scrambled down the rough edge of the quarry pool as fast as she could.

14

Although she didn’t know it, Becca had been under water for approaching five minutes, well over her personal best time. The pain in her chest was excruciating and she knew she couldn’t avoid exhaling for many more seconds. Her head was spinning and she was starting to feel lightheaded – but still she kept pushing herself forwards, forwards.

Keep moving, keep moving
, she told herself.

And then, the moment came, when she knew she could not hold on any longer. Almost bursting, she slowed herself, trying to relax. Then she gently exhaled – just part of her lungs, not all of the way. She’d hoped that doing so would alleviate the pain, but it hurt even more.

Shit
, she thought,
I’m not going to make it.

Then she realised what she had been desperately clutching all of the way. She held the bottle upside down and slowly unscrewed the cap. Then she positioned herself underneath it, exhaled and brought the bottle to her lips. She inhaled as deeply as she could, but the bottle didn’t even hold a quarter of a lungful of air.

It just was enough to restart her oxygen-starved mind. She rolled back onto her front and wriggled forwards as fast as she could, wondering how much additional time the bottle of air had bought her. Desperate, she let go of the bottle and moved forwards almost recklessly, continually scraping herself against the rough stone as she went.

Then, something strange happened. The light from the iPod no longer reflected from all around the tunnel; she could only see it glow beneath her and to her left. The change happened in an instant and was so unexpected that she stopped dead, looking to see what was different. It was too dark – she couldn’t understand what had happened. She moved the iPod around and the light shifted. Puzzled, she lifted it up and the light changed completely in an instant. On the bottom of the tunnel the light now twisted and shifted like smoke. It took a moment for her to recognise what she was looking at. Her hand and the iPod were above the surface of the water – she was seeing the reflection of the top of the water, cast onto the rocks below.

She raised her head upwards into cold air and exhaled, coughing. The air was stale – but it was air. She breathed it in, deeply, coughing and spitting for a few minutes before regaining control of her ragged lungs.

She pulled off her goggles and held up the iPod. She was in a tiny cavern, perhaps about the size of the inside of a small car. The light from the iPod wasn’t strong enough to tell her exactly how large it was, but she could easily sit up. She held the iPod as high as she could and could just about make out the natural ceiling above her. Large enough to sit, but not to stand, she guessed.

Becca realised that she was having to work much harder to breathe than she normally would.
Not much oxygen here,
she thought.
I’ll soon use this up
. But the cavern had given her one thing she’d never expected – not only air, but also a much-needed opportunity to rest. She took it, gratefully, though wondering if what she’d found was not a resting place, but her tomb.