Rain In My Heart (21 page)

PART
4–
UNWELCOME GUEST

Chapter Forty

If the collide with the bin had hurt, it had at least saved him from being swept into the worst of the raging water.  I do
n’
t think recycling-bins are usually classed as life-saving equipment, but this was
n’
t a usual scenario.  I watched, my stomach in knots, as Leon clawed his way out of the rushing water, using the roots of a nearby tree stump for leverage.

            
 ‘
Leon
!
’
I hollered, cupping my mouth with my hands.

              I prayed he could hear me, then I heard him groan.

‘I–I’
m okay
,’
he croaked, his voice thin against the din of the wind.

            
 ‘
Are you injured
?
’

            
 ‘
Uh...my legs...I ca
n’
t move my legs..
.
’

He sounded like he was in pain.   Awful pain.

‘I’
ve busted my ankles.  I ca
n’
t get up
.
’

              I looked down.  He was half-sitting, half-lying, resting on his elbows, but his legs were limp and his feet were askew, like they were facing the wrong way. I sickened.  I did
n’
t know what to say.

            
 ‘
It - i
t’
s going to be okay
,’
I squeaked, struggling to conceal my distress
.‘
They might bebroken, so do
n’
t try to move, bu
t…
do
n’
t worry.  As long as yo
u’
re on dry land
-
’

              He was, but only just.  The wate
r’
s edge was only a few inches away.  And we both knew it was rising.  A surge of protectiveness came over me.  I had to do something.  But what?
What
?

              Leon stirred again.

            
 ‘
I can see lights
,’
he called.

              I strained to hear him.  His voice sounded even weaker.  I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers.

‘
Ther
e’
s something
,’
he said
,‘
up the hill, in the bushes, in the trees...lights...I can see car lights..
.
’

My spirits sparked again.

‘
You mean the
y’
ve arrived
?’
I shouted.
 ‘
The rescue team?  Where?
Where
?
’

‘
No team.  Just lights.  In the trees
.
’

              But I could
n’
t see a car.  I could
n’
t see lights.  I could
n’
t hear an engine.  Was he imagining it?

            
 ‘
Crashed
,
’ he said vaguely.
 ‘
Crashed in the trees.  Miss Nevis.  Her car
-
’

My whole body shivered.                           

            
 ‘
Is she there
?’
I called
.‘
Is Miss Nevis
there
?
’ 

              So,
had
she survived the ordeal and come to help us?  Leon did
n’
t reply. 

            
 ‘
Is Miss Nevis there
?’
I repeated.
 ‘
Leon? 
Leon? 
Can you hear me
?
’

              I carried on calling, for ten minutes or more, calling his name, crying and calling, crying and calling.  But that was it.  He stopped talking, stopped moving.  All I could do was stare at his body, lifeless at the wate
r’
s edge.   And for the first time since the flood had hit, I felt certain we were done.  It was over.  There was no more hope.

Chapter Forty One

The next few minutes were a haze.  I could
n’
t think straight.  I could hardly see through mytears.  My head felt twice its size and it hummed with emotion.  The rope.  The stupid zip wire.  The ridiculous plan.  I knew it would
n’
t work.  
Why
had I let him do it?             

And now?  What did I do now? 

I pulled myself away from the window, even though it broke me to leave Leon, and stumbled across the flooded room, to the cupboard where Curtis was lying.  I needed someone.  I could
n’
t handle it on my own.   I tugged Curti
s’
s arm, shook his body.

‘
Wake up
!’
I screamed.

When he did
n’
t respondthe anger boiled up inside me.  H
e’
d let us down.  If he had
n’
t drunk the cider, had
n’
t passed out, if h
e’
d been a proper help to u
s…
I shook him hard, almost violently, but he still did
n’
t stir. 

‘
Useless
!
’
 
I shouted.
 ‘
What use are
you
?
’

I stepped back, hugged myself.  No good.  I was on my own now.  Did I crumble and give up? Did I cower? Or did I fight?

The sewage water was still coming through the walls, spouting from the broken pipes.  The rain continued and the wind howled.  But with every seed of strength I could muster, I pulled myself together.  I drew my fists tight, tensed my stomach, raised my face to the open window and glared into my fear.  Once again, I thought of everything I loved, everything that made me happy.  And I decided to fight.

Two things.  There were two things I needed to do.  Find a way to contact the outside world.  Find another way out.  It did
n’
t matter in what order, but one of them had to prove fruitful.  I grabbed the remaining candle stump and one of the wooden batons, then checked all the windows, the possible exists.  If the worst came to the worst, I realised it was possible I could get up on the roof.   But more importantly, I needed to make it clear to the outside world that I was still here, that
we
were still here - I was
n’
t giving up on Leon.  Or Curtis.  Even Byron.

I searched through the store cupboard, found an ancient tube of orange pain
t–
the brightest colour available.  I made a flag from an off-cut of white fabric, spread it across the table and wrote the letters S.O.S. as boldly as I could.  I took the fabric to the stairwell, to the main entrance, which seemed like the most visible place.  The stairs were now a waterfall.  The overflow from the sinks was spilling down, mingling with the flood from below.  I tightened the sodden laces of my pumps and waded through it.

The front door, broken from its hinges, was like the mouth of a cave, opening onto the wild.   I stuffed my baton into the waistband of my jeans, held the candle between my teeth, and began to tie the fabric to one of the bent hinges.  As I leant forward, I noticed blood - smears on the rims of the doorframe, handprints along the walls.  I palled, stepped back.  Was it Byro
n’
s blood?  H
e’
d cut his eyebrow in the fight with Curtis.  And his knee.  Maybe the blood was from his knee?

I did
n’
t know whether to hope for him or fear him.  The sight of the blood scared me.  My mind raced with memories of the gruesome horror movies Marshall used to make me watch.  H
e’
d thought they were funny. 
I’
d thought they were awful.   But they were just films.  They were
n’
t reality.  Not like this.

I handled my nerves, did my best to ignore the bloody prints, and fastened my flag to the entrance.  When I was done, I turned back up the steps.  And then,
then
I noticed the door to the link corridor had been wedged open, blocked by the leg of an upturned table.  I raised the candle and saw that the bloody handprints continued in a line, along the wall, from one side of the door to the other.

And in that moment, I realised Byron was still in the building.

Chapter Forty Two

I forced my way through the door and waded into the floating debris.  The water was waist deep, ice cold.  Every step made me more nervous than the one before.  The link corridor seemed to go on forever, into darkness.  It no longer looked like part of a school.  The displays on the walls were ruined and everything below the waterline had started to drift.  There was stuff floating everywhere - text books, furniture, pens, computer cables.  I gripped my candle and baton and waded with care.  I did
n’
t want to trip or stumble.  I did
n’
t want to go under again.

              The bloody handprints continue along the wall, gradually becoming fainter and further apart.  Every now and then the candle would light on one.  I felt like an archaeologist, searching the walls for traces of human existenc
e–
except these were no cave paintings.  Eventually, the corridor opened onto The Pit.  The Pit -
my
Pit - the place where I spent my lunch-breaks, where I hung out with friends, traded gossip with Gemma.  It was unrecognisable.   The smart glass doors had smashed, the sports trophy cabinet was on its back, and the lockers at the sides were semi-submerged.  Floodwater filled the centre, a sinister swimming pool, black and bottomless.

Luckily, the upper floor - the library and the balcony classrooms - looked dry.  The stairs leading up to them were clear.  I figured if I could get across the water, to thosestairs,
I’
d be all right.  And aside from being dry, I realised that up in the library, I might find useful things - tools, phones, food. 
Food! 
It had been hours since Byron's mysterious beer and crisps.  With everything going on
I’
d hardly noticed how hungry I was, but I knew some fuel would do me good - a little bit of energy to keep me focused.  And warmth!  What
I’
d give for some dry, warm clothes!

I thought of Leon.  Was he hungry?  Was he cold?  My heart jolted. The thought of him lying broken at the bottom of the ridge was scarred in my mind.  But
fine
, I told myself, he was
fine
.  He was going to be fine.  Get out of here.  Get help.  Save Leon.

              If I made it to the library, I knew I might also find a way out.  The ridge ran all along the back of the school.   It was possible I could get to it from one of the library windows.  The gap would be wider here and, this time, I did
n’
t have a homemade zip-wire (undoubtedly a good thing), but the determination overwhelmed me.  I had to find a way.  I had to do it for Leon.  And Gemma.  And Greg.  And Curtis.  I was the only one now.  They were relying on me.

              As I stepped into The Pit I felt terrified.  Even though the link corridor had been dank, its narrowness had been reassuring.   At least
I’
d known I was the only one in there, the only one in the water.  The Pit, however, was vast, ideal fo
r‘
lurkin
g’
.  I held my baton close. 
I’
d lost track of the bloody handprints.  I had
n’
t seen where the
y’
d gone, but I was glad.  I did
n’
t want to think about what
I’
d discover at the end of them.

              I clenched my jaw, took a deep breath and waded into the open black well.  As I moved I heard noises; drips and creaks and squeaks, but it was impossible to tell where they were coming from.  At the wate
r’
s deepest, it came up to my waist.  It smelt of drains and bad eggs and I could feel things swirling and drifting.  I started to think about rats - Byron had warned us about rats in the flood - their tails, their teeth, their scratchy claws...

Midway to the steps, my legs turned to jelly.  It was the thought of the rats.  Panic took over.  I started to gasp.  I had to get out of the water.  I lurched forward, but my thigh caught against a submerged desk.  I stumbled, threw my hands out to steady myself.  As I did, I dropped the baton and the candle.  They landed in the water.  The candl
e’
s flame sputtered out.  The dark hit like a punch.

I cried and swore.  The sound of my anguish echoed round the room.  But I could
n’
t just stand there.  Something was happening. Maybe it was the air, or the water, or the rats, but all of a sudden, I felt certain I was
n’
t alone.  Was he watching?  Was he laughing?  Was he enjoying seeing me afraid?

When my feet finally kicked the ledge at the bottom of the stairs, I gasped with relief.  I scrambled out of the water and flopped down on the dry steps.  A lay still and allowed my eyes to adjust to the depth of the darkness.  Everything was quiet again.  The stillness amplified my panting breath.  I thought of all the times
I’
d sat on these steps, gossiping and joking with my friends, in the bright daylight, with the smell of chewing gum and hairspray and floor polish.  Those easy, mundane moments - it seemed like they were gone forever.  The school had mutated.

A splosh.  Wide circular ripples moved across the surface of the water.  I froze.

‘
Byron
?’
I whispered, my voice quaking.
 ‘
Is that you
?
’

Then a bang, a metal clank.  I looked to where the noise was coming from, guided through the darkness by the echo.  The clank quickly grew louder, more intense, like a fist pounding on metal.  Then I realised it was coming from one of the lockers.  For a moment I was rigid, unable to move.  Another trick of Byro
n’
s?  I did
n’
t know whether to flee or go towards it.  Was it a trick?  What if he was trapped inside? As my reasoning unravelled, so did my conscience.  What if he was trapped and about to drown?  What if
I
was the difference between him living and dying?   No matter what h
e’
d done, I could
n’
t leave him to die.  And, at least, if he
was
any threat to me, I was in the stronger positio
n–
I was
n’
t the one trapped in a locker.

I picked myself up, crept to the edge of the steps, to where the row of lockers began. Locker 276. It shook and rattled.  I could almost see the punches denting the door.  And then I saw the blood, the desperate finger marks on the sides and the surrounding doors.

I went forward, ragged with fear.