Survive

by Tom Bale

  Sam swims four, five strokes, and still the chain leads nowhere. Up ahead the seabed slopes into darkness. Tiny fish dart away from his clumsy approach; on the bottom there are plants with long crinkled leaves, weaving back and forth like tentacles. Hiding among them is a crab the size of his hand. Food. He could come back and catch it once Dylan is free.

  The pressure in Sam’s lungs quickly becomes unbearable. Lightheaded, he rises to the surface and sucks the air in desperate gasps. He’s further from Jody than he expected. She’s now in up to her waist, holding Dylan in her arms, whispering in his ear the way she does to get him back to sleep after a nightmare.

  Sam plunges back down, flipping over to dive head first. It takes him a moment to get his bearings and find the chain. Once again he’s surprised by how much easier it is to swim underwater than on the surface, and that gives him hope.

  He can do this. He will do this.

  After a few strokes his lungs are protesting, but this time he’s determined not to go back up until he’s located something. Another couple of metres and finally he sees it. His first thought is that it’s like a giant version of the commercial cable reels he uses every day at work; only this is metal not plastic, and the giant drum is winding up a chain instead of electrical cable.

  He swims closer, using the chain to fight his body’s natural buoyancy. He’s wondering about the power source when he notices a thick black lead trailing off to his right. Presumably it connects to a generator somewhere onshore. Far too late to go searching for it now.

  And there’s another problem. The chain is already wrapped around the drum at least a dozen times. The drum is boxed in with heavy steel plates, so he can’t see where the chain is attached. There’s nothing here to suggest that the key would be any use at all. Even unwinding the chain would be almost impossible, because of its weight and the difficulty of working underwater.

  So what, then? He needs a weapon if he’s to jam the mechanism. Immediately the wooden stake comes to mind. Why didn’t he bring it with him?

  And swim underwater with it? While also holding the key?

  He’s desperate to breathe. Has he got time to swim back to shore and fetch the stake? Maybe not, but he has to try. He lets go of the chain and pushes upwards, just as he notices the small red box on one side of the apparatus.

  It’s too late to change direction; in any case, his chest is about to explode. He propels himself towards the surface in a stream of bubbles, releasing the dead air from his lungs in anticipation of a fresh breath, a second or two away. The image of the box stays fixed in his mind. Maybe it has a switch inside: a simple on/off that could bring this nightmare to an end.

  Then he’s out, bobbing and gasping, not checking on Jody and Dylan this time because he can’t afford to lose focus. A few quick breaths to recover, then another lung filler and back down he goes. Straight to the box, grabbing the chain in one hand to keep him steady – though at that very moment it winds on, almost trapping his fingers against the drum.

  The box is made of metal, about the size of a cashbox. It requires a key, of course. But this time there’s no trick: the key fits and the lid pops open.

  No switch or button inside. It appears to be empty. In desperation Sam feels around… and discovers something taped to the top.

  Another key.

  54

  The chain pulls relentlessly, scraping against Jody’s skin when she tries to trap it between her knees. She’s holding Dylan as high as she can but the sea is up to her chest, which means it’s around his waist. Dylan’s face is pressed against her shoulder. She can feel the heat of his tears as he weeps in wretched silence.

  Another tug. Jody takes a step back, trying to test the ground first but misjudging how much it shelves. She stumbles and nearly loses him, a wave catching them both. As they retch and spit, she hears a loud splash and turns to see Sam waving the key as if he’s got something to celebrate.

  The chain pulls again, dragging Dylan down, and in that moment she hates Sam almost as much as the rest of them, and that hatred, that resentment is in her voice when she screams: ‘It’s still moving! You haven’t stopped it!’

  He looks stunned by the outburst, but he’s gasping for breath and can’t speak. He swims frantically towards her, creating a wash that threatens to engulf her son.

  ‘Fucking stupid idiot–’ She breaks off only because the fury is draining too much energy from her. In a steadier voice, she says, ‘I can’t do this for much longer.’

  Sam nods as though he understands. ‘Key,’ he says, the way a toddler would – because he’s trying to swim and talk and spit water from his mouth.

  Key?

  ‘Will you listen to me?’ she yells. ‘It hasn’t. Bloody. Worked.’

  ‘Another, there’s another…’ He waves it at her again. To Jody it looks identical to the one they’ve already tried, and it crosses her mind that he’s had a breakdown, convincing himself that he’s found a different key.

  He comes closer, wading rather than swimming, and with both hands free he lifts them to show her that he has two keys. Then he’s dropping, bending his knees to sink beneath the surface. She feels him bump against her as he reaches for the shackles. Dylan’s body spasms and she does her best to calm him, but she has no idea whether he’s able to take on board what she’s saying.

  The water has reached his neck. She’s crouching to hold him, trying to use her arms to shield him from the tiny waves. If she could, she’d scoop out all the water that keeps swirling around them – a mad thought that prompts a memory of her childhood, her dad with a bucket and spade, striding across the beach at Camber Sands. I’m off to dig a hole in the sea, anyone wanna help?

  Something changes in Dylan’s posture. She feels a kick.

  Sam’s head bursts up, water spraying from his mouth. ‘It works! One of them’s off.’

  ‘Thank God. Do the other–’

  He’s already on his way back down. The chain pulls. This time it’s even harder to hold Dylan because he’s using his free leg to kick and fight. Jody can’t stop him wriggling because she feels the panic every bit as keenly.

  A few seconds. Only a few more seconds.

  But she’s watching the top of Sam’s head, clearly visible in the water, and suddenly it drops away.

  He’s let go of Dylan’s leg, but the chain is still in place.

  Still pulling.

  The key slipped in easily on the first shackle. Sam felt it slot into place in a way that the other one hadn’t. A gentle turn and the lock released, the bracelet around Dylan’s ankle snapping open.

  The second one should have gone the same way. With Dylan kicking out, it took a little more concentration, but it was doable. And yet, somehow, as Sam nuzzled the key against the opening and thought it was lined up, he pushed a bit too firmly and the key struck the outer plate and slipped from his grasp.

  He saw it fall, the descent so slow and lazy it should have been easy to catch. But the sunlight cutting through the water was playing games with his perspective, causing the world to shift and shimmer. He snatched at the key and missed, and it has landed on the bottom among the sand and weeds.

  Sam plunges down in what he’s sure is a straight line. He feels around but doesn’t find it. He can’t stay much longer; his throat is being crushed. A couple of seconds and straight back, okay?

  Except that Jody is calling his name.

  He’ll have to tell her.

  ‘I dropped the key. I’m so sorry. I dropped the key.’

  The words come spilling out as Sam rises from the sea. Jody stares at him, too distraught to find words. One of her hands is cupping Dylan’s chin, trying to stop the water from reaching his mouth.

  ‘I swam down but I couldn’t find it.’

  He sounds broken. Jody realises he’s crying. He opens his mouth wide to take a gulp of air but she shouts: ‘Wait!’ A moment’s hesitation, which gives Jody her chance. ‘Take Dylan.’

  ‘But–’

&nb
sp; ‘You’re stronger. Take him!’

  Sam does as he’s told, flinching when the chain moves again. Jody drops into the water, and sees that Sam has stood on the chain, hoping his body weight will slow it down. Why didn’t she think of that?

  It’s hard to relax enough to sink. She ends up having to swim properly, folding over and kicking her legs to reach the bottom. The water has become cloudy with all the sand they’ve raised, and now she understands why Sam failed to find it.

  She tries to visualise a falling key – would it turn and spin, or drop like a stone?

  Then she notices how the clumps of weeds are swaying gently to her right. The current might have caused it to drift from where they’re standing. She moves a metre or so from Sam’s legs, but not before she sees him stumble; the chain jerking beneath his feet.

  She gropes in the sand, her vision almost useless in the murky water. It’s so hard to focus, so hard to hold her breath and be strong when she wants to kill her own partner for being so cackhanded; wring his bloody neck and scream: HOW COULD YOU DROP IT?

  ‘Come on, mate. Just hold on. Be brave for me, yeah?’

  Sam is holding Dylan the way the vicar held Sam’s niece at her christening last year. Cradling his head as it rests on the surface of the water. Sam has his feet jammed against the ground and he’s trying to straighten his legs, but the tension in the chain is too powerful to fight. He’s determined not to loosen his grip on Dylan’s body, so what’s happening is that the poor kid’s leg is being stretched, like in one of those torture devices from the Middle Ages.

  When Dylan lets out a howl of pain, it’s met by an echoing scream from Grace. She’s on her knees, hands clamped to her face. None of them have ever experienced terror like this. If Jody doesn’t find the key in the next twenty or thirty seconds, Dylan’s mouth will be under the water. And if Sam goes on resisting, his son’s leg is likely to be wrenched out of its socket.

  Should Sam let that happen? Let Dylan suffer terrible injuries in order to keep him breathing?

  If I had a knife right now, he thinks, I’d have to cut off his foot to save him.

  And I would.

  55

  Gabby is aware of a change in the mood: a growing air of disbelief. Perhaps some of the guests had secretly assumed the whole event was staged. But if they genuinely hadn’t expected to see something quite this harrowing, there’s little sign they object to it.

  On the contrary, this is what they want.

  The underwater camera on the seabed offers little more than a view of thrashing legs and swirling particles of sand, clouding the water just as things become excruciatingly tense. And the microphone hidden in the boy’s clothing is failing – Borko’s already growled his displeasure at the fact that it isn’t fully waterproof, as promised – though they do catch a few words here and there between the crackles of static. A couple of minutes earlier they heard Jody jabbering something about ‘kiss of life’ and ‘my baby, I’ll go with you’ – said in a way that suggested she didn’t even know she was speaking.

  Then Jody shouted at Sam to unlock the other one. Hearing this, Gabby dared to believe it was going to be okay. They’d found the second key and unlocked one of the restraints.

  Except for Sam’s awful admission: he’d dropped the key. A few people hadn’t understood; some clearly had issues with Sam’s accent. She heard rapid translations; then one man threw back his head and roared with laughter, as though this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ‘The dumb fuck dropped the key!’

  Now there’s only fast, desperate breathing. The image of Sam’s distress fills the screen as his son is about to be consumed by the sea.

  Gabby can’t stand it any longer. She clutches Borko’s arm. ‘You’ve got to save him.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘Send in the boat.’

  ‘It’s too late.’ A shake of the head that might signal genuine regret. ‘I’m sorry, Gabby. I thought they could do it.’

  Down here the water’s quite cold, which has a numbing effect on Jody’s fingers. Because of this, and the fact the key is covered in a thin layer of sand, she is unaware of her discovery until she moves her hand and feels something shift beneath her fingers.

  She scrabbles in the sand and rejoices when a sharp nub of metal jabs her palm. She grabs the key and rises, becoming aware that, while Sam is still shouting, Dylan has fallen silent. She can see that his head is submerged, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at his father.

  She takes hold of the shackle and this time Dylan doesn’t struggle. His body is limp in Sam’s arms, but Jody can’t let herself consider what that means – what it might mean – until she has freed him. She slides the key into the lock and opens the cuff, roughly pulling Dylan’s leg out. The tension in the chain whips the shackles towards the bottom.

  ‘Lift him, lift him!’ Jody cries as she surfaces. Sam is already striding towards the shore, propping Dylan high on his shoulder with his head flopping downwards. Jody moves behind to get a better look, sees water running from Dylan’s slack mouth

  (he’s dead he’s drowned we failed we failed)

  and then he vomits, little more than a thin yellowish gruel, but it’s the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen. It means he’s alive.

  Jody calls out to Grace: ‘He’s okay! We’re all okay, I promise!’

  On the beach, Sam starts to lie Dylan down but Jody says no, sit him up. The boy is coughing and spluttering. Jody slaps his back, encouraging him to spit. Dylan, after all this trauma, still manages a frown.

  ‘I know spitting’s bad,’ she says, ‘but this time we don’t mind.’

  ‘You get special permission, mate,’ Sam adds.

  Jody gives Grace a hug and feels guilty when her daughter clings on and won’t let go. She wants to be holding Dylan as well. But she gets her turn when Sam suggests he have a cuddle with his mum and sister.

  Dylan stands, weakly, his clothes drenched and clinging to his skin. That’s when Jody notices something in his pocket, a squarish lump.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Dylan shrugs. Sam slips his hand into the pocket, bringing out what looks like a memory stick. He holds it on his palm for Jody to see. It has a mini-USB socket at one end and a tiny red light in the centre.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ he says. ‘Some kind of spy equipment.’

  ‘They must have put it there when they took him.’

  At this, Dylan gives a solemn nod. ‘The angel lady,’ he says. ‘I don’t like her anymore.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Sam mutters. Standing, he turns away from them and bellows into the microphone: ‘YOU EVIL WANKERS! I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL!’

  And he hurls the device into the sea.

  56

  Sam’s fury blasts through the speakers and nearly takes their heads off. Only Gabby guessed what he was about to do and braced herself.

  The sound is quickly muted. Once they’ve recovered, most of Borko’s guests can smile at Sam’s outburst, as if indulging a naughty child, though the Russian who’s just lost half a million dollars looks moderately pissed off. There’s a general air of disappointment that they won’t get to witness the parents’ response to losing their son.

  Watching Sam throw the bug away prompts a memory: Dylan threw something earlier, and that was when Borko and Naji started to look concerned.

  The first key. They knew it was missing, and still they went ahead.

  Desperate to be away from them all, Gabby hurries out to a long hallway, making for the nearest toilet. She barely reaches it before she’s violently sick.

  She kneels on a cool marble floor, head tipped over the sink. Her thoughts drift back to the day the family arrived. When she greeted them at the airport she had no idea Borko had already made his choice. The call came through later that day, meaning they had to be at the welcome meeting.

  If they hadn’t shown up, would he have changed his mind? She doubts it. Another way would have been found to get them here. Wha
t Borko wants, Borko gets.

  As if she needs further proof, after cleaning up, Gabby opens the door to find him standing outside. She rears back in alarm.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Borko asks.

  ‘No. No, I’m fine.’

  ‘You will be staying tonight.’ It’s not really a question. Then he catches the anxiety in her face, and adds, ‘Your own room, of course.’ The smile broadens, finally reaching his eyes. ‘The door has a lock.’

  And you have a key, she thinks. But she’s exhausted, so she gives in and thanks him for his hospitality. At least here she’s close to the action, though it seems unlikely she’ll be able to influence what happens to the family.

  She starts to move towards the living room but Borko stands his ground. ‘Tell me,’ he says.

  ‘You know what it is. This has gone way beyond what I thought would happen. It’s just… it’s wrong, treating them like this.’

  ‘I disagree. Once the parameters of the experiment have been set, it wouldn’t be right to change them. This isn’t like those cheap TV shows, where all the danger is faked.’

  ‘But they’re human beings, not lab rats.’

  ‘Gabrielle, there are over seven billion people on this planet. Do you really believe they can all be treated with equal respect? Or guaranteed a life without hardship, tragedy, pain?’

  She’s biting her bottom lip; it’s only when Borko mentions pain that she realises how much it hurts. This, perhaps, is a warning from her own body: Be careful here, Gabrielle.

  But Gabby the rep has a fiery spirit, and she’s too angry to leave it there.

  ‘When I asked you before if anyone had been hurt doing this, you said there had been a couple of incidents over the years…’