by Anthony Ergo
The forest becomes dense; the gaps between the thick trees smaller. Headlights flash left to right as the car veers from one direction to the other. A small animal scampers across our path.
"Hold on," says Zara, with no intention of slowing down.
The speed seems to increase rapidly. It's not because Rover has found a new lease of life; it's because we've started to hurtle downhill. Aaron grins at Zara like he's somehow enjoying this.
"I take it you know that this situation works out OK?"
"No idea," says Zara, gripping the wheel so tightly that the skin stretches across her knuckles.
Aaron turns to me and winks. I can see the glint of excitement in his eyes. In this way, he's exactly the opposite of me; he thrives on the thrill of the chase whereas I go weak with fear. Aaron and I are so utterly different.
"I think we've lost him," he says, scanning the forest behind us.
Without warning, a fireball explodes twenty metres in front of the car. Zara reacts immediately by yanking on the wheel and swerving around the flames. Rover loses a wing mirror as we brush the trunk of a tree. That was too close. Two more fireballs land in our path as though launched by some hidden medieval catapult. Each fireball is the size of a football and packs tremendous power upon impact. Zara pulls a hard right sending Rover onto two wheels. It's like a roller coaster ride from hell and there's no getting off.
"What's doing that?" I ask. "Some kind of rocket launcher?"
Despite the pressure of the situation, Zara is calm and her answer is dead-pan.
"Not quite. Ludvig is a Pyromorph; he can throw fire all on his own. I've always had my suspicions."
I'm about to ask what a Pyromorph is when the back of the car explodes into flames. The impact feels like we've hit a land mine. Somehow Zara retains control, keeping Rover steady enough to stay upright and avoid smashing head-on into a tree. The back window has shattered, leaving no protection from the wild flames. My ears are left ringing and I'm unable to make out Aaron as he turns and shouts something to me. The heat blast inside the burning car is horrific, but far worse than that is the smoke, which threatens to suffocate me at any moment. The air is replaced by a thick, acrid cloud. I pull my scarf up over my nose and it offers a thin layer of protection.
In a matter of seconds, my throat and nose are burning. A coughing fit begins soon after and my lungs begin to feel as if they are melting from the inside out. A hot sensation scorches my chest, like I've inhaled poison. Discomfort turns to distress and each strained breath comes with a searing pain. The smoke presses around my face like a pillow, trying to suffocate me. Now I'm hyperventilating and losing control of my breathing.
Zara and Aaron exchange words, but all I can hear is the high pitched ringing in my ears. When I look beyond them, through the smoke and out of the car's front window, I immediately understand their plan. The forest descends into a lake, and Zara plans to send Rover straight into it. I can no longer breathe and can barely see, but I feel Aaron grip me as he climbs onto the back seat. He unclicks my seatbelt and leans across to open my passenger door. I can't hear and everything is moving in slow motion. Zara shouts and although it's a dull and distant sound, I recognise the urgency.
Aaron yells something, then pushes me from the burning car.
I hit the soft forest floor and roll until my back slams into the thick trunk of a tree. Adrenaline keeps the pain at bay, but not the dizziness. At least I can breathe again. I open my eyes in time to see Rover crashing into the dark waters of the lake. The black Mercedes flies by then flashes its brake lights to stop just before the edge of the bank. The rear end of Rover slowly sinks into the water, still burning furiously.
Everything happened so fast, but I'm sure Zara and Aaron had no time to get out before the car hit the lake. Ludvig steps out of the Mercedes and watches as the last of Rover submerges. I lie still and hope he didn't see me bail from the car; I'm sure that was Zara and Aaron's plan. If it was, it didn't work. He turns and paces directly torward me. I can't move, even though I desperately want to. The last thing I see before I pass out is his large hands reaching down for me, glowing like hot coals.
+ + +
Darkness. Total and all consuming. I have to blink hard to convince myself that my eyes are open as there is no difference in my vision either way. I'm lying on a cold, hard surface. When I try to lift myself up onto my elbows I bump my head. Stretching my arms out is also impossible; I barely have six inches of space on either side of my shoulders. My palms strike another hard surface above my head. When I shuffle lower, my feet hit a similarly solid wall. Panic starts to rise through my aching body. I can't be sure of anything in this total blackness, but it's fair to assume that I'm trapped in a very small space.
Am I in a car boot? In the dead silence, I'm aware of my breathing becoming rapid and snatched and I clench my hands by way of self-control. I pad my pockets: the small knife and the hangman game are on one side and my mobile is on the other. I pull my mobile out to use it as a light, just as I did in the Tyburn tunnel. And that's when the space reveals its identity: a coffin.
I scream and thrash my arms and legs uselessly. The scream is not for help, because nobody can possibly save me. I scream because that's what my body tells me to do in this moment of extreme crisis. It's an involuntary reaction, and doesn't help one bit except as an outlet for my terror. I tell myself to calm down and try to regulate my breaths; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Yelling only leads to further panic, which will increase my heart rate and quicken my breathing. By now, I know how terror works: I let it control me for a few seconds, and then force myself to think.
Assess the situation. It's a coffin, of that there's little doubt. The wood seems fairly thick and the lid won't budge at all. When I'm not moving or gasping I'm struck by the complete silence. The ringing in my ears has gone and I have no idea how long I was out for. I check my mobile for a signal. Nothing. Worse still, the battery has less than five percent left. But that's not my biggest concern. I've probably got around thirty minutes worth of oxygen in here, but I know my asthma will explode before I run out.
Think, Sasha: what happened? How did I get here, wherever "here" is? I can remember the car chase and the fireballs. The memory feels hazy, like a dream. Zara described Ludvig as a Pyromorph ─ he was the one who set Rover on fire. Then Aaron threw me from the car just before they hit the lake. After that I can't remember a thing. Did Zara and Aaron escape, or did Ludvig finish them off, just as Blake had threatened to do at Tyburn? Was it Ludvig who buried me in this coffin? I'll probably never know.
I pull the hangman game from my pocket and examine it under the light of my mobile, hoping for some kind of clue. The message is stark and final:
My fingers fold the yellowed paper, and my throat tightens like I'm having an allergic reaction from touching it. I stuff it away and rub my hands on my jeans, taking hard swallows of air until the feeling subsides. It isn't my nature to go down without a fight, even when things seem insurmountable. I shift as something digs into my side; it's the knife, nestled in my back pocket. I pull it out and wedge it into the gap around the lid. Using it as a lever, I work it up and down to try and prise the coffin open. After what feels like an eternity, I make the smallest of gaps, but as soon as I do grains of earth begin to pour inside. I accept the awful truth that I've been buried alive.
I allow myself one minute of weakness to cry. I've never been one to cry in front of other people, always saving my tears for moments of private weakness. Trapped inside the coffin, I couldn't imagine a more private space, or a more fitting reason to cry. The idea of being buried alive is so repellent that I thrust it from my mind. I might not completely have a handle on who or what I am, but I know enough not to let inconsequential things ─ like life-threatening situations ─ stop me.
"Be strong, Sasha," I tell myself out loud. "You didn't come this far for it to end like this."
How deep am I buried? A few feet, or the usual six? I shine the lig
ht from my mobile around the entire surface of the coffin. My hand shakes uncontrollably. It's not an expensive coffin; it's more of a pine box. Mine was a quick, cheap burial and I pause to realise that this might actually go in my favour. Maybe if I can work a split in the lid, the weight of the earth above will break through. I risk suffocating from the collapsing soil, but it's easy to risk your life when there are only a few minutes of it remaining.
I pull my scarf up over my nose and mouth to protect my airways. With my hands tightly around the handle of the small knife I start to work an opening at waist level. My mobile bleeps, signalling a low battery. I'm not sure which will die first; the mobile, or me. I compose myself to work steadily, but not so fast that my breathing will get out of control. The wood creaks and soil starts to trickle through a split in the grain. Then the mobile light goes out and it's pitch black.
I press the cold steel of the small dagger to my lips. The knife is the last piece of my mother that I have. I feel closer to her when it's in my hands. Deciding to go for broke, I put all the energy I have behind the handle of the knife. A loud crack is quickly followed by a deluge of earth. Scrambling with all four limbs, I push the collapsing soil down and torward the space at my feet. In a matter of seconds my knees are forced up to my chest and there is no more room at the bottom of the coffin.
I push the rushing dirt to the space at my sides, all the time telling myself to breathe slowly and calmly. The hole directly above my stomach must be quite big judging by the amount of earth that fell through, so I wriggle into a seated position. Thankfully, I'm small and skinny enough to do this. There seems to be no end to the collapsing earth, so I start to push it into the space behind me where my head was. My eyes are shut tight as the dry earth presses against my scarf. I use the small knife to work a tunnel above my head, then begin to thrust myself upward into a standing position.
I know that the next few moments are crucial to my survival. My breathing becomes rapid and shallow. I need air in the next sixty seconds or the game is up. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. My limbs feel like they are weighed down as I fight through the earth. I refuse to die here like this, never to be found. The small knife starts to feel warm in my hand and I have the strangest sensation that it's pulling me up, somehow helping me.
I take in a grainy gulp of air and fear it's my last. Suddenly the heat drains from the knife and it feels cold. My wrist has full movement and I wriggle my hand. Is it simply an underground pocket? For all I know I may have another ten feet to go. No, it's not that: I can feel a breeze. I exhale my last breath and drag myself upward in a final effort. My head bursts through the hole made by my arm and I'm hit by cool wind. I pull the scarf down and take in the fresh air. Wiping my eyelids, I lift my head toward the moon in the night sky.
I'm alive.
Life is all that matters this very second. A wispy cloud drifts across the moon as I breathe in and out, drinking in the cool air. The world that I'm still a part of is a different one; it's a strange place where everything I've ever known has changed. But I do know some things: I know that I'm not alone and that I'm stronger than I ever believed I could be.
Chapter 21
Wednesday 18 September 8:23pm
Aaron Hart
It's like a scene from a classic zombie movie. A bare arm thrusts upward through the earth, followed by a head. Thankfully, my skills brought me close by, but I'd never have found Sasha if she hadn't dug herself out.
For a long moment she is very still; just a head and an arm above ground level. I call to Zara for help and between us we pull Sasha free. Zara wipes away the mud from her face and places the inhaler to her lips. She looks awful and it pains me to see her like this. Her eyes are bloodshot and it takes her a full five minutes of coughing up bits of soil before she can speak. I kneel next to her limp body. Her eyes lift up to mine, then shift to Zara, and we all catch our breaths together.
"You're both alive," she says, hoarsely.
Considering the circumstances, it's the most selfless reaction I've ever heard. This girl, with her crimson tinted eyes, is working her way under my skin, and I'm perfectly happy for her to be there. She's safe and that is all that matters to me right now.
"We're a bit wet, but fine, thanks for asking," I reply. "How's your day going?"
It's probably not the right time for humour. I really need to learn when to get serious, but Sasha doesn't seem to mind.
"What happened?" she asks, frowning. "I thought you'd drowned?"
Zara kneels next to her and rubs her back tenderly, trying not to drip all over her.
"We used hollow reeds as makeshift snorkels to swim underwater. Escaping from a submerged trap is standard training for all Agents," she says. "Escaping from being buried alive isn't. You'll have to show us that one sometime."
Sasha smiles the weakest smile I've ever seen.
"How did you find me?" She asks.
I brush some of the loose soil from her forehead.
"After the car sank we swam to the other side of the lake," I explain. "We knew there was no way a Pyromorph would follow; they're scared of water. When we got back here you were gone, then Zara had a premonition about what Ludvig had planned for you. From there I used my Empath skills to try and feel my way closer toward you. We got lucky, very lucky."
I feel sick to the core to think that Ludvig had buried Sasha and left her to die. It would have been kinder to fry her alive. It was his mistake to underestimate her, and I swear I'll make him pay for it. I help Sasha to her feet then immediately pull her close to me and hold her tight. I drag a reluctant Zara torward us to make it a three-way hug. We're wet, muddy and freezing cold, but we're alive.
There's a squelch of wet shoes and clothes as we peel ourselves apart.
"What now?" asks Zara. "We've lost Rover and we'll catch our death of cold standing here."
"It's only a mile or so to the main road," I explain. "From there we can find a tube station and head to my mum's place for food and warmth."
I take the lack of a reply as agreement. We trudge off like three euphoric swamp-monsters.
+ + +
It takes us a couple of hours to get to my mum's flat. We are able to intermingle with the crowds of students celebrating Fresher's Week ─ their first week at university, and their first time out after curfew. I've lost my fake ID during the underwater escape, but I'm hardly ever asked for it. Sasha, on the other hand, could never pass for being over-eighteen.
Thankfully, people don't seem to take notice of us and our wet clothes any more than the student's fancy dress costumes. The only person to grumble at us is the cashier at the tube station when we pay for our tickets with a crumpled and soaked ten pound note. When we bailed from the burning car Zara and I did our best to hold on to the things that mattered most: my wallet; Sasha's inhaler; Zara's glasses. I can't help but wish I had some of The Agency gadgets with me. A warm coat would also do nicely.
I begin to regret the idea of coming to Mum's the moment we walk out of the tube station. It's been a while since I visited her and this place has gone even further downhill by the looks of it. More of the flats are boarded up than occupied these days. During the D-Day blackout there was an explosion at a nearby factory. A fire raged through the housing estate as I watched from the safety of our high-rise flat. Years have passed yet the government has done little to rebuild this less desirable part of London.
Hopefully, it's not as bad as it looks around here, although I'm sure Zara and Sasha think it's full of drug dealers. In fact, I know that's what they think. The government wanted to move the remaining residents away from here and make this one of the many restricted zones, not fit for human habitation. What the establishment failed to realise is that 'community' is a spiritual rather than physical thing. It created a sense of solidarity amongst the people who remain and futile as it may be, I admire that. There's something about fighting even after the fight's over that I can relate to.
Sasha has an uncertain look a
s I lead the way into one of the high rise buildings and up to a graffiti-covered elevator.
"Don't worry," I say, knowing exactly how she feels.
Secretly, I'm reassuring myself more than her. I hate lifts. In fact, I hate most confined spaces, so I can't imagine the hell that Sasha went through being buried alive. The underwater car experience wasn't exactly ideal for me either. I shake those thoughts from my mind and cast a sideways glance at Sasha. I'm not sure why, but I hope my mother doesn't influence Sasha's opinion of me. She looks so exhausted, I want to draw her to me and hold her. I know she'd never let me do that though. She's a fighter; I genuinely smile at the thought.
"It works out OK, trust me," says Zara. "We'll make it just fine."
Sasha nods, but I know this was for my benefit as much as hers. I can't imagine how annoying it must be to have an Empath on one shoulder and a Precog on the other. The lift groans its way to the top floor and I hold my breath the whole way up. It does that horrible thing of dropping slightly before the doors open and I let out a ridiculous sounding shriek. It's kind of funny that after all the crazy supernatural things we've experienced, something as mundane as a lift can still give me the jitters.
Sasha laughs and I decide that it's a sound I could get used to.
"Don't tell me you're afraid of lifts."
"I just don't like confined spaces, it's no big deal."
Sasha laughs again at my failed attempt to play it down. I guess it's nice for her to see a normal, human reaction to an everyday kind of fear.
"Told you we'd be fine," says Zara, dead-arming me. "From here on, I can't guarantee anything."
"Neither can I," I say nervously. "My mum is harmless, but she likes a drink if you know what I mean. She really likes a drink. Please don't be offended by anything she says."
I knock on the door and Mum opens it with a large gin and tonic in her hand. She looks us up and down and doesn't seem at all surprised by the sorry state we're in.