Curtis looked around.
‘Wez Byro’? Wez my friend? I got him good, didn’t I?’
‘We haven’t seen him,’I explained.
‘And nor do we want to,’added Leon.
‘Yeeeah,’said Curtis, lolling to one side,‘because a crazy dude like that, he’ll want revenge...'
‘Which is why we have to hurry,' said Leon. 'Focus on the rope. The quicker we get it finished the quicker we can leave. But keep your voice down. We don't want him to hear.'
Then his gaze shifted to the side.
'And just so you know,' he said, 'if he doestry anything, we have the means to defend ourselves -’
He had three wooden batons, ex-parts of the painting easels, by his legs. He handed one to each of us.
‘It’s not much,’he said. ‘But it’s better than nothing.’
I wanted to believe he was being over-dramatic, that he was creating a threat where there wasn't one. Nonetheless, I took my baton, curled my fingers around its base.
For twenty minutes, we crouched in the dark, batons at our sides, binding material. Leon showed us a way to plait and twist several strips together, then plait and bind them again, to build strength. Progress was slow, especially given that Curtis was next to useless. And even though Leon and I worked constantly, in twenty minutes we’d only made enough rope to stretch from one chair leg to another. We needed meters of this stuff. I didn’t say anything, but the master plan seemed dafter than ever. At least it was keeping us busy though. It was better than sitting waiting, waiting for god knows what.
The thunder ceased, but the rain and wind continued. And it was cold now, so cold. My clothes were sodden and my skin was starting to feel clammy. An unstoppable chatter had taken control of teeth. I was happy to keep busy, just to distract myself from the constant shivering.
Byron never showed of course, but Curtis kept making slurred remarks.
‘Told you so. Not to be trusted. Never trust lurky Byron. Freak had it coming!’
Eventually, we had a meter of rope. We double-checked the bits Curtis had made, to make sure they were secure, then Leon explained how we were going to hitch it to the window frame, tie a chair to the other end, then lob the chair into the trees on the ridge, where it would hopefully act as an anchor.
‘You reallythink this will work?’I said.
‘Got any better ideas?’said Leon. ‘Let’s face it, even if Byron hasgone, the art room won’t be safe forever. I swear the water’s still rising– ’
It had been building steadily, inching its way up-wards. I could tell by the lampposts. An hour ago they were half submerged. Now, they were two-thirds submerged.
We began to work twice as fast, even though Curtis gave up and lay on his belly. One meter. Two meters. It was when we were onto the third meter that the sinks started to shake.
‘Did you see that?’
‘What?’
‘The sinks, over by the pottery wheels, they just shook. I swear.’
At first, I assumed it was Curtis’s imagination, some drunken delusion, but sure enough, the sinks shook again, all four of them. Their heavy ceramic bulks juddered against the wall, knocking the jars of paintbrushes and sponges that were stored on the shelf above. Suddenly, jets of brown water exploded from the plugholes, four muddy fountains.
‘What the - ?’said Curtis. ‘It’s going the wrong way! The water’s draining the wrong way! It’s supposed to go into the plughole!’
The surrounding pipes started to creak and vibrate.
‘Oh, no!’said Leon.
He clasped his hand over his mouth.
‘The drainage system!’he said.‘It's been overrun! There’s nowhere for the water to go anymore, so it’s finding its exits wherever it can. And it’s not going to stop, not until…’
Before he could finish, the pipes beneath the sinks ripped from the walls. Water blasted through the crumbling plaster. As if our thoughts were synchronising, Leon and I instinctively leaped towards the mess, desperate to stop the flow, to keep the dirty flood out of our space. We tried to bung the wall with bundles of fabric, but it didn’t help. The water kept coming. Eventually we were forced to step away. As it pooled around our feet, I silently prayed that the floorboards were strong.
‘Yuck!’yelled Curtis. ‘This isn’t just floodwater! It’s full of scum!’
He was right. The substance now coming through the walls was more like the raw sewage Byron had warned us about, thick with mushy globs of toilet paper, tampons, excrement. We gasped, choked, coughed. The smell was putrid. I couldn’t believe we’d been on all fours, trying to stop it with our bare hands. I couldn’t believe that our sanctuary, the one high, dry place where we’d been safe from the flood, had finally been overcome.
‘Back to the rope!’ordered Leon.
‘It’s not long enough!’
‘We’ll have to makeit long enough. We’ll just have to hurry.’
Chapter Thirty Eight
The filth continued to pump. We tried to ignore it, did our best to concentrate on the rope. We sang‘Here Comes the Sun,’by The Beatles, over and over again, our voices crackling with nerves. When, at last, we had enough rope, we stood in the pool and did what Leon called a strength test, which basically involved me standing at one end of the room and him at the other, both of us pulling as hard as we could. Curtis was supposed to yank the rope in the middle, to create another strain, but he was blurry again. He could barely stand. He’d turned a pallid green colour, like he was about to vomit.
‘Do you think he’ll be, okay?’I whispered.
‘He’ll just have to be, won’t he?’said Leon, mind on the job, coiling the rope around his arms.
‘But what if he can’t managethe zip wire? I mean, if he’s downed a bottle of cider -’
‘Curtis can drink more than that,’said Leon.
‘So, why’s he such a mess?’
‘He’s putting it on,’ said Leon.‘Typical Curtis.’
Leon was agitated. He was doing his best, trying to keep it together, trying to be the hero. He didn’t want to worry about Curtis’s inebriation, or the stench of the sewage, or the threat of Byron. He just wanted to stay focused on the task of the rope.
‘It’s ready,’he said. ‘Now we need to fix it.’
We selected the sturdiest looking chair, no missing screws, no warped bits, the one most likely to take the weight of three teenagers. Leon twisted the rope around its legs, yanking each knot tightly. When he was satisfied that the chair was secured, we carried it to the window. We both looked across the gulley to the ridge.
‘They reckon it’s made from the garbageand junk they dug up when they prepared the school’s foundations,’said Leon.
'Doesn't sound very stable,' I muttered.
'Probably not, butit's our only option. And besides, it’s not the ridge that’s important. It’s the sports fieldbehind it–that’s our destination. Remember it’s on higher ground. Itmight still be passable.’
I’d never considered the landscape of the school and its surroundings before, never thought anything of it. But now, now it seemed vital. The gap between the school and the ridge wasn’t wide, six meters, if that. The gamble was the drop - a concrete alley where the caretakers stored bins and recycling trolleys and smoked sneaky cigarettes. Now, of course, it was a torrent of water.
Leonwrestled the window frame, pushed it up. The wind rushed in. The chill was painful against our already cold bodies, but we’d gone beyond the point of caring. What was one more drop of rain when you were already shivering and soaked with polluted water? Leon climbed onto the sideboard and hauled the chair up with him. He looked around for assistance from Curtis, but Curtis was‘unavailable’. He'd passed out in a chair, with a splatter of vomit over his neon yellow jeans.
‘We’ll just have to get the chair acrosswithout him,’he grumbled,‘then hope he’s got the balls to snap himself out of it when its time for us to go. First, we need to tie the rope to the window frame.’
>
We did it together, our fingers working in rhythm. When the knot was secure, Leon clamped his hand over mine.
‘I know this is stressful, but when we get out of here, I promise, we’ll have fun together,’he said.
He smiled, but I could see the doubt in his eyes, the fear. I glanced back at the sinks. Two of them had slipped from their mounts. The others were still gushing brown filth. The water on the floor had made its way to the opposite wall.
Leon hoisted the chair through the open window, but the gap wasn’t very wide and the metal legs kept getting in the way. When he finally had it in position, I held his ankles. I did my best to keep him steady, but I was weak and tired and my nerves were getting the better of me. Leon, I think, was going on pure adrenalin.
He pointed to a cluster of trees. The biggest had a Y shaped trunk - the target, the obvious place to anchor.
‘Ready?’
We counted, ‘One. Two. Three...’
He lobbed the chair as hard as he could. It flew into the night, missed the tree, dropped and hit the wall below us. The rope snagged as the chair dangled. We both had to brace, to stop it from pulling us over. Our spirits plunged. Leon cursed.
‘Next time,’I said encouragingly. ‘You’ll get it. I know you will.’
Together, we hauled the chair up to the window again. At least we now knew the rope could cope under pressure. Leon adjusted his position on the sideboard and I gripped his ankles again. I summoned my strength, put everything into it. I willed Leon to do the same. Deep breath. Get ready.
‘One. Two. Three...’
The chair flew higher, into the mesh of small branches, then crashed down, directly on target. It lodged between the sturdy bulks of the Y-shaped trunk. The rope went taught. There was just enough to bridge the gap between the window and the ridge. It worked!
‘Yes!’
Leon punched the air. I hugged him, clapped his hands. We’d done it. Leon had done it. Suddenly, it didn't seem like such a silly idea after all. Leon tugged on the rope, but the chair stayed in place. He jumped off the sideboard and kissed me.
‘We’re ready. Now all we need is Curtis.’
We looked to the chair where Curtis had been sitting. He’d moved. Or rather, he’d collapsed. He was on the floor, in a puddle of water, dead to the world, snoring like a machine gun. We both ran over. Leon tried to rouse him. I turned his head. His eyelids flickered, but he was unconscious, completely out of it.
Chapter Thirty Nine
‘Curtis!’
Leon shook him, slapped his face.
‘Curt! Wake up!’
But Curtis just lolled.
‘What the hell was in thatdrink?’
I fetched the bottle from the table. We both took turns to sniff it.
‘It lookslike cider, but it’s not normal,’said Leon. ‘It’s got a mad smell, like it’s been spiked with something.’
‘Who would spike a drink and leave it in an art room?’I said. ‘As if we haven’t got enough to deal with - '
Leon looked at me.
‘Who do you think?’
I sighed. I realised.
‘It’s a good job he hasn’t come back,’said Leon, tapping his baton. ‘I swear. If he comes near us, I’m going to finish what Curtis started.’
I didn’t say anything. I hated the aggression in Leon’s voice, but at the same time, I understood it. I wanted to survive. Leon crouched over Curtis, tried to rouse him again.
‘Wake up, mate! It’s time to go. We’re ready. The rope’s in position. The chair thing worked. All we have to do is swing across, then we’re out of this place.’
Curtis didn’t murmur. The shaking was futile. Leon’s determination started to fade.
‘What if Curtis doesn’t come round?’he said. ‘We can’t leave him. Mates don’t leave each other to drown. And they definitely don’t abandon each other to the mercy of nut cases.’
‘Then we’ll wait,’I said. ‘We’ll wait for him to wake up.’
We both glanced at the spouting water. While we’d been setting up the rope, the stink pool had deepened. In the stress of the situation, we hadn’t noticed it was up to our shins. Fine for now, but in an hour’s time? Two hours?
‘Then we’ll all drown,’said Leon. ‘Or get attacked by the psycho.’
His posture crumbled. He’d always seemed so self-assured and confident, but now, a frightened little boy was looking out at me.
‘Survive,’ I said, silencing his doubt, taking control. ‘We just have to survive. We’ll go without Curtis. We can move him to the highest place in the room. Remember what Byron said about water finding the lowest escape route possible? The higher up he is, the safer he’ll be. We’ll get out. We’ll get to the town and then we’ll get help. We’ll get someone to come back for Curtis. We’ll make them see that it’s urgent.’
Leon nodded, blinked the tears from his eyes. I wiped his cheeks, the way he’d wiped mine.
‘We’ll be okay,’I assured him. ‘Curtis will be okay.’
Together, we heaved Curtis’s floppy body onto a table and dragged him to the tall free-standing cupboard where Miss Nevis stored scrap paper. We stood on the table and hoisted him up. I took his legs and Leon took his shoulders. It was difficult. He was a dead weight and his arms kept getting in the way. At one point, I nearly dropped him.
‘Sorry! Sorry, Curtis!’I muttered.
But really, being dropped was the least of his worries.
When we finally had him in place, we stepped back andpaused to catch our breaths. The sight of his arm dangling over the cupboard door was surreal, like something from a Salvador Dali painting. His body just about fitted, but he only had to jerk or roll over and he’d fall. I imagined him waking up, rubbing his eyes, wondering where on earth he was, what he’d been doing, how he’d got there, saying,‘What the hell!’
Leon stiffened.
‘That’s it then,’he said. ‘Time to go.’
He’d found some more strength. Or maybe it was the adrenalin? Either way, I could see he’d come back from his wobble. The Leon who took action. The Leon the world believed in. We marched to the window, looked over the homemade rope swaying in the wind. Hardly a zip wire. Now I was the one who started to wobble.
‘Oh, god!’I whimpered, unable to conceal my fear.
Leon took my hands.
‘Remember all those activity programmes that were on television when we were kids?’he said.‘The ones with the giant assault courses and crazy stunts?’
I remembered. I used to watch them with my sister on Saturday afternoons.
‘That’s all this is going to be, Kate. A goofy assault course, like something you’d get at a water park.’
I nodded.
‘We’ve both got hoodies,’he said. ‘We can use them as slings, tie them under our armpits and over our shoulders, then the rope can feed through the middle, like a harness...just in case.’
Just in case. Just in case? I shuddered.
‘You’ve done a high ropes course, right?’he said. ‘Or a climbing wall? Or a flying fox? This is no different.’
I’d done all of those things - in holiday camps, where the professional standard equipment was checked and tested every day. Here, we were talking about a rope made in a hurry, by two scared people and a drunk, out of scrap fabric, secured by nothing more high-tech than a chair and a tree, in the middle of the worst storm we’d ever seen.
‘I like your confidence,’I said. ‘But I think this is different.’
Before I could argue, however, Leon was pulling down the sleeves of my hoodie and fastening them under my arms.
‘Like this,’he said.‘And the rope can feed through the middle. I’ll go first, so when it’s your turn you’ll have to do it yourself. Can you do that?’
‘Yes,’I said, numb.
He linked his fingers with mine and we kissed, more passionately than before. Our mouths joined and the tips of our tongues swirled around one another’s. I could feel my hea
rt thudding. His, too. Our bodiespressed so close together, it was like we were morphing. I didn’t want us to separate. I didn’t want it to stop.
But it had to.
‘Remember,’he said, leaning back, staring into my eyes. ‘We’re saving this story. When we get out, we’re telling it to our grand kids.’
He kissed me again and, this time, I held the moment on my lips, felt the tingle all through me. It was such a wrench when he finally pulled away. He squeezed my shoulders, then jumped onto the sideboard and looped his hoodie over the rope. He stood in the window, with the rain and wind rushing his face. He gave a salute to Curtis, up on the cupboard, then threw me a smile. I smiled back. My heart felt like a balloon.
I watched as he leapt, as he grappled down the rope, pulling himself with his hands, swinging his legs. The hoodie harness looked like more of a hindrance than a help, but his determination got him moving. He swung and struggled, undeterred by the weather. He made the first meter without a problem, then the second. I could see he was tiring, but he kept at it. Kept moving.
Two meters –that’s all he had left. Two meters before he got to the point where he could safely jump down to the brambly edge of the ridge. I started to shout, to encourage him.
‘Go on!’
Leon curved his back, forced himself along. The rope pulled and I could see the strain on the joins in the fabric. The wind howled and rocked the trees. Just two more meters, not far, so close. And then, in the blink of an eye, it was over. The rope tore, the tension collapsed, and the breath left my lungs.
He dropped. I don’t think he even had time to realise.
He hit the side of the ridge, feet first. His legs buckled and he rolled through the brambles, down the slope, to the water. The torrent scooped him up, dragged him headfirst into the side of a floating recycling-bin.
I jumped forward, gripped my hands to the window ledge, leaned out as far as I could.
‘Leon!’I cried. ‘LEON!’
Rain In My Heart Page 12