Dead if You Don’t

87

Sunday 13 August

14.00–15.00

Mungo was struggling to keep his balance. He had been standing for some minutes now, scared of the rapidly rising tide. Each time he moved, the wire noose again cut into his neck. The water was over the top of the plinth on which he had been sitting, and was now approaching his knees. With each suck on his legs as it withdrew, he had to fight harder to resist being pulled forward and unbalanced.

He kept working on the bonds that held his wrists behind his back, the ligature rubbing more and more painfully with each attempt.

Please. Please help me, someone.

Someone would come soon, surely?

For a while, bright sunlight had shone in through the slit in the wall, but now it was moving away. He could still just see it if he tilted as far back as he dared.

Aleksander!

He was parched, starving.

There was a sudden deep, booming splash. He felt spots of water on his face. The water level had now gone over his knees for the first time.

When were they coming back?

He was shaking. Trying not to cry any more but, instead, to think. What could he do? He tugged again on the restraints round his wrists, trying to pick at the hard material again and again with his fingers, but it didn’t feel as if he was getting anywhere.

What time was it?

Mum. Dad.

He hadn’t seen the dead crab in a long while, now. Just dark, restless water. Rising.

Somewhere outside he suddenly heard a woman’s voice. It sounded like she was calling her dog.

‘HERE! HERE, BOY!’

He tried to call out to her.

‘Mmmnnrrrmmmm.’

‘Good boy! GOOD BOY!’

Then silence.

It seemed only minutes later that the water reached his thighs.

Help me.

Help me.

He shivered in terror.

Please someone help me.