Eeny Meeny

13

How do you wake yourself when you’re dreaming? When you’re in the midst of a nightmare, how do you climb out of the abyss?

Ben Holland rolled these thoughts round and round. He must be dreaming. He is dreaming. Perhaps he and Jennie hit the off licence after work and picked up a bottle of Bison Grass? Maybe he’s dreaming a vodka dream right now? Any second now he’ll wake up with his head pounding and a stupid smile on his face…

Ben opened his eyes. He’d known all along of course – the smell down there was overpowering. How could you imagine you were anywhere else? And even if you could, then the constant whimpering from Peter would bring you back to your senses. Ever since their abduction, Ben had been a riot of anger and disbelief. But Peter had opted for despair.

‘Peter, would you shut up for God’s sake…’

‘Fuck you’ was the reply, spat back. Where are your leadership qualities now, Ben thought venomously.

They were trapped. It made no sense but it was true. One minute they had been in the van, relieved and happy, the next they had woken up here. Groggy, bruised and covered in thick, clinging dust. Ben had stumbled to his feet in disbelief, screwing up his eyes to penetrate the gloom and make sense of their surroundings. They were in some sort of giant silo or storage facility, the floor of which was covered with coal. This is what covered them, coal dust creeping into their ears and eyes, making their tongues thick and dirty. Instinctively Ben scrambled towards the sides. The going was tough, the surface constantly shifting beneath his feet, but eventually he made it. Cold, smooth steel. Using the wall as a guide, he stumbled round, hoping against hope for a door, a hatch, some means of escape. But the sides were smooth and having done a couple of laps, he gave up. Casting his eyes upwards, he noticed light spilling through the join of a massive hatch. This was how they had fallen into this strange hell.

It was now that Ben became aware of the cuts and bruises that covered his face and torso. It was a good twenty feet drop down from the hatch and the compacted coal wouldn’t have made for a soft landing. Suddenly everything hurt. The shock was wearing off and his battered body was protesting. A noise made him turn. Peter was stumbling towards him – his face a picture of dull, stupid astonishment. He was looking for explanations, but he would get none from Ben. And it was as they were standing there, exhausted and hopeless, that the phone rang. They both froze for a moment, then simultaneously scrambled for it, Ben just getting there first.

After they’d been given their deadly ultimatum, they both laughed maniacally, as if the whole thing was some preposterous joke. Slowly, however, the laughter evaporated.

‘Let’s call the office.’ Suddenly Ben needed to be out of this pit.

‘Good idea. Call Carol, she’ll know what to do,’ said Peter, feeding off Ben’s energy.

Ben punched in the familiar numbers. But the phone was pin-locked. Four small digits separating them from freedom.

‘What shall we try?’

Already Ben’s eye was drawn to the battery sign at the top right of the screen, flashing low.

‘We’ve only got a few goes at this. What shall we try?’ Ben’s voice was tight, the impossibility of their task starting to register.

‘I don’t know. 1, 2, 3, 4.’

Ben’s look was withering.

‘Well I don’t fucking know,’ Peter responded angrily. ‘What year were you born?’

It was desperate but as good as anything else. Ben tried Peter’s birth year, then his own. He was attempting a third combination when the phone died in their hands.

‘Shit.’

The word echoed around the vault.

‘What now?’

The pair stood quiet, staring forlornly at the locked hatch above them. Light seeped in through the cracks, illuminating the gun nestling quietly on the floor between them.

‘Nothing. There’s nothing…’

Ben’s words petered out as he turned and retreated into the dark. Slumping down in the coal, he was suddenly overwhelmed with despair. Why was this happening to them? What had they done?

He shot a glance across at Peter, who was pacing up and down, muttering to himself. Ben had never liked Peter, but he didn’t want to kill the guy, for God’s sake! Perhaps the gun wasn’t real? He got up to check, but the look Peter shot him made him sit straight back down.

Ben sat there in his own private hell. He had never been very good with enclosed spaces. He always liked to know where his escape route was in any given situation. But now he was trapped and worse than that trapped underground. Buried alive. Already his hands were beginning to shake. He felt lightheaded and sweaty, lights danced in front of his eyes. He hadn’t had a panic attack for years, but he could feel one coming on now. The world was closing in on him.

‘I’ve got to get out.’ Ben was stumbling to his feet. Peter turned, surprised and unnerved. ‘Please, Peter, I’ve got to get out. HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!’

He shouted and screamed to try and ward off the attack, but felt faint and had to stop. Surely someone would find them and rescue them? They had to. The alternative was unthinkable.