Eeny Meeny

51

Her head was full of fog. She struggled to her feet groggily, then shivered. Her vision was still hazy, but she could smell the damp and the chill went straight through her. Where was she?

Slowly images pushed into her mind – but each one stabbed like the worst hangover pains and she had to sit down again. The floor was hard and unforgiving. She remembered the van, Cyn, Caroline… She looked at her watch and did a double-take. Had she really slept for over twenty-four hours?

The sound of retching made her look up. And there was Caroline. She’d just been sick and was now crying into her own vomit.

Get a grip. Wake up. But this wasn’t a dream. This was too weird to be made up. Had Cyn brought her here? Where was Cyn? Martina shouted out, but received only a dull echo in response. They were in some kind of cellar – a brick arched vault gloomily illuminated by an old lantern. Poky and rotting – the forgotten box room of some big house perhaps. It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense.

The door was locked from the outside. Solid metal, but she beat against it nevertheless. She beat until her hands throbbed and her headache raged – she slunk back on to the ground defeated.

‘Caroline?’

She called out to her, but received no response. So she picked herself up and made her way over to her. Whatever was going on at least they were in it together. En route, Martina’s foot connected with something hard which went skittering across the floor. She cried out in pain, then realized that she was virtually standing on something else – a mobile phone.

Martina picked it up. It wasn’t hers and she didn’t think it was Caroline’s. She pressed a button and a lurid green glow illuminated the screen. You have one new message.

Instinctively, Martina pressed OK.

By this phone is a gun. It has one bullet in it. For Martina or for Caroline. Together you must decide who lives and who dies. Only through death will you be released. There is no victory without sacrifice.

And that was it. Martina’s eyes shot to the object she’d kicked across the room. A gun. It was a bloody gun.

‘Did you do this?’ she barked at Caroline. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’

But Caroline just whimpered and shook her head:

‘What do you mean? I don’t know what -’

At which point Martina threw the phone at her.

‘That.’

Nervously, Caroline picked up the phone. Her hands shook as she read the message. Then the phone dropped out of her hand, clattering to the floor and she hung her head on her chest and sobbed. Martina felt sickened – she obviously knew nothing.

Martina could see her breath frosting in front of her. Would it get colder in this tomb? Would they freeze to death before anyone found them?

Her life wasn’t meant to end like this. She’d been through too much to die in this dank hole.

Slowly in the fractured gloom, Martina’s eyes came to rest on the gun.