Eeny Meeny

73

All she could taste was vomit. Vomit and dried blood. Her mouth felt parched, her throat torn, and her head throbbed with a dull, nagging pain. She hadn’t eaten in days and she could feel the ulcers forming in her stomach. But that didn’t bother her – what she really wanted, needed, was water. Usually she would drink litres a day, getting slightly twitchy when she suddenly found herself away from the necessary supply. What a joke those small privations felt now when she was genuinely dying of thirst. She’d never thought about that phrase before, but now she knew what it meant, what it felt like. Despair was setting in – she knew instinctively that there would be no escape.

Sandy lay inert across the way, hoping perhaps to be carried off in his sleep. A peaceful death to end this nightmare. Some hope. They were trapped. And that was all there was to it. Mickery’s eyes flicked left, picking up the flight of the flies that hovered round the effluent piled up in the corner. The flies weren’t there to begin with, so how did they get in? Which tiny fissure in this tin can had they penetrated? Little bastards could probably come and go as they pleased.

When she had first awoken from her stupor, Mickery had been dazed, confused. It was so dark, she couldn’t tell what time of day it was, where she was and what had happened to her. She’d got the fright of her life when she heard Sandy moving. Up until that point she’d assumed she was dreaming, but Sandy’s wild distress had rammed home the grim reality of their situation.

They immediately set about exploring their confines, hammering on the walls, tracing the joins in the metal, slowly coming to the crushing conclusion that they were in some kind of giant metal box. Was it a freight container? Probably, but what did it matter? It was solid, secure, and there was no way out of it. That was all they needed to know. Shortly afterwards, they chanced upon the gun and the phone. And it was then that Mickery’s brave attempts at denial finally collapsed.

‘She’s got us, Sandy.’

‘No. No, no, no, no. There must be another explanation. There must be.’

‘Read the message on the fucking phone. She’s got us.’

Sandy wouldn’t look at the phone. Wouldn’t engage at all. But then again, what was there to say? It was clear that there was no easy way out – the choices were starvation or murder. It was Mickery who put these two awful options on the table. Sandy was proving to be a coward, weak, unwilling to face their situation. But Mickery had made him.

They had chosen to take action. The waiting was too much to bear. The despair too crushing. Their life was now slow torture and it was time to do something about it. So they had decided to draw straws – or rather flies as that was all they could find. So Mickery now found herself with arms outstretched facing Sandy. In one of her hands was a dead fly. The other hand was empty. If Sandy picked the fly, he lived. If he didn’t, he would be killed.

Sandy hesitated, willing his eyesight to penetrate the skin and reveal the treasure within Mickery’s palms. Left or right? Death or life?

‘Come on, Sandy. For fuck’s sake just get it over with.’

Mickery’s voice was desperate, entreating. But Sandy didn’t feel any pity, couldn’t feel any pity. He was frozen in the moment, unable to move a muscle.

‘I can’t do it.’

‘Do it now, Sandy. Or I swear to God I’ll make the decision for you.’

Mickery’s tone was savage and it jolted Sandy out of his paralysis. Muttering the Lord’s Prayer, he slowly stretched out his arm, tapping Mickery firmly on the left hand.

A long, terrible moment. Then slowly Mickery turned her hand round and opened it for both to see.