The Calling of the Grave

Chapter 27

By the time he was fifteen, Monk's life was set in stone. Orphaned since birth, he'd grown up doubly excluded, shunned for his physical defects and feared for his abnormal strength. The few families that fostered the surly, freakish boy soon sent him back, shaken by the experience. By the time he reached puberty he was stronger than most grown men, and violence and intimidation had become second nature.

Then the blackouts started.

To begin with he didn't realize. Most came at night, so his only awareness of them was a feeling of haziness and lethargy next day, of inexplicable bruises or bloodied hands. The problem only came to light in a young offenders' institution, when his nocturnal behaviour terrified the other inmates. Monk would throw tantrums, laughing like a lunatic and reacting to any attempts to subdue him with devastating, frenzied violence. Next morning he wouldn't recall any of it.

At first he believed the accusations and subsequent punishments were just new forms of victimization. He reacted by becoming more insular and aggressive than ever. It never occurred to him to ask for help, and he would have rejected any had it been offered. Not that it was. Prison psychologists spoke of anti-social behaviour, of impulse- control disorders and sociopathic tendencies. One look was enough to confirm anyone's worst suspicions. He was a freak, a monster.

He was Monk.

As he grew older he took to wandering on the moor. The ancient landscape, with its rocky tors and thorny gorse, had a calming effect. More importantly, it allowed him to be on his own. One day he came across an overgrown hole in a hillside. It was an old mine adit, although he didn't know that at the time. It opened, quite literally, a new world for him. He began seeking out the old mines and caves that lay below the surface of Dartmoor, exploring and even sleeping in them whenever he could. He spent as much time down in the cold, dark tunnels as he did in the run-down caravan he called home. They were a reassuring constant, indifferent to day or night and untouched by weather or seasons. They made him feel secure. Stilled.

Even the blackouts seemed less frequent.

He was on his way to the moor one night when he saw the gang. He'd been away from it for almost a week, labouring on a building site for cash in hand. Now, with money in his pocket, the need to get back made his skin prickle and itch. He felt as if nails were being scratched on blackboards inside him, and there was a muzziness in his head that often presaged an impending blackout.

At first he ignored the hooded youths huddled under a broken streetlight. They had something down on the floor, trapping it like a pack of animals. Monk wasn't interested, and would have gone on by if it hadn't been for their laughter. Vicious and cruel, it throbbed behind his eyes like an echo of childhood. The gang had scattered after he'd knocked two or three of them away, leaving a lone figure on the floor. The tendons in Monk's hands had ached with the need to hit something else, but the girl on the ground had looked up without fear. She gave him a shy smile.

Her name was Angela Carson.

'You knew her?'

The question spilled out before I could stop it. According to the reports I'd read, witnesses had seen Monk in his fourth victim's neighbourhood before the murder, but it was assumed he'd simply been stalking her. There was never any suggestion that he'd known Angela Carson, let alone that they'd had any sort of relationship.

The look in Monk's eyes was answer enough.

After that first, accidental meeting the pair had been drawn together. Both were lonely. Both, in different ways, excluded from society. Angela Carson was almost completely deaf, and it was easier for her to sign than speak. Monk didn't know how, but the two of them still managed to communicate. In the plain young woman he finally found someone who was neither terrified nor repulsed by him. For her part, it wasn't difficult to imagine that she found his strength comforting. He took to visiting her after dark, when there was less chance of being seen by neighbours.

It wasn't long before she asked him to stay the night.

The blackouts had been less frequent since they'd met. He'd been calmer, less agitated. He'd allowed himself to believe they were over. Even so, he hadn't meant to fall asleep.

But he had.

He claimed to have no recollection of what happened, only that he found himself standing by the bed. There was a pounding on the door as the police tried to break in. All was noise and confusion. His hands were covered in blood, but none of it was his.

He looked down and saw Angela Carson.

That was when Monk lost what little control he had left. When the police burst into the room he attacked them in a frenzy. Then he ran until his legs gave way, futilely trying to escape the images of that bloodied room.

Without even thinking about it, he'd gone out on to the moor.

And gone to ground.

That the police would be looking for him didn't really enter into his thinking: he was trying to escape from himself, not them. Cold and hunger drove him up after a few days. He'd lost all sense of time, and it was night when he emerged. He stole clothes and food, and what equipment he needed, and was back in his sanctuary before dawn.

Over the next three months he spent more time underground, beneath the gorse and heather of Dartmoor, than he did in the outside world. He only emerged into fresh air and daylight to move to another system of tunnels, or to steal or forage fresh supplies and check the traps he'd laid for rabbits. The surface reminded him of who he was and what he'd done. Underneath the dark rock he was able to bury himself away.

And forget.

Indifferent to his own safety, he was able to find places and worm into tunnels that no one else would dare to enter. Twice he had to dig himself out when the roof collapsed; another time he was almost drowned when the system he was in flooded after heavy rains. Once he sat unseen, hunched in the shadows as a group of cavers clattered by only yards away. He let them go, but afterwards sought out a less public refuge.

The blackouts continued, but down there he was only vaguely aware of them. Sometimes he would wake in a different cavern or tunnel from the one he remembered, with no memory of how he had got there. He took to sleeping with a torch in his pocket for when that happened.

Then one day he found himself walking on the roadside in broad sunlight. He felt confused, his thoughts as muddy as his clothes, with no idea of where he was or what he was doing. That was how the police found him.

The first time he heard of Tina Williams or Zoe and Lindsey Bennett was when he was charged with their murders.

'Then why did you plead guilty?' I asked.

Monk absently rubbed at a spot between two of his knuckles, the button eyes staring at nothing. I'd always thought they were empty: now I wondered how I could have missed the pain in them.

'Everyone said I'd done it. They found their stuff at my caravan.'

'But if you couldn't remember-'

'You think I fucking cared?'

He glared at me, but even that seemed too much effort. He convulsed as another coughing spasm took him. It was even more violent than before, and when it passed it left him gasping.

Without thinking, I reached out for his wrist. 'Here, let me check your pulse-'

'Touch me and I'll break your arm.'

I lowered my hand. Monk sat back against the rock, regarding me with suspicion. 'If you're a doctor, how come you dig up bodies? Think you can bring them back to life?'

'No, but I can help find who killed them.'

I wished the words back as soon as they were out, but it was too late. When Monk started wheezing I thought it was another coughing fit until I realized he was laughing.

'Still a fucking smartarse,' he rumbled.

But he soon broke off. Each breath was a ragged whistle, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face. The black eyes seemed sunken into his skull as it pressed through the yellow skin.

'The heart attack wasn't faked, was it?' I said.

Monk stroked his hand back and forth over his head, his thumb fitting disconcertingly into the depression in his skull. It seemed to calm him.

'It was charlie.'

It took me a moment to understand. 'You overdosed on cocaine? Deliberately?'

The big head nodded. His hand continued to rasp over it.

'How much?'

'Enough.'

It explained how Monk had fooled the doctors. As well as sending his blood pressure sky high, a cocaine overdose could trigger tachycardia, making his heartbeat dangerously fast and irregular. The symptoms could easily be mistaken for the onset of a heart attack, and prove just as fatal. Judging from Monk's condition I guessed he'd suffered cardiovascular damage at the very least, perhaps even heart failure. Throw in a respiratory infection and it was a miracle he wasn't dead. No wonder we'd escaped from him out at Black Tor.

He'd been too sick to catch us.

'You could have killed yourself,' I said.

His mouth curled. 'So what?'

'I don't understand. You waited eight years, why escape now?'

His mouth twitched in what at first I mistook for a smile. Then I saw the look in his eyes and realized it was anything but.

'Because the bastards stitched me up.'

I'd been on the verge of believing him until then. Even, God help me, pitying him. Monk was capable of a lot of things but acting wasn't one of them. But while I'd have sworn the bizarre seizure I'd witnessed was genuine, this was pure paranoia. I must have let my thoughts show.

'You think I'm a psycho, don't you?'

'No, I-'

'Don't fucking lie!'

He was glaring at me, big head jutting forward. Careful. 'Why do you think you were set up?'

He glared at me for a moment longer, then examined his scabbed fists. Blood still dripped from the one he'd hit against the rock, but it didn't seem to bother him.

'I got word that this new cunt was saying he'd seen someone poking around under my caravan before it was raided. They pulled a warrant card on him and said it was police business. Told him to fuck off, that if he told anyone he'd get banged up on paedo charges and thrown to the nutjobs. Said he'd be doing himself a favour if he kept his mouth shut. So he did. Never told anyone until he got sent to Belmarsh and wanted to big himself up to the hardmen.' Monk turned his head and spat. 'Like I wasn't going to find out.'

This wasn't the paranoid rant I'd been expecting. It had been the discovery of Zoe Bennett's lipstick and hairbrush under his caravan that had confirmed Monk's guilt. He would have known that, of course, but even so…

'This prisoner…' I said.

'Walker. Darren Walker.'

'Did he tell you the policeman's name?'

'He said it was some bastard called Jones. A DI.'

The name meant nothing to me, but there was no reason it should. 'He could have been lying.'

'He wasn't. Not after what I did to him.' Monk's face was pitiless. His lips twitched back in a snarl. 'Should've said something sooner.'

Terry had told me about Monk beating another inmate to death when he'd broken the news of his escape. Put two wardens in hospital when they tried to pull him off. Surprised you didn't hear about it. I tried to swallow: my mouth was so dry it took me several attempts. I pointed at a pack of unopened water nearby.

'Can I have a drink?'

He hitched a slabbed shoulder in a shrug. I opened one of the bottles, conscious of my hands shaking. But the water eased my parched throat, and the fact he'd allowed it was something in itself.

I drank half, saving the rest for when Sophie woke. 'How does Wainwright fit into this?' I asked, capping the bottle again. 'Why did you kill him?'

I half expected Monk to say he couldn't remember that either. He dredged something up from his lungs and hawked on the floor before he answered.

'I didn't kill him.'

'His wife identified you, and your DNA was all over the house.'

'I didn't say I wasn't there, I said I didn't kill him. He fell downstairs. I never touched him.'

It was possible, I supposed. Wainwright's body had been lying near the foot of the stairs: he could have broken his neck falling down them. Finding Monk in your home would have been terrifying for anyone, let alone someone with dementia.

'Why did you go to their house anyway? You can't have thought Wainwright had anything to do with setting you up.'

Monk had clasped both hands on his head as he looked at Sophie. She stirred in her sleep, frowning as though she could feel his eyes on her. 'Didn't know what else to do when I couldn't find her. I thought he might know where she was. Or know something. I tried digging holes on the moor like I saw him do, see if that'd make me remember. Didn't expect you and her to turn up, though.'

He gave a death's-head grin.

'Weren't expecting me either, were you? You were so scared I could practically smell you. If I wasn't knackered from digging them fucking holes I'd have caught you.'

So instead, frustrated, that night he'd sought out the only other person he could think of. Someone who was easy to find, with his name in the phone book.

'Wainwright was ill. He couldn't have helped.'

Monk's head snapped up. 'I didn't know that, did I? You think I'm sorry he's dead? Stuck-up bastard treated me like scum, I've not forgotten that! I'd have broken the fucker's neck anyway!'

'I don't-' I began, but it was as if a switch had been flicked.

' The bastards stitched me up! Eight years I thought I was too cracked to remember what I did! Eight fucking years!'

'If you didn't kill the other girls-'

'I don't give a fuck about them! But if I was set up then I could have been for the rest of it. For Ange!’ The dark eyes were fevered and manic. His head jerked, an unconscious twitch of his jaw. 'The fuckers could've tricked me, made me think I killed her as well! You get it? I might not have done it, and I need to fucking remember!'

Any hope I'd had of reasoning with him died then. Monk wasn't interested in retrieving any lost memories, only in absolving himself of guilt over Angela Carson. But that wasn't going to happen. Whatever the fate of the other victims, whether he'd intended it or not, he'd killed her himself.

And nothing Sophie said could alter that.

'Look, whatever you did, if it happened during a blackout then you're not fully responsible,' I said. 'There are types of sleep disorders that-'

'Shut the fuck up!' He surged to his feet, fists clenched. 'Wake her up!'

'No, wait-'

He moved so fast I didn't see it coming. It was little more than a backhand cuff, but it snapped my head to one side as if I'd been hit with a plank. I fell on to the debris littering the floor as Monk grabbed hold of Sophie.

'Come on! Wake up!'

Sophie moaned feebly, her body still limp. I lunged at him, grabbing hold of his arm as he drew it back to slap her. He thrust me away and I slammed into the rock.

But Monk made no further attempt to hit Sophie. He was staring at his fist as if he'd only just become aware of it. It was the one he'd struck against the rock, and as he looked at the blood on it the rage left him as quickly as it had arrived.

He lowered his arm as Sophie stirred.

'David…'

'I'm here.' There was blood in my mouth, and my jaw and teeth throbbed as I went to her. This time Monk didn't try to stop me.

Sophie rubbed her head, brow creased in pain. 'I don't feel so good,' she said, her voice slurred, and then she vomited.

I supported her until the spasm had passed. She gave something between a groan and a sob, shielding her eyes from the lantern light. 'My head… it really hurts.'

'Look at me, Sophie.'

'Hurts…'

'I know, but just look at me.'

I smoothed the hair back from her face. She squinted, blinking as she opened her eyes. Shock ran through me. While her left pupil was normal, the right was dilated and huge. Oh, God.

'What's wrong with her?' Monk demanded. He sounded suspicious, as though this were some sort of trick.

I took a deep breath as Sophie tried to huddle away from the light. Keep calm. Don't lose it now. 'I think it's a haematoma.'

'A what?'

'A haemorrhage. She's bleeding inside her skull. We need to get her to a hospital.'

'You think I'm fucking stupid?' Monk said, and seized hold of her arm.

'Don't touch her!' I snapped, shoving him away.

At least, I tried to: it was like pushing a side of meat. But he stopped, his eyes unblinking as they stared at me. There was the same stillness about him that I'd witnessed earlier, a sense of poised violence barely held in check.

'There's blood collecting inside her head,' I said, my voice unsteady. 'It could be from the car crash or before. But if the pressure isn't released…' She'll die. 'I have to get her out of here. Please.'

Monk's mouth twisted in frustration, his wheezing breaths growing even more ragged. 'You're a doctor. Can't you do something?'

'No, she needs surgery.'

'Fuck!' He slapped his hand against the wall. In the small chamber it echoed like a pistol shot. 'Fuck!'

I ignored him. Sophie had slumped against me. 'Sophie? Come on, you have to stay awake.'

If she lapsed into unconsciousness down here I'd never be able to get her out. She stirred feebly. 'Don't want to…'

'Come on, I need you to sit up straight. We're getting out of here.'

Monk's hand thrust against my chest. 'No! She said she'd help me!'

'Does she look like she can help anybody?'

'She's staying here!'

'Then she's going to die!' I was shaking, but from anger now. 'All she's done is try to help you. Do you want more blood on your hands?'

'Shut UP!'

I saw his fist coming but I had no chance of avoiding it. I flinched as it whipped by my face, his coat sleeve skimming my cheek as he punched the rock by my head.

I didn't move. The only sound was Monk's ragged wheezing. His breath stank in my face. Chest heaving, he dropped his arm and stepped back. Blood dripped from his hand. He'd struck the rock full on this time: it had to be broken.

But if it hurt he gave no sign. He looked at the swollen knuckles as though they didn't belong to him, then down at Sophie. For all his size, there was something pathetic about him. Beaten.

'She couldn't have helped anyway, could she?' he asked. 'It wouldn't have made any difference.'

I tried to think of a safe answer, then gave up. 'No.'

Monk lowered his head. When he raised it again the gargoyle face was unreadable.

'Let's get her out.'

I used one of the bottles of smelling salts to rouse Sophie. She moaned in protest, trying to move her head away. The ammonia was a temporary measure at best, but it wouldn't make her any worse. And I needed her as aware as possible.

We didn't have much time.

There was always a risk of haematoma after a head trauma. Some developed very quickly, others could take weeks, slowly swelling blood blisters inside the skull that put pressure on the brain. Sophie's must have been building up for days. Either it had been too small to be detected by the hospital scans or she'd discharged herself before anyone had picked it up.

Either way I should have realized. The signs had been staring me in the face, and I'd missed them. I'd put her slurred speech down to alcohol and fatigue, dismissed her headache as a hangover.

Now she could die because of me.

Sophie barely knew where she was. She could walk, but not without support. By the time Monk had helped me manhandle her from the chamber it was obvious we wouldn't be able to go back the way we had come, with its narrow tunnels and crawlways.

'Is there another way out?' I asked as she slumped against me.

In the torchlight Monk looked terrifying, but I was more frightened for Sophie now than of him. His breathing sounded worse than ever. 'There is, but…'

'What?'

'Doesn't matter,' he said, and set off down the passage.

The world shrank down to the rough rock above me and on either side, and Monk's broad shoulders in front. I'd brought the torch from the floor of the chamber. The beam was weak but at least it threw back the darkness enough to see where we were going. If I fell now I'd drag Sophie down with me.

I had my arm around her, taking as much of her weight as I could. She was weeping with pain, her voice weak and slurred as she begged me to let her lie down and sleep. When she started to flag too much I held the smelling salts under her nose, trying not to think what would happen if she collapsed down here. Or that both our lives depended on a killer we'd no reason to trust.

Away from the airless warmth of the chamber it was freezing. My teeth chattered from the cold, and Sophie was shivering beneath my arm. Water streamed along the uneven floor of the passage. I thought about the stories I'd heard of cavers drowning in flooded tunnels. There had been a lot of rain over the last few weeks, but I told myself that Monk knew what he was doing.

The walls of the passage opened out into a vaulted cavern, where a fine, cold haze filled the air with a mineral tang. In the confined space the sound of falling water was deafening. The light from the torch showed it pouring down the rock walls, shattering into cascades before tumbling into the turmoil of a pool. Nearly all of the cavern was flooded, but Monk picked his way along a bank of shale that skirted its edge. At the far side the rock was split by a narrow vertical fissure, just above the water level. My heart sank when he stopped by it.

'Through there.'

He had to raise his voice to be heard above the water. Supporting Sophie, I shone the torch into the fissure. If anything it narrowed even more the further in it went.

'Where does it go?'

'Comes out in a passage that goes to the surface.' I could hear the wet tear of Monk's breathing even over the splash of the water. In the low torchlight the misshapen bones of his face made him look like a walking corpse.

'Are you sure?'

'You wanted another way out. That's it.'

With that he turned and started back along the shale bank, sloshing through the edge of the water. 'You're not just going to leave us?' I yelled after him.

There was no response. The torch beam bobbed as he made his way back across the flooded cavern. The level had risen while we'd been standing there.

'David… wha's…'

Sophie was leaning heavily against me. I swallowed the fear that had risen in my throat. 'It's OK. Not much further.'

I'd no idea if that was true or not. But we'd no choice. Shining the torch ahead of us, I hugged her to me and edged sideways into the narrow gap. It disappeared into darkness above our heads, but there wasn't much more than eighteen inches clearance between the rock faces. I fought down a wave of claustrophobia as they seemed to squeeze tighter with each shuffling step.

My breath steamed in the weak light from the torch. Its pale beam showed where the fissure twisted out of sight further along. After a few yards I looked back but the flooded cavern was already lost from view. Not that we could have gone back now anyway. There was no room to turn round, and I couldn't back up with Sophie tucked under my arm. I was almost dragging her now, struggling to support her as I took one crablike step after another.

How much further? I told myself it couldn't be far. The fissure was growing narrower, the sides pressing in closer the deeper we went. I could feel it, solid and unyielding against my chest, restricting my breathing. Don't think about it. Just keep moving. But even that was becoming more difficult. The irregular rock underfoot threatened to trip me and the gap continued to narrow. There wasn't enough room for us both to get through, not while I was holding Sophie.

I willed myself to stay calm. 'Sophie, I've got to free my arm. I need you to stand by yourself for a few seconds.'

My voice echoed oddly, flattened by the rock. She didn't respond.

'Sophie? Come on, wake up!'

But Sophie didn't move. Now I'd stopped she was a dead weight against me, and it was growing harder to hold her upright. If not for the walls of the fissure holding her in place I doubt I could have. I groped one-handed for the bottle of smelling salts in my pocket, desperate not to drop either them or the torch. I opened the bottle with my teeth, my eyes watering from the reek of ammonia even though I held my breath, then struggled to reach around to hold it under Sophie's nose. Come on. Please.

There was no reaction. I tried for a little longer, then gave up. OK, don't panic. Think. The only option was for me to squeeze through the narrow section first and somehow pull her through after me. But if I let go of her and she collapsed…

There's no room for her to fall, and you can't stay here. Just do it! My arm was growing numb. I began trying to ease it from beneath her shoulders. You can do it. Nice and easy. My coat sleeve rasped on the rough rock but Sophie's weight pinned me in place. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't prise myself loose. I twisted round to get more leverage and felt the rock faces clamp around my upper body like a vice. For a second I couldn't move, then I wrenched myself back to my original position, skinning my knuckles in the process.

Oh, God! I closed my eyes, fighting for breath. There didn't seem to be enough air. Stars sparked in my vision. I tried to steady my breathing, realizing I was starting to hyperventilate. For Christ's sake don't pass out! Gradually, my heart slowed. I opened my eyes. Lit by the torch from below, the rock wall was inches from my face. I could see its granular texture, smell its damp, salty hardness. I moistened my dry lips. Come on, think! But I didn't have any options left. My arm felt completely dead. Sophie was unconscious, wedged against me more tightly than ever. I couldn't go any further, nor could I back out, not with her blocking the way.

We were trapped.

There was a glow off to one side. I looked over Sophie's head and saw a torch beam lighting the fissure behind us, throwing the irregularities of the rock into sharp relief. There was a slow scraping, accompanied by the rasp of laboured breathing.

Then Monk edged into view. He was jammed sideways into the narrow gap, mouth contorted as he forced himself towards us. It had been tight enough for me: I couldn't imagine what it must be like for him.

He didn't speak until he'd reached Sophie. Still holding the torch, a massive hand snaked out and gripped her shoulder.

'Got her…'

His voice was a strained gasp, but I felt most of her weight lift from me. I slid my arm from behind her, smearing more skin from my knuckles on the rock, and then I was free. I flexed my fingers, gritting my teeth as my arm blazed with returning circulation.

'Go,' Monk wheezed.

He kept Sophie upright while I squeezed between the rock faces. My coat snagged as they gripped tighter than ever, then I'd scraped through and the fissure widened. I sucked in air, giddy with relief as I shone the torch back on to Monk and Sophie.

His mouth was open in a rictus, his breathing agonized as the rock constricted his massive chest. But he said nothing as I reached back through the narrow section, grabbing a handful of Sophie's coat in one hand and protecting her head with the other.

The close walls of the fissure helped us now, holding her in place as Monk propped her up on one side while I pulled her through the narrow section from the other. Heaving her arm around my shoulders so her head was cradled against me, I took her weight and straightened. Then I shone the torch back on to Monk.

He'd worked his way even further in to help me with Sophie. Now he was wedged impossibly tightly into the gap, squashed between the rock. His mouth worked like a grounded fish as he fought for breath.

'Can you get back?' I panted. There was no way he could make it through any further.

It was hard to tell but I thought he grinned. 'Bulked out.. . since last time…'

It sounded painful for him to even talk. Christ, he's not going to be able to get out of there. 'Listen, I can-'

'Fuck off… Get her out.'

I hesitated, but only for a second. He'd survived down here well enough without my help, and Sophie was my priority. I began half carrying, half dragging her away. I glanced back once, but could see only darkness. There was no sign of Monk or his torch.

He must have gone back, but I couldn't spare any thoughts for him. It was a little wider here but Sophie was a dead weight. It was all I could do to support her. Water was streaming down the uneven base of the fissure now, flowing over my boots and making it impossible to see where I was treading. I stumbled repeatedly, our coats scraping and snagging on the rock that still pressed in on us. I kept on, knowing that if we became trapped now we were on our own.

Then the walls suddenly opened out. Gasping for breath, I shone the torch around a low passage. It was only a little higher than my head but wide enough for us to stand side by side. If Monk was right, then this must be the way to the surface.

It sloped uphill at a steep angle. I started up but I was stooped under Sophie's weight, my legs leaden and shaking. I couldn't go any further, not without a rest. Lowering her to the floor, I knelt beside her and stroked the tangle of hair from her face.

'Sophie? Can you hear me?'

There was no response. I checked her pulse. It was too fast. When I checked her eyes the right one was more dilated than ever. It didn't change when I shone the torch into it.

I struggled to lift her again, but there was no strength in my limbs. I took a few faltering steps and almost fell. I lowered Sophie back to the ground. This is hopeless. I bowed my head, almost weeping. I'd no idea how far there was to go, but I couldn't carry her any further. If she was going to have any chance of surviving, there was only one thing I could do.

I had to leave her behind.

Don't waste time. Do it. I stripped off my coat, gently wadding the sleeves under her head and wrapping the rest around her body. The cold bit into me straight away, but I didn't care. I looked down at her, feeling my resolve weaken. God, I can't do this. But I didn't have a choice.

'I'm coming back, I promise,' I said, my voice shaking from the chill.

Then I turned away and left her in the darkness.

The passage began to climb more steeply. Before long I was having to use my hands to clamber upwards. The walls and roof closed in, until it was little more than a tunnel. The torch revealed nothing except a black hole surrounded by rock. It seemed endless. Exhaustion made me dizzy. My senses began playing tricks on me, so that I began to think I was heading downwards, crawling deeper underground instead of towards the surface.

Then something scratched my face. I jerked away, yelling out as something snagged my hair. I shone the torch at it and saw spiky branches. Plants? I thought, dumbly. I felt water dripping on to my face, but it was only when I noticed the cold wind on my cheek that I realized it was rain.

I was outside.

It was dark. In the torch beam I saw that the passage had emerged in a clump of gorse that clung to a sloping rock face. I had to crawl underneath the spiky, dripping branches, tugging myself free when they snagged my skin and clothes. I slithered the last few yards and splashed feet first into a freezing stream.

Shivering in the cold, I shone the torch around as I climbed out. The fog had cleared but rain fell in a sullen, steady downpour. I was on the moor, at the foot of a small tor. It was overgrown with gorse that completely hid the cave mouth. There was light on the horizon, but I'd no idea if it marked dawn or dusk, or even where I was. I tried to force my numbed mind to work. Which way? Come on, decide!

A faint noise came to me on the wind. I tilted my head, trying to catch which direction it was coming from. It faded, and for a moment I was afraid I was imagining it. Then I heard it again, stronger this time.

The distant whickering of a helicopter.

I clambered up the side of the tor, fatigue and cold forgotten as I waved the torch over my head.

'HERE! OVER HERE!'

I shouted myself hoarse, oblivious of the gorse tearing at me as 1 hauled myself on to the crest of the tor. I could see the helicopter's running lights now, bright specks of colour perhaps half a mile away. For an awful few seconds I thought it was going to fly straight by. Then it banked and came towards me. As its lights grew in size I could make out the police markings on its side, and when I saw that the last of my strength went. My legs gave way and I slumped on to the cold stone, willing the approaching machine to fly faster.