The Lost

Chapter 35

Jonah wrenched at the nylon ties around his wrists and ankles as the sound of footfalls disappeared down the passageway. There was a creak of a door closing, then nothing. Silence, except for the low slap of water against the hull. Gavin would be setting Chrissie’s daughter down in one of the other cabins, he guessed. And then what? More doped milk, a lethal dose this time? Suffocate them? Now the little girl had seen his face Gavin wouldn’t let either her or her brother go.

Jonah couldn’t let that happen.

He forced himself to slow his breathing, taking deep breaths to counter the rising panic. Come on, don’t just lie here! He wouldn’t have long before Gavin came back: he had to get out of the ties before then. He looked around the room for something to cut them. The vodka bottle was on the seat cushion a few feet away, but even if he was able to smash it Gavin would hear. But there must be a knife or scissors in the kitchen units by the sink. Jonah started to push himself across the floor to the far side of the cabin. He tried to use his good leg to propel himself across the carpet, but with his ankles fastened together it was impossible not to bend his bad knee as well. Each flex sent a fresh jolt of pain through the damaged joint, and his progress was agonisingly slow. At this rate Gavin would be back before he reached them. Even if he wasn’t, Jonah would still have to lever himself upright to search in the drawers. Gritting his teeth, he continued anyway, pushing himself past the fitted seat with the empty beer cans littering the floor...

He stopped as he realised.

Idiot.

Shunting himself around, Jonah groped behind him for the nearest can. It was awkward with his hands tied and slippery with blood, but he managed to pick it up. Gavin had already crushed it almost flat. Gripping it tightly in both hands, Jonah began to twist.

The flimsy aluminium flexed and bent like paper, but stubbornly remained intact. Listening for any sound from the passageway, he twisted harder. Come on, come on...!

The can ripped.

The jagged edge sliced through Jonah’s fingers and the meat of his palm, adding to the blood from his torn wrists. He didn’t care: he wanted it to be sharp. It was difficult bending his hands enough to hack at the nylon strip, feeling it pluck like a guitar string. But he managed to keep hold of it, dragging the torn edge backwards and forwards across the tie. Cut, you bastard! Why can’t you just —

The tie snapped.

As he reached down to cut the tie fastening his ankles, the sound of a door closing came from the passageway.

Shit.

The sharp metal sliced into his fingers as Jonah sawed furiously at the tie. It severed with a more-felt-than-heard snap. There was no sign of his crutches and no time to look. He started levering himself upright by the fitted seat, expecting the cabin door to open at any second.

Instead, the hollow sound of running water sounded through the wall.

Gavin had stopped to piss.

After being bound, even Jonah’s good leg felt stiff and weak as he stood upright. The boat had a subtle, queasy motion, which further unbalanced him. Leaning on the back of the seat, he looked around for a weapon. There was a heavy glass ashtray nearby on a shelf. Ash and old cigarette stubs cascaded onto the carpet as Jonah grabbed it and half hopped, half lunged for the cabin door. He couldn’t put any weight on his bad knee, but it only had to support him for one swing. If he connected it wouldn’t matter. If he didn’t...

Then it wouldn’t matter anyway.

He heard movement in the boat’s passageway as he reached the door. Flattening himself to the wall behind it, he raised the ashtray.

The sounds stopped outside.

For a second nothing happened. Then Jonah’s breath was forced from him as the cabin door smashed into him, pinning him against the wall. As it was wrenched away again, he threw all his weight against it, and was rewarded by an oath from the other side. While Gavin was still off-balance, Jonah yanked the door aside and swung the ashtray. It caught him a glancing blow on the jaw, but that was enough to stagger him. Yes! Feeling a fierce exultation, Jonah raised the ashtray as he stepped forward to end it.

And his knee gave way.

He collapsed against the door, dropping the ashtray as Gavin barrelled into him. They fell to the floor, and as Jonah tried to push himself away something heavy crashed onto his head. The room seemed to blur and tilt, and then a second impact took the use from his limbs. He felt weightless and detached, only dimly aware of being flipped over onto his front. He breathed in grit and crumbs from the bristly carpet.

‘Nice try, but I heard you moving.’ Gavin’s voice seemed to come from a long way away. Jonah felt his arms jerked roughly behind him. ‘That fucking hurt, though, so I don’t think we’ll take any more chances.’

Jonah could do nothing as his wrists were fastened again. Then he was rolled over onto his back so he was lying on his arms. From the corner of his vision he saw Gavin walk away and bend to pick something up. There was a soft tearing noise, then he came back.

In his hand was a plastic freezer bag.

A translucent film descended over his vision as the bag slid over his eyes, blurring Gavin and the ceiling above him into a blue-tinged nightmare. It was pulled down over Jonah’s nose and mouth, the plastic instantly fogging and inflating as he breathed out.

And then he breathed in, and the blue film sucked tight.

NO! He scrabbled and kicked, fighting for breath. That only drew the plastic tighter over his face. His lungs heaved and burned. He thrashed as he felt the bag being twisted around his neck, sound suddenly developing an underwater, seashell quality as his head was enclosed. From a long way off, he heard the rip of gaffer tape being unwound, then Gavin’s indistinct shape bent over him again.

Abruptly, it stopped. Through the misted plastic he saw Gavin turn towards the doorway. Then he felt it as well. The boat dipped at one side, as though pressed down.

‘The fuck...?’

Letting go of him, Gavin stood up. Ducking his chin, Jonah frantically tried to loosen the bag from around his throat. As he tried to work his mouth free, he heard an exclamation from the passageway.

‘Who the fuck are —?’

Gavin’s voice was cut off. There was the sound of scuffling outside the cabin, and the boat began to rock as the thump of heavy bodies set up a deep, hollow slosh of water against it. Jonah heard a gasp and a bone-jarring thud.

Then silence.

The slopping of water quietened as the boat’s motion slowed. Jonah lay immobile, head cocked to listen. Although the bag had loosened, the plastic amplified his ragged breathing, drowning out other sounds. As it fogged and cleared, he felt rather than heard someone come into the cabin. He could make out a blurred figure through the plastic. There was the impression of a dark coat, darker than the jacket Gavin had been wearing. The newcomer made hardly any noise on the carpet, but Jonah could feel the boat tip and sway under the stranger’s weight.

‘There are two children in another cabin that need help,’ he gasped, his voice raw. ‘At least make sure they’re all right. Please!’

The floor creaked as the newcomer came to stand over him. Through the misted plastic, Jonah had the impression of size and bulk. A faint sound filtered down, like whispered tapping. He said nothing now, hardly daring to breathe.

Then the figure moved silently away. Jonah strained to listen over his ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart. The newcomer had gone into the passageway, and suddenly Jonah desperately didn’t want whoever this was going into the twins’ cabin. There’s nothing there for you. Please, just go.

He didn’t hear a cabin door opening, as he had when Gavin had taken the little girl back to bed. Instead, there were indistinct sounds from the passageway. A quiet rustling and a soft thump. The boat began to rock again, less violently this time, and Jonah heard the sound of someone climbing steps. A moment later he felt a waft of cold, damp-smelling air, followed by the muted click of a door being closed.

And silence.

He lay there for a second, making sure, then started wriggling his head against the carpet to drag the bag off. He lost hair and gained friction burns, but soon his face emerged into air. Clammy with sweat and condensation from the plastic, he gulped for breath as he rolled over to look through the open doorway.

There was no sign of Gavin.

Jonah’s hands were still bound but his ankles were free. Pushing himself across the floor to the wall, he used it to lean against as he struggled to his feet. Intent on finding the twins, he almost didn’t notice the small object on the seat cushion.

His phone.

He’d seen Gavin put it in his pocket. Whoever had come on board must have left it there, but Jonah didn’t care. The torn can he’d used to cut the ties was still on the floor, shining and bloodstained. His knee throbbed unmercifully, and his head felt like it was splitting as he lurched over to retrieve it. When he picked up the can his hands were shaking so much he could barely hold it. Gripping it as firmly as he could, he hacked blindly at the nylon band.

It seemed to take longer this time, but then his hands were free. They felt dead and unresponsive, his fingers slippery with blood as he grabbed for the phone and called emergency. Switching to speaker phone, he pushed himself to his feet and was already hobbling for the door as it began to ring. Identifying himself as a Metropolitan police officer, he gave as many details as he could as he limped into the passageway. He had to lean against the wall for support, and something in his knee grated with every laborious step. He couldn’t give the boat’s exact location, only that Gavin had said they were moored about a quarter of a mile from Slaughter Quay.

But the need to find the twins crowded out every other concern. Jonah’s hands left a bloody trail on the walls as he continued down the passageway. Part way along, the wood panelling had been damaged. There was an indentation at head-height, the splintered wood glistening wetly as though something had struck it. Hard. Seeing it, Jonah remembered the scuffle he’d heard, and the dull thud that ended it.

He moved on. Jesus, it was hard to stay upright. The boat was larger than he’d thought, with a dogleg in the passageway at the far end. He opened doors as he came to them, pushing them open to reveal storage cupboards, a tiny toilet and an empty cabin. The operator was still speaking, saying something about him going up on deck to check for landmarks.

‘What...?’ he said, struggling to make sense of it.

But it was hard to concentrate on the tinny voice. Hard to focus at all. His head was hurting and the rocking motion of the boat seemed to be getting worse. Then he pushed open another door and forgot about the voice altogether.

The cabin was in darkness. There was a stale smell of unwashed sheets. The curtains were drawn, but the light from the passageway showed two still forms on a bunk inside. Jonah stopped in the doorway, afraid to go in. He realised he was holding his own breath as he listened for sounds of breathing. But the darkened cabin was silent.

The tinny voice was growing insistent, so he put the phone in his pocket to quieten it. Better. Lurching inside, he groped for a light switch. Brightness flooded the cabin, hurting his head and eyes.

Lying on the bunk were Chrissie’s young son and daughter.

They looked tiny. Both lay on their backs, unmoving. Their eyes were closed, and in the overhead light their faces were unnaturally still and pale. The empty carton of milk stood on a small cabinet next to two grubby mugs. No, Jonah thought, through the loud buzzing in his head. No, no, no...

All the pain and loss for Theo seemed to condense and crystallise. Oh, Jesus, please don’t do this, not again... Jonah stumbled over with some vague idea of checking for a pulse. But his hands were so bloodied he didn’t like to touch the still forms. He knew there was something he should be doing, something more, but he couldn’t –

The little girl grumbled and rolled over onto her side.

Jonah had to support himself on the edge of the bunk. Through blurred eyes he saw a beat in the boy’s throat as well, strong and regular. A laugh that was more like a sob escaped him as the abscess of grief was suddenly lanced. He wanted to sink down onto the floor as relief surged through him, but he couldn’t do that. Through the pain and buzzing in his head he became aware of a muted voice, small but urgent. At first he couldn’t place it, then it came to him.

Oh, yeah, that’s right... His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated as he took the phone from his pocket. The voice became louder, asking what was happening and urging him to go on deck. With a last look at the sleeping forms, unaware of either the tears running down his face or the grin on it, Jonah turned and began laboriously making his way along the passageway to the steps.

‘Give me a minute,’ he told the voice.