The Drift, page 15
‘Might and possible working hard there,’ Cassie said.
Hannah folded her arms. ‘I’m open to any other ideas.’
‘It seems worth a try,’ Lucas said.
‘But what then?’ asked Cassie. ‘I mean, how are we going to survive out there? Freezing cold, wild animals, Whistlers. And where the hell do we go?’
‘If we get out, we can get to the luggage in the hold,’ Hannah said. ‘More supplies, food, clothes – and phones. The more people we can make aware of our situation, the less likely it is that the Department will get away with shutting us down.’
Although perhaps the Department should shut them down, a small part of her thought. If they were infected, they could spread the virus. Survival was selfish. But then, survival often was.
‘What about Peggy?’ Daniel asked. ‘And Ben. They won’t survive out there.’
Hannah stared at him. His devotion was admirable but also deluded.
‘Daniel –’ she started to say.
Lucas interrupted. ‘We must be realistic. They won’t survive anyway.’
‘So we just abandon them, to die alone?’ Daniel turned to Hannah. ‘Is that what you think too?’
Yes, Hannah thought. Because there was no other option. And ultimately, we all die alone. No one is coming on that journey with us.
‘We may not have a choice –’
Daniel shook his head. ‘Forget it.’ He rose and climbed over the seats, away from them.
‘Where are you going?’ Lucas asked.
‘To the toilet – or do I need your permission for that too, seeing as you seem to be playing God now?’
‘Harsh,’ Cassie muttered.
Hannah sighed. ‘Lucas is right. Peggy and Ben will die regardless. We can’t waste energy or resources on trying to get them out of the coach. The best we can do is make sure they’re comfortable for as long … as it takes.’
‘That may not be too long.’ Lucas said. ‘Do you hear something?’
‘No?’
‘Exactly. Ben is no longer coughing.’
He was right. Hannah should have noticed. She glanced up the coach. Ben wasn’t lying where they had left him. In fact, she couldn’t remember seeing him when she clambered down the coach earlier. Perhaps he had hauled himself on to a seat. She hadn’t checked, she thought with a stab of guilt. None of them had. They had already written him off.
‘I should go and see –’ she started to say.
And then they heard a crash and a shout:
‘Jesus Christ!’
Daniel stumbled backwards out of the toilet, almost slipping on the leaking waste and disinfectant. He grabbed at a seat to steady himself and Hannah realized that his hands were covered with blood.
Instinctively, she rose. ‘What is it?’
He stared at her, face slack with shock. ‘I don’t think Ben is going to be a problem any more.’
And then he threw up.
Meg
Thirst. Cold. Hunger. All would kill you. Right now, Meg felt like they were waiting to see which would win out first.
Cold they could manage by keeping moving. Despite the fact it made the car rock precariously, walking up and down at least generated some warmth in their muscles. In between, despite their lack of affection for each other, they huddled in one corner together, sharing meagre body heat.
Worryingly, in the morning light, Meg could see that ice had formed in the corners of the car’s glass walls. The temperature inside was continuing to drop. The cable car was not well insulated. It didn’t need to be. It was only supposed to operate for short trips of fifteen minutes. Without light or heat, it would get even colder, especially if they were stuck here for another night.
Hunger was causing pangs, but they could survive without food for some time. The body didn’t need food physically as much as it craved it mentally. It might be painful, but a week or more without food wouldn’t kill them.
Thirst was another matter. Their throats were dry and their lips had started to crack. Fortunately, the cold meant they weren’t losing much in the way of sweat, but they were all feeling that sandpaper soreness in their mouths. Although, on the other hand, not being able to eat or drink had at least temporarily solved their toileting problems. Every cloud.
‘We’re going to die in here,’ Sarah muttered as she took her turn walking up and down the cable car, clapping her hands together. ‘It’s just a matter of time.’
‘We mustn’t think like that,’ Sean said.
‘He’s right,’ Max said. ‘Rescue could still come.’
‘After all this time? They’ve forgotten us. Or maybe they don’t want to rescue us. Maybe the plan was always to let us die in here, like guinea pigs in a plastic ball.’
‘Hamsters,’ Meg said.
‘What?’
‘You don’t put guinea pigs in a plastic ball. It’s hamsters.’
‘Or gerbils,’ Sean interjected.
‘Who cares?’ Sarah screamed. ‘Guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbils. We’re going to die.’ And then she burst into tears, sat down in the corner and began to mumble a prayer.
Meg didn’t have the will – or sympathy – to comfort her. Even Max seemed unable to summon up the energy to be gentlemanly. He shifted slightly in his seat and winced. He didn’t look so good, Meg thought. His face was pale, and his breathing seemed a little laboured. The broken wrist was obviously causing him pain, unsurprisingly, and they didn’t have any painkillers.
Meg wasn’t sure about Max’s age. He obviously kept himself in decent shape, but he must be in his late sixties, maybe older. The shock and pain of his injury plus the lack of food and water and the fucking cold must be taking their toll. But then, they were taking their toll on all of them. She worried about the night. Drowsiness was a symptom of hypothermia. What if they went to sleep and didn’t wake up? The cable car creaked again. The wind had died down, the rocking had abated, but every movement still felt precarious. How many more hours, and what if rescue didn’t come?
As Sarah sat down, Max stood up. Or at least he tried. He staggered and fell back. Sean went to help him, but Max shook his head.
‘I’m fine,’ he snapped, pride making his tone sharp.
He pushed himself up again with his good arm and started to walk carefully across the car. His steps were slow and tentative. Meg was reminded that, for every step they took to keep warm, they were also using energy that they couldn’t really afford to waste.
Halfway down the cabin on his second stint, Max suddenly paused, his legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor. Meg and Sean leapt up.
‘Max, are you okay?’ Meg asked, crouching down next to him.
‘Yes. Just a bit unsteady, that’s all.’
But he didn’t look okay. He looked dazed, and as Meg and Sean eased him up Meg noticed his skin felt clammy and hot. Something was wrong. She caught Sean’s eye and could tell he was thinking the same. Shit.
‘Let’s sit you down,’ Sean said. ‘And maybe we should check your arm. Make sure you didn’t hurt it when you fell.’
‘No, no, it’s fine. I just felt a bit dizzy.’
They eased him back on to the bench.
‘Well, what d’you expect?’ Sarah muttered. ‘We’ve had nothing to eat. No water. We’re all weak. It’s probably stupid even moving around.’
‘Thanks for that constructive insight,’ Meg said.
‘I think we should look at your arm,’ Sean said to Max again.
‘Really, it’s okay. I told you –’
‘Max,’ Sean said. ‘I really don’t want to have to break your other arm, so please let me look.’
The older man sighed. ‘Fine.’
Sean eased his arm out of the sling and gently unwrapped the makeshift bandage. Meg’s heart fell. The wrist was swollen, which was to be expected, but the skin looked tight, mottled red. Meg could tell, even from looking at it, that it would feel hot. It only took a tiny break of the skin for infection to set in. Shit.
‘O–kay,’ Sean said. ‘That’s not great.’
Max sighed. ‘It’s infected, isn’t it?’
Sean nodded. ‘I think so. Cellulitis?’
He looked at Meg, and she nodded. Double shit.
Max rested his head back against the glass wall. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be a burden or a liability.’
‘You’re not,’ Meg said firmly. ‘So far, the cellulitis looks limited to the wrist. It hasn’t spread and the skin isn’t cracked.’
‘It hurts.’
‘That’s probably a good thing.’
‘Good?’ Sarah barked from the corner. ‘The poor man is probably going to lose his arm.’ And then she started crying again.
Meg’s head snapped around. ‘If you can’t say anything helpful, could you kindly just shut the fuck up.’
Sarah glared at her, then clutched at her cross. ‘Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.’
Meg rolled her eyes. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ She turned back to Max. ‘When we get to the Retreat, I’m sure they’ll have plenty of antibiotics.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘If we get there.’
‘How do you feel, in yourself?’ Sean asked, deliberately changing the subject. ‘Lucid? Any tremors or shakes?’
‘I’m a little shivery,’ Max admitted. ‘But I’m not sure how much of that is the wrist or the cold and lack of sustenance.’
It was a good point. It would be harder to fight the infection if he was already weak. Sean wrapped up Max’s wrist again. Meg’s mind ticked over. Food, they couldn’t do anything about. But if they could just source some water. Water, water, all around and not a drop to drink. Except here, they had snow all around. Fluttering down from the sky and settling on the roof. There must be a fair amount up there by now. If they could only get to it, they could drink it.
Meg looked around the cabin. Glass walls, benches, metal floor with a hatch. She frowned. The floor hatch was all very well if there was an experienced guide on board and equipment to abseil out of the car. But what if there wasn’t? She was sure she had seen news stories where people had to be rescued from stranded cable cars by helicopter, which would surely mean …
She stared at the ceiling. Sure enough, in the far-right corner there was what looked like another small square. Another hatch?
‘I might have an idea,’ she said.
‘All ears,’ Sean replied.
‘If we could get to the snow on the roof, we could drink that.’
‘Good idea. But how do we get to the snow on the roof?’
‘I think there’s another exit hatch in the ceiling.’
They all looked up.
‘Of course. In case of helicopter rescue,’ Sean said.
Great minds, Meg thought. She walked over and reached up. She could just touch the hatch with her fingertips, but she couldn’t get any traction.
‘Let me,’ Sean said.
Normally, Meg wouldn’t step aside for a man, but here, Sean did have the height advantage. He moved over next to her and reached up. He felt around the edge of the square with his fingers. Then he shoved hard. The square didn’t budge. Of course, they were presuming it opened at all. It might not even lead to the roof. It might just be a hatch for electrics.
‘Could be the weight of the snow holding it down,’ Sean said. ‘Or maybe it’s frozen shut … or it only opens from the top.’
Meg felt her heart fall. ‘Fuck,’ she cursed.
Sean studied the hatch.
‘See here, this is a hinge, which makes me think that it does open.’
‘Okay.’
‘But here –’ He pointed to a small hexagonal hole the other side.
‘What’s that?’
‘I think it’s a lock.’
‘So, we could open it from the inside.’
‘If we could push it up and if we had the key or some other kind of tool.’
‘Like a knife?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘Fuck,’ she cursed again.
Behind her, she could hear Sarah mumbling her bloody prayers.
‘While you’re at it, could you ask God if he could drop us down a screwdriver? We could use some divine intervention right now.’
It was spiteful, Meg knew. Sarah ignored her. Probably for the best.
‘Perhaps,’ Max said, ‘the key is in the cabin somewhere, hidden so no one opens the hatch for fun.’
‘I don’t know,’ Sean said. ‘There’s not many places to hide something in here.’
‘Worth a look though,’ Meg said.
And it was more use than praying. She dropped to her knees and started to crawl around the floor, looking underneath the benches. It was about the only place she could think where something could be hidden. Sean hesitated and then did the same on the other side of the car.
The cabin had obviously been thoroughly cleaned. Meg hadn’t even found a piece of dried-on chewing gum. She was about to give up when she saw something. Not a key. But something out of place, nonetheless. In the furthest corner, beneath one of the benches, was something black. She reached out to touch it. Tape. A corner of black electrical tape, the edges ragged, like the rest had been ripped off. Meg frowned. Maybe the cleaners had missed it. Or maybe it had been stuck on afterwards. Or used to stick something under here?
‘Meg!’
She jumped, banging her head. ‘Ouch.’ She crawled back out from under the bench.
‘I’ve found it!’ Sean said.
‘You’ve got the key?’
‘Yes.’
She stared at him as he held up a small silver key, like the ones you used to open a gas meter.
‘It was on the floor under the bench here.’
‘Right.’
Meg couldn’t believe she had missed it, but still. She stood and walked over to Sean. He reached up and inserted it into the lock. He turned it one way and then back again. Meg wasn’t sure which way locked or unlocked it. Sean pushed at the hatch. There was a squealing sound and it lifted, just a little.
He looked at her and grinned. ‘Okay. I think we’re in business.’
Meg joined him, standing on tiptoes, pushing at the hatch as hard as she could. She felt it lift a little more. But the ice and snow – precious, wet, watery snow – were holding it down. Oh, the fucking irony. She looked across at Sarah, who still sat, eyes down, hands clasped.
‘D’you think you could take a rain check with God and come and actually help us here?’
Sarah shot them a black look but stood and walked over. With three of them pushing the hatch gave some more. Meg could see a good inch or two of white and feel the chill of the wind.
‘Just one more push.’ Sean said.
‘Allow me.’
They turned. Max stood beside them, looking wobbly but resolute. He reached up with his good arm. As one, they all shoved at the hatch. It creaked and then gave, flipping open with a dull clunk.
Immediately, a small avalanche of snow fell from the roof over their heads and faces. It was freezing, like the coldest ice shower. But they all started shovelling it greedily into their mouths.
‘Turn one of your gloves inside out and fill it with snow to save and drink,’ Meg said. ‘You can stick your hand into your pocket or sleeve to keep it warm.’
They all did as she instructed, scooping the snow into their inside-out gloves. Meg licked at the snow on her hands and face, savouring the icy water, breathing in the freezing air from the hatch. And then she stuck her tongue out. Flakes of snow landed on it.
A sudden, vivid memory struck her. Lily, aged about four, standing in their back garden one March morning. It had been unseasonably cold and had suddenly started to snow. Meg had dressed her up warmly in her Peppa Pig coat and woolly hat and Lily had twirled around and around in circles, tongue stuck out, arms outstretched, catching snow on her tongue.
Meg swallowed, blinking back the tears.
‘You okay?’ Sean asked.
‘Fine.’ She nodded, turning away.
She looked around. They all stood, licking at the snow in their gloves like guests at the world’s worst cocktail party. It was kind of ridiculous, and hilarious.
‘What is it?’ Max asked.
‘Just look at us,’ Meg said.
Sean started to chuckle, then Max. Even Sarah managed a smile. They were probably still going to die, but not right now. Right now, they had water and a tiny bit of hope.
‘Okay,’ Sean said. ‘If everyone’s got some snow, we should probably close this hatch before it gets even colder in here.’
He stretched back up to grab the hatch, but now there was a problem. With the hatch flipped open on to the roof he couldn’t grab it.
‘Crap.’
‘Can’t you reach?’ Max asked.
‘I need to climb up,’ Sean said. He stepped up on to the edge of the bench and reached as far as he could out of the open hatch.
‘Got it,’ he said. Then cursed. ‘Shit. The snow … it’s making it slippery. I can’t get a grip.’
Meg put down her glove full of snow. ‘Climb down and hitch me up on your shoulders. I might be able to stretch further out.’
‘No. I can –’ His foot slipped and he crashed to the floor. The whole cable car swayed. Max sat down abruptly. Meg and Sarah grabbed for the poles.
‘Shit,’ Sean cursed from the floor.
‘Are you all right?’ Meg asked.
‘Yeah.’ He stood, pulling a slight face as he put weight on his left ankle.
‘You sure?’
‘Just twisted it a bit. I’ll be fine.’
‘Can you still lift me up?’
He nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’
He bent down. Meg climbed on the bench and then on to his shoulders. He clutched her legs and straightened, propelling her up through the open hatch.
She gasped. The wind scraped at her face like sandpaper. The freezing air in her lungs felt like caustic bleach. She blinked back ice from her eyes. Ahead of her, the long line of the support cable stretched all the way up to the grey shell of the cable-car station. It looked bigger up here. Damn, she thought. It wasn’t that far. Maybe 250 yards. But it might as well be 250 miles.
