Longshot полностью

All sounds from outside were muffled because of the dock being partly below ground level, set into the slope of the bank, but in a short while I heard the sound of a car door slamming and after that the noise of an engine starting up and being driven away.

Harry suddenly said, ‘Bloody hell.’ A couple of sweet words. Then he said, ‘What the hell’s happening?’ and then, ‘God, my leg hurts.’

‘We came through the boathouse floor.’ I pointed to the hole. ‘The floorboards gave way. You landed on something that pierced your leg.’

‘I’m f... freezing.’

‘Yes, I know. Are you awake enough to sit here on your own for a bit?’

‘John, for God’s sake...’

‘Not long,’ I said hastily. ‘I’ll not leave you long.’

As I stood on the walkway, the water level reached above my knees, and I waded along beside the wall in the direction of the lower door and the river. There were indeed steps by the door, three steps up and a flat landing along below the door itself. I went up the steps until the water barely covered my ankles and tried the doorlatch.

This time, no easy exit. The door was solid as rock.

On the wall beside the door there was a row of three electric switches. I pressed them all without any results from the electric light bulbs along the ceiling. There was also a control box with cables leading to the top of the metal curtain: I opened the box and pressed the red button and the green button to be found inside there but, again, nothing changed in the boathouse.

The arrangement for raising the curtain was a matter of gear wheels designed to turn a rod to wind the metal mesh up onto it like a blind. The sides of the curtain were held in tracks to help it run smoothly. Without electricity, however, it wasn’t going to oblige. On the other hand, because of its construction, the whole barrier had to be reasonably light in weight.

‘Harry?’ I called.

‘God, John...’ His voice sounded weak and strained.

‘Sit there and don’t worry. I’ll come back.’

‘Where... are you going?’ There was fear in his voice but also control.

‘Out.’

‘Well... hurry.’

‘Yes.’

I slipped back into the water and swam a couple of strokes to the curtain. Tried standing up, but the water was much deeper there. Hung onto the wire feeling the tug of the eddies from the river.

With luck, with extreme luck, the curtain wouldn’t go all the way down to the river’s bed. It had no practical need to reach down further than the drought level of the river which had to leave a gap of at least two or three feet. From the weight point of view, a gap was sensible. Simple.

I took a breath and pulled myself hand over hand down the curtain, seeking to find the bottom of it with my feet: and there was indeed a gap between the bottom edge of the curtain and the mud, but only a matter of inches, and there was clutter down there, unidentifiable, pressing against the barrier, trying to get past it.

I came up for air.

‘Harry?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a space under the metal curtain. I’m going out into the river and I’ll be back for you very soon.’

‘All right.’ More control this time: less fear.

Deep breath. Dived, pulling myself down the wire. Came to the end of it, felt the mud below. The bottom edge of the curtain was a matter of free links, not a connecting bar. The links could be raised, but only singly, not all together.

Go under it, I told myself. The temptation to return safely back up where I’d come from was enormous. Go under...

I swung down at the bottom, deciding to go head first, face up, curling my back down into the soft river bed, praying... praying that the links wouldn’t catch on my clothes... in my knitted sweater... should have stripped... head under, metal lying on my face, push the links up with hands, full strength, take care, don’t rush, don’t snag clothes, get free of the jumble of things on the mud around me, hold onto the wire outside, don’t let go, the current in the river was appreciable, tugging, keep straight, hang on, shoulders through, raise the links, back through, bottom through, legs... links... short of breath... lungs hurting... careful, careful... unknown things round my ankles, hampering... had to breathe soon... feet catching... feet... through.

The river immediately floated my free legs away as if it would have them, and I had to grab the wire fiercely to avoid going with the current. But I was through and not stuck in the dreadful clutch of metal links, not grasped by debris, not drowning without any chance of rescue.

I came up into the air gasping deeply, panting, aching lungs swelling, feeling a rush of suppressed terror, clinging onto the curtain in a shaky state.

‘Harry?’ I called.

The dock looked dark beyond the curtain and I couldn’t see him, but he could indeed see me.

‘Oh John...’ His relief was beyond measure. ‘Thank God.’

‘Not long now,’ I said, and heard the strain in my own voice too.