Chapter 2

A dozen throws later, I concede that I’m not going to succeed this way. My makeshift lasso has ample range to reach but, the palm lying flat to the ground, I can’t get the loop around. At the least, I need to snag a hand to have any hope of towing Juliana closer…

No…

A finger would do it…

It just needs a good hold…

Picking at the knot to my loop of rope, I unravel it. Irritatingly, the soaking in the water, or maybe the subsequent drying, has shrunk the cloth a little and the knot has tightened. It would do my soul good to curse and fling the wretched thing against the wall, but resisting my own temper, I work away at the snarl of tattered cloth and frayed threads until it unravels.

My thinking is frayed too…

Dehydration?

I treat myself to a break, unfolding stiff joints to stand up and taking the time to allow myself a real drink: enough to quench thirst. Refreshed, I settle down again to re-tie my lasso, this time with a slip knot, and making my loop only a few inches diameter.

With a leftover strip from my shirt, I tuck a double-fold of linen under the steel edge of the ankle cuff. Even the slight pressure of my own touch, nudging the steel edge against swollen flesh, is enough to make me inhale against the pain.

Edging the strip of cloth one way and another, blowing air between my teeth, I inch it right through the cuff to protrude from either side. It’s not easy; discomfort aside, the swelling of my ankle, makes it difficult to manoeuvre the cloth.

Getting it fucking over with…

And with a single sharp tug, the cloth completely encircles my leg under the steel.

Fuck!

Huffing air, I lean back, letting the stars fade from behind my eyes.

Still, the hard part’s been done…

For now…

… I stand again, once more reaching for my freshwater supply. A palmful splashed over the fabric, then another, and the cloth is soaked and slippery. The now lubricated cuff can move a little more freely.

The cool water is a balm to my sore and heated flesh, but I know that’s likely to change in a few moments…

This is going to hurt…

Once more, I lie flat, angled to reach Juliana’s corpse. Wetted lasso in hand, I take a couple of breaths to brace myself…

Lengthening myself, extending every vertebra, every joint, I reach…

My fingertip nudges Juliana’s, and once more I stretch, shuffling my body closer. The cuff bites into my ankle, but over the damp cloth, it slides; not much, but a little…

Half-an-inch…

Burning coals sear my ankle…

An inch…

I’m touching Juliana’s first finger joints.

With a wriggle of my hand, I slide the loop over the forefinger, draw the knot tight and tug…

The loop slides, tightens, then slips loose again.

Fuck…

Relaxing again, I ease the pressure on my ankle while I sit up to reform my lasso. Then, loop in hand, I take my position again.

Another breath…

Strain…

Ignoring the blistering pain from my ankle, I heave myself closer…

And now, my fingertips brush over Juliana’s second finger joints. I can’t see. My face flattened sidelong, my cheek is pressed flat to the floor. But I can feel. The joints are just that little wider than the bones of the fingers…

Wide enough?

Letting my mouth scream out against the pain at the cuff which tears at bone and flesh, I slip my hand under Juliana’s clammy fingers, then slide the loop over and around, moving as delicately as I can…

… and this time I have her thumb.

A slow, easy pull, and Juliana’s arm straightens out, buying me another two inches…

Yes!

Still screaming, but now in triumph, with my outstretched hands, I clasp the fingers and rope together, pulling both, inch by fractional inch, closer.

I have her hand.

And now, releasing the thumb, I loop the rope around the wrist instead, hauling Juliana’s corpse closer.

The body jolts and drags and flops toward me, bringing its precious cargo with it.

When the corpse is within easy dragging reach, I release my hold, lie flat to the ground and scream against the pain shrieking from my ankle. Blood seeps through the wet cotton to drip onto the concrete, and my leg, from knee to foot, is a throbbing, shrieking morass of flesh.

But the exhaustion of pain is over-ridden by the adrenaline high of triumph. Scrambling back, I tug the corpse into easy-reaching position.

First move: I check that the heels of Juliana’s silver vinyl boots are what I took them for: four-inch, steel-tipped spikes…

Tools…

Peeling down the vinyl from her calves, I prise the boots off and set them to one side.

Then heaving air, I scan the rest of the body…

Clothes…

Belt…

Hairpins…

What else has she on her?

I have resources…

At last!

Fucking resources!

I check for pockets first.

The electric-blue spandex skirt turns out to have two small pockets; one empty, one containing a half a packet of mints. Murphy’s Law says of course that they’re sugar-free - I could have used the calories - but still, the small lozenge slipped under my tongue sets my mouth running and flavour zipping over my tongue and lips. I set the rest of the packet carefully to one side, out of harm’s way.

The skirt is belted, with a cheap buckle, base metal treated to a glitzy-silver finish, but the strap is a soft and flexible leather…

My eyes wander and my ambitions grow…

The bag…

Juliana’s bag…

I didn’t even notice it as she arrived. I was too busy keeping my attention on the woman herself and the key…

Fucking-failed-useless-fucking-key…

… but my eye wanders to it now.

Electric-blue with a silver clasp, and stitching to match Juliana’s bloody awful outfit, it squats by the fold-up chair. Half-unzipped, something pokes out of the top; a paper bag perhaps. And as I sniff the air…

Cheese?

Some kind of meat?

Certainly baking…

The bag handles, half-circles loops with a silver-metallic finish, sit paired, stiffly upright…

I measure the distance by eye.

Ten… Maybe twelve feet…

From somewhere off-side, something scurries and there’s that skritching-skittering sound…

Spinning, I roar fury down the black tunnels, and the skittering retreats.

*****