The Surrogate

there was any sound.

Then came a scream.

‘Marina!’

And he was on his knees and into the tunnel, his fear of enclosed spaces on hold.

In the sudden darkness, Marina could feel her assailant in front of her. She didn’t think something like this would stop him getting hold of her. Stop him hurting her. Using the wall behind her as a brace, she pulled herself up to a standing position. Adrenalin kicked in. It was either do something or submit. And she wouldn’t give in without a fight.

‘Bloody generator,’ he mumbled. ‘Bloody power cuts…’

It was now or never. She gripped the screwdriver tightly in both hands and thrust it forward as hard as she could.

It connected. She could feel it hit something solid. She kept pushing, hard. Harder.

He screamed. In anger or pain, she couldn’t tell.

She put all her weight behind the screwdriver, drove it in as far as she could, letting it take her body with it. Then, when she could push no further, she let go of the handle.

‘Bitch…’

She closed her eyes, tried to remember the layout. Turned right, away from where he had been building the cage, and, keeping as low as she could, moved quickly away from him.

‘Fuckin’ bitch…’

She could hear him thrashing about behind her, coming for her.

Her heart felt like it was about to burst as she felt her way along the wall. Her fingers came to a corner. She followed it round. It was some kind of alcove, a recess. An old fireplace, perhaps? Something like that. She didn’t care. It was somewhere she could pull herself into, curl up and hope he wouldn’t find her.

She squeezed inside, aware that the baby was stopping her from getting any further in. She hoped the baby was still all right. There was nothing she could do if it wasn’t. She had to save her own life first.

She made herself as small as she possibly could, held her breath.

Prayed to a God she had long since ceased to believe in, that he wouldn’t find her.

Prayed that she would just survive.

85

Phil crawled.

Using his elbows to propel him, he worked his way through the tunnel. The torch was heavy in his mouth, his teeth gripping it as hard as he could, his jaw cramping up. He wanted to let it drop, take a rest, but he knew if he did that he would never get it back between his teeth again. There wasn’t room in the tunnel to move his arms, get his hands to place it back there. So he kept moving.

He was committed now. He couldn’t go backwards. There was just enough space for him to keep moving forward. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were right in on him. Brick, stone and dirt all around, with what looked like prop shafts keeping the ceiling up. It didn’t look too sturdy. If he disturbed it in any way, pushed too hard, it could all come down on top of him at any second.

He was starting to feel light-headed. Air was in short supply. He tried to keep calm, not panic, concentrate on moving forward. The only alternative he had was to stop. And that was no alternative at all.

And then it started. A panic attack. He felt his chest constrict, his breath come in ragged gasps.

‘No… not now…’

He screwed his eyes up tight. Willed it to pass quickly. It wouldn’t. He had to fight against it, keep going. But he had no strength in his arms, no power in his body. He couldn’t move.

He had to. He didn’t have the luxury of staying still. He had to fight it, work through it. Not give in to it. He pushed, pulling himself along with his arms, taking huge breaths in between. And again. And again. Good. He was doing it, he was fighting it, he was winning…

Then the tunnel began to narrow.

‘Oh God…’

And it was on him even more. He closed his eyes, kept going. Felt tears begin to run down his cheeks. Ignored them. Just kept going.

The air changed. Became slightly less stale. And he knew. He had done it. He had come through to the other side.

He pulled himself out of the tunnel and lay on the ground, on his back, panting like he had just run a marathon. His legs felt weak, his chest ablaze, but he didn’t care. He had made it.

Then there was another scream.

‘Bitch, sow…’

He had found her. Marina screamed as he grabbed her hair, pulled her out of the alcove.

‘Come ’ere… thought you would escape, eh? From me? I built this place, bitch, I know every corner of it…’

He dragged her free. The pain shot through her head and down her neck. She struggled, screamed, fought. No good. He was too strong for her.

‘You hurt me, bitch, you pissin’ well hurt me…’

‘Well don’t hurt me,’ said Marina, ‘because if you hurt me you’ll hurt the baby. And then I’ll be no good to you, will I?’

He paused, seemingly thinking about what she had said. Then resumed pulling her. ‘I can still have fun with you, though… don’t you worry ’bout that…’

He was breathing heavily, his grip not as strong as she had expected. She felt a small elation. She had hurt him. Good.

But it didn’t make things any better.

Without her realising, tears were running down her face as he dragged her back to the cage.

Phil shone the torch around quickly, trying to find where the scream had come from. He took in his surroundings. A workbench against one wall, an ancient collection of tools above it. Some kind of survivalist’s store room, he thought. Crossing to the workbench, he picked up a heavy claw hammer and moved in the direction he thought the sound had come from.

Marina was kicking her legs out behind her as he dragged her along the passageway. Her hands were on her head, trying to release his grip, or at least make it less painful for herself. He was walking slower, his wound affecting him now, but still strong. Too strong for her to deal with.

As he dragged her, Marina started to be able to see.

At first she thought it was just her eyes becoming accustomed to the dark, but after blinking a couple of times, she realised that there was a light coming towards her.

Her heart began to beat faster; hope rose inside her. This was it, she thought, this was the rescue. But then just as swiftly as it had arrived, that same hope plummeted within her. What if he had an accomplice? What if there was more than one of them?

She didn’t know what to do. But she had to do something.

She took a chance.

‘This way,’ she shouted. ‘I’m here…’

Her assailant grunted, turned. Saw what she was looking at.

Then paused for a few seconds, dropped her and ran.

Phil rounded the corner and stopped dead. At first he thought the light and lack of oxygen was playing tricks on him. He blinked. Again. No tricks. There was Marina. Lying on the ground ahead of him.

His face split into a grin as relief flooded his body. He ran to her, dropping down beside her, laying the hammer down, taking her in his arms.

‘Oh God, oh Marina…’ He held her tightly to him. ‘I told you I wouldn’t leave you…’

But he sensed that Marina didn’t share his relief.

‘He’s here, Phil, he’s around here somewhere…’