Read Online Crocodile Tears by Anthony Horowitz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anthony Horowitz
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hammer again, then once more.
On the third strike, the window shattered, and Alex was almost torn out of his seat by the torrent of water that came rushing in, filling up the available space. The flashlight went out and the blackness returned so suddenly that he wondered if the force of the water might have knocked him out. But he was still conscious. Still thinking. Had Sabina managed to open her door? He couldn’t worry about her. There was nothing more he could do. He had to get himself out. And Edward Pleasure too.
Fumbling, blind, he searched for the door handle. He had underestimated just how cold the rush of water would be. There were iron bands around his chest, crushing him, trying to empty his lungs. He squeezed the handle and felt the door open. At once he lurched sideways, fighting his way out of the car.
But he didn’t dare go too far. Everything was black. If he lost contact with the car, he would never find it again, and Edward Pleasure would drown. With the icy water swirling around his face, he hooked a hand underneath the door frame and felt his way over the roof and down the other side. Where was the door handle? He was already beginning to strain for air. He should have opened it from the inside. That might have saved a few precious seconds.
His hand smashed into the side mirror, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t feel anything. Somehow he managed to curl his fingers around the handle and pull. The door opened. Alex’s own natural buoyancy was dragging him up, but he kicked out, forcing himself to stay down. He reached inside and put his arms around Edward Pleasure, yet he couldn’t get him out. He seemed to be stuck, jammed against the steering wheel.
With his own air running out and the surface at least sixty feet away, Alex thought the unthinkable. It was like some devil voice whispering in his ear. Leave him. Look after yourself. If you stay down here any longer, both of you will die.
It was the air bag pinning him in place. That was the problem. Alex still had the walking stick. At the last moment, almost instinctually, he had slipped it through his belt, taking it with him. Now he drew it out and, holding it this time by the handle, jabbed the splintered end into the nylon skin. He felt it puncture and there was a rush of bubbles against his fist. He was briefly tempted to breathe them in—but somehow he remembered that there would be nitrogen rather than oxygen inside the bag and it wouldn’t do him any good. The bag crumpled. Alex pulled again. Edward Pleasure came free.
They were out of the car—but which way was up? Alex couldn’t even see the bubbles escaping from his lips. Nor could he feel them. The intensity of the cold had punched right through him and his entire body was numb. He was still gripping Edward Pleasure and he kicked out with his legs, hoping that gravity, buoyancy, whatever would take him in the right direction.
The journalist was dragging him down. He was a dead weight in Alex’s arms, and once again that voice was in his ear. Let him go. Forget him. Save yourself. But he just gripped all the tighter, kicked and kicked again.
Alex was following his own advice and humming—not a tune, more a soft moan of despair. Suppose he was wrong? The Nissan could have plunged a hundred feet or even more. He looked up but saw no light, no sign of the surface.
He kicked.
It didn’t feel as if he was making any progress. And what about Edward? How could Alex be sure he was still alive?
His chest was beginning to ache. His lungs were screaming for air and Alex knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist them much longer. It couldn’t have taken him more than a minute to clamber across the car. Another minute to get Edward out. Perhaps another minute since then. Surely he could hold his breath longer than that!
But not in this cold. The icy chill of Loch Arkaig had weakened him. It was all over. His humming faltered and stopped. There was no more air to come out.
On the third strike, the window shattered, and Alex was almost torn out of his seat by the torrent of water that came rushing in, filling up the available space. The flashlight went out and the blackness returned so suddenly that he wondered if the force of the water might have knocked him out. But he was still conscious. Still thinking. Had Sabina managed to open her door? He couldn’t worry about her. There was nothing more he could do. He had to get himself out. And Edward Pleasure too.
Fumbling, blind, he searched for the door handle. He had underestimated just how cold the rush of water would be. There were iron bands around his chest, crushing him, trying to empty his lungs. He squeezed the handle and felt the door open. At once he lurched sideways, fighting his way out of the car.
But he didn’t dare go too far. Everything was black. If he lost contact with the car, he would never find it again, and Edward Pleasure would drown. With the icy water swirling around his face, he hooked a hand underneath the door frame and felt his way over the roof and down the other side. Where was the door handle? He was already beginning to strain for air. He should have opened it from the inside. That might have saved a few precious seconds.
His hand smashed into the side mirror, but it didn’t matter because he couldn’t feel anything. Somehow he managed to curl his fingers around the handle and pull. The door opened. Alex’s own natural buoyancy was dragging him up, but he kicked out, forcing himself to stay down. He reached inside and put his arms around Edward Pleasure, yet he couldn’t get him out. He seemed to be stuck, jammed against the steering wheel.
With his own air running out and the surface at least sixty feet away, Alex thought the unthinkable. It was like some devil voice whispering in his ear. Leave him. Look after yourself. If you stay down here any longer, both of you will die.
It was the air bag pinning him in place. That was the problem. Alex still had the walking stick. At the last moment, almost instinctually, he had slipped it through his belt, taking it with him. Now he drew it out and, holding it this time by the handle, jabbed the splintered end into the nylon skin. He felt it puncture and there was a rush of bubbles against his fist. He was briefly tempted to breathe them in—but somehow he remembered that there would be nitrogen rather than oxygen inside the bag and it wouldn’t do him any good. The bag crumpled. Alex pulled again. Edward Pleasure came free.
They were out of the car—but which way was up? Alex couldn’t even see the bubbles escaping from his lips. Nor could he feel them. The intensity of the cold had punched right through him and his entire body was numb. He was still gripping Edward Pleasure and he kicked out with his legs, hoping that gravity, buoyancy, whatever would take him in the right direction.
The journalist was dragging him down. He was a dead weight in Alex’s arms, and once again that voice was in his ear. Let him go. Forget him. Save yourself. But he just gripped all the tighter, kicked and kicked again.
Alex was following his own advice and humming—not a tune, more a soft moan of despair. Suppose he was wrong? The Nissan could have plunged a hundred feet or even more. He looked up but saw no light, no sign of the surface.
He kicked.
It didn’t feel as if he was making any progress. And what about Edward? How could Alex be sure he was still alive?
His chest was beginning to ache. His lungs were screaming for air and Alex knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist them much longer. It couldn’t have taken him more than a minute to clamber across the car. Another minute to get Edward out. Perhaps another minute since then. Surely he could hold his breath longer than that!
But not in this cold. The icy chill of Loch Arkaig had weakened him. It was all over. His humming faltered and stopped. There was no more air to come out.
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