2nd December 2019
Night
Falling into the pit seemed to last forever. I knew the ground was approaching as I hurtled towards it, but I couldn’t see it until the moment of impact. I heard my ankle snap, and I screamed out in pain. It robbed me of my ability to think, the shock of the injury setting in quickly. Above me, the lights began to fade and over my moaning I heard their footsteps ebb away until they vanished, along with the light they carried. There were no final words spoken. No gasps or cheers – they just left. And for a moment, I did nothing.
Then, I heard my dad’s voice in my head. ‘Close your eyes, let the light come to you. And you’ll see properly.’ I did as he said. With my eyes closed, I focused on my breathing. Focused on drawing in enough to exhale. Calming myself with each breath until the pain was under my control, then, opening my eyes, I could make out the walls. I dragged myself towards one and sat against it. I gently placed my hand on my shin. The pain in my whole lower leg was white hot, and I couldn’t place the epicentre, so I explored further towards my foot. Before I could reach the ankle joint, my fingers clipped something sharp and I screamed out in pain again. One of my bones had come through the skin. Carefully, I moved over the bone to feel below. My hand came away tacky, covered in blood. I couldn’t see how much there was, but it felt like it wasn’t stopping. Being a miner’s child, I knew I needed to act. There were stories all the time of men being injured down here, miles away from help. I needed to stem the bleeding, and now wished I hadn’t dumped my scarf as a signpost to get out. Taking off my top, I wrapped it behind my knee as tightly as I could, hoping it would pinch the artery there and slow the flow. It was painful work and took me several minutes to do. Eventually, I think I secured it.
I told myself to breathe, the heat and dust making it harder to do.
I dragged myself up using the wall behind me and my one working leg. The top of the hole was the same height as a first-floor window – too high up for me to reach – so I tried to climb. I found small cracks in the wall, and using my fingertips I pulled, managing to lift myself from the floor. Reaching higher, I groped and found a small crevice. Jamming my fingers in it, I pulled again. Reaching up again, I found another pebble embedded in the rock and grabbed hold as best I could. Using my left foot, I pressed down on the first small crack and heaved myself higher. If I did this a few more times, I would be able to reach my hand over the top. As I fumbled in the dark to find somewhere further up to place my right hand, the pebble I was holding onto pulled away and I hurtled to the floor. Landing on my left foot, but then falling onto my right. The pain exploded and sent a wave rolling through my entire body. It hurt so much that I had to fight hard not to pass out. I tried to get up, tried to try again, but I couldn’t move anything without my right foot screaming at me.
Breathe.
I screamed for help. I shouted as loud as I could. I tried to describe where I was until my throat hurt and lungs ached. And as my voice – bouncing off the walls inside the mine – returned to me for the final time, the panic began to set in. No one would hear me, no one was there. I was going to die down here – die lying on top of my friend. My poor friend.
I rolled onto my side and began to dig. I needed to see her. The others were right. I didn’t see her after the fall. I didn’t look over and see her dead body. I didn’t climb down, using three threaded belts to retrieve her top. I didn’t bury her under rocks and dirt. I instructed, and I ran away. And after, I hid in the trees and watched them walk down the lane and past me, broken and terrified. If I was to die down here, I was going to see my friend. Like I should have back then.
That night when we found her, the others gathered around Michael’s torch and illuminated her body. They all saw how she lay. But I couldn’t look. I couldn’t see my friend that way. Holly wanted to call the police, but she didn’t move, and as the panic set in, I said something that I didn’t mean to say – it was just a thought, a what if, and as soon as it slipped from my mouth I wanted to take it back because I knew I didn’t mean it. However, the group latched onto the idea and in my panic, I kept talking. We could hide her, bury her. From that idea came the suggestion to place something of hers somewhere else, and then blame the Drifter. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t bury her, I couldn’t retrieve something of hers to hide elsewhere. So, they did it for me, and it ruined them.
I kept digging. It didn’t take long for me to break through the topsoil, thrown down by the group to filter between the large stones they’d initially dropped down onto Chloe. And until this moment, I hadn’t thought about that. How they, under my instruction, dropped heavy boulders and rocks onto Chloe’s body. I hated myself for not seeing what I had done until it was too late.
With the soil removed, I then dug under one of the large rocks and using what strength I had, heaved it away. I then was able to reach under the next, and again I moved it, rolling it over and dropping it behind my back. After I cleared the fourth, I felt something soft. An item of clothing, long decayed but still here. I tried to remember what Chloe was wearing that night. Shuffling up, I moved another rock and when I reached under, I felt something thin and hard. A bone.
I had found her.
Fumbling around I worked out it was her forearm, and reaching under another rock, I found a collection of smaller bones, ones that made up her hand. Shuffling onto my back, I kept my arm down the hole, holding onto my best friend and closing my eyes. I waited for what came next.