They grabbed hold of her and obeyed Harlan’s command.
The black waters closed over her head. Belle went down deep, unable to breathe, unable to believe that anyone could do this to another human being. Gasping, trying to tread water, she came back to the surface and gulped down a wheezing breath. The water was warm, warm enough for the caimans . . .
The caimans! Her heart hammering, she blinked and saw Harlan standing there, with Nipper and the other one. They were watching her flailing around in the water. Enjoying the spectacle.
Bastards.
Her head whipped around. There were three big caimans in here, she knew that. Two of them she could see right now, out on the far bank. One of those was beginning to edge toward the water, ready to slip in and snap up this new and unexpected meal – her.
Panic overwhelming her, she looked around for the third one, the big one. Even Charlie and his helpers were scared of the damned thing, and she was in the fucking pond and she couldn’t see it. Now one of the other two was sliding into the water, its soulless eyes fixed on her. In terror she started to splash to the edge of the pond, away from it.
Suddenly something gripped her left leg and she was yanked underneath the surface. She didn’t have time to draw in air. Screaming, swallowing mouthfuls of foul water, she struggled, eyes opening, stinging, hurting, but she could see it. It was the big one. It had hold of her leg. She kicked out hard, catching it a solid blow to the head, but it held on. She couldn’t breathe. Scrambling for the surface, she managed to get her mouth out of the water and gulped in air. Instantly she was dragged under again.
The bastard thing had her and now it was shaking her, turning, going into what Charlie Stone had always told her and his kids was the ‘death roll’. It was horrible, like being churned in a washing machine. Belle felt herself spinning helplessly under the water, trying to fight for the surface but unable to get there.
Disorientated, her leg in agony, she felt blackness wash over her and thought, This is it then. This is death.
Then she thought of Mum and Dad. Maybe it was best to just let go. To let this happen. She was spinning, spinning, running out of air, and then something grabbed her head. Bright sparks lit her vision as her lungs were being starved of oxygen. She was suffocating, feeling hard hurtful nubs that were teeth digging into her scalp and her face with such force that she didn’t know how she was bearing it. She would have shrieked if she had any air. Instead, she was trapped and one of these monsters had her leg, the other her head.
She kicked feebly, trying to get away and then suddenly – amazingly – she was free, or her leg was anyway. The water was boiling around her. Her chest was a wall of air-deprived agony, her head still crushed in the merciless grip of massive jaws. Then suddenly the big caiman let her head go and she was knocked sideways by thrashing tails and rolling bodies. Terrified, injured, she floated up and drew in a breath. As her head broke the surface and she gulped down the fetid wonderful air, she looked up.
Harlan and his cronies were gone.
In the pond beside her, the caimans were fighting. Over her, their unexpected meal. A movement drew her eyes over to the other side of the pond and she saw a third one slide into the water. Her heart seized up in her chest.
Got to get out of here.
Belle didn’t so much swim as scramble to the edge of the pond. Panicking, gasping, she grabbed one of the rocks at the side and her hands slipped on algae. Crying with terror, she reached up further, certain one of the caimans was going to grab her in its jaws and finish her off with another death roll. Her shaking hands found a purchase at last and she dragged herself, hauled herself out and onto the stones.
Soaking, shuddering, she was unable to believe that she was still alive. Sucking in breath after breath, she looked down her body. There was blood everywhere. Her leg was bleeding heavily. Her face hurt. There was more blood on her dress, all down it, fresh blood coming from somewhere. But she was alive, and for now that would have to do. Shuddering, shaking, she levered herself to her feet. She was terrified that her leg was going to give out on her. That the bone might be broken. There were bleeding puncture wounds running all up her calf, as neat as if they had been stitched there. But she stood upright. Took a few staggering steps and thought He’ll be waiting outside. He’ll catch me.
She went out through the heavy polythene door, then – bracing herself – through the outer door. But there was nobody out here, not a soul. The buggy was gone. They were gone. She stood there breathing in the indescribable sweetness of fresh country air.
Harlan thought she was dead.
She ought to be dead.
Her head felt sore and strange. There was a warm trickle of blood coursing down over her neck. Her mouth felt weird, different; her ears buzzed like she was about to pass out; but she was alive. She would have to stay that way.
Mum, she thought in anguish. Dad . . .
Unsteadily, she started forward. If she could just reach the lane, she might have a chance. Someone would pass by, someone would help her.
They had to.