A slight vibration passed through her body. It took a moment to register that she was no longer on her feet, no longer waiting for her instructor to show. It was dark now. And then she remembered . . . one minute she had been tweeting about her day, the next she was hitting the deck. He hadn’t made a sound as he approached. A sharp pain in her shoulder and he was helping her gently to the ground, acting the hero.
What was it he said as she lost control?
‘You’ll be OK, relax.’
How long ago was that?
He was close: she could smell aftershave.
Her eyes searched the darkness but her sight was blurred, extending a few metres in front of her but not to the sides. It was like looking down a tunnel through greasy binoculars. She could just make out a figure, a growth of hair sprouting over the collar of a combat jacket. She tried calling out to him, panic setting in when no words left her mouth.
Her mind was willing but she was otherwise impotent.
Was she having a stroke?
Again she tried speech. But her tongue refused to move, let alone accept instructions or formulate words. With enormous effort she banged one foot on the floor, trying to attract his attention.
He didn’t turn round.
Did he even exist?
It took all her strength to lift her leg a second time and bring it crashing to the floor.
Metal?
It sounded like a drum . . .
And it was in transit . . .
A lift?
A shipping container?
Christ! Where am I?
A numb sensation began in her chest and crept outward over every part of her. She was neither hot nor cold and her body was shutting down: arms next to go, legs soon after. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead. Then everything went black.
She was totally paralysed when she opened her eyes, terror ripping through her as she noticed the straps hanging from the ceiling directly above her head. Were they there before? She must have lost consciousness, but for how long?
A split second?
A minute?
An hour?
A day?
She would have sobbed had she been able.
It was impossible to see if her clothes were intact. And she couldn’t decide if she was tied down or just pinned to the floor by her own dead weight. She couldn’t feel a draught on her skin but she could see its effect as her blonde hair whipped round her face. And still she couldn’t move . . . Except she was moving. Her world tilted, ever so slightly at first, then more acutely, tipping her body to the right. And now she was sliding sideways, like a side of beef being dragged across the ground in an abattoir, staring at her fate: a bloody black hole.
Oh God! NO!