Demi
‘Help! Kit! Polly! Can anyone hear me?’
Mitch has stopped joining in with my cries. He lies next to me, whimpering from time to time. I think he’s broken his leg, judging by the strange angle it’s lying at. I hope I haven’t broken my ankle, I don’t think so, though the pain is sharp when I move even the slightest bit and it throbs sickeningly when I’m not moving. When the undergrowth gave way, I almost fell on top of Mitch. I think we’ve fallen into a hole that used to hold some old winding gear for the engine house. One edge is overgrown with brambles, but in the daylight you’d probably have spotted it.
The moon shines down and I realise that the fog has lessened. Thank God for that. I would try my phone again but there’s still no reception. This hole is a black spot in a black spot. Hugging Mitch gently for warmth, I press my cheek to his fur. His coat is thick but it’s also damp and I started shivering an hour ago. With his injured leg, I don’t know how long he can hold on. My throat is already hoarse, but I have two choices: lie here and keep Mitch warm and comfortable, hoping someone will find me soon, or try to climb out of the hole again and fetch help. Despite my coat, lying in the sodden leaves and bracken makes me shudder with the damp and cold.
Someone must be looking for us by now, but I’m worried – Mitch might not make it until morning in these conditions. I have to do something.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I crawl away from Mitch. I clutch at the brambles for support and I clamber to my feet, ignoring the prickles scratching my hands. I know some people would say he’s ‘only’ a dog, but he means everything to me. Him and Cal, they’re the things that matter to me now. I wish Cal hadn’t gone to London. I wish he’d stayed here. What if he’s decided to go back to work for the charity? Or go back to the Middle East? Why would he, though, when he had such an awful time before? When he’s said that Kilhallon is important to him? It’s only the cold and my worries about Mitch that are making me think such crazy thoughts.
I have to get a grip. I’ve got us both out of sticky situations many times before, and this is just another one, although possibly stickier than most. Below me, Mitch lets out a whimper that stabs at my heart.
‘It’s OK, Mitch. Someone will find us soon.’ I lift my face to the sky that’s somewhere above this fog. ‘Hey! Kit! Anyone! Helpppp!’
Holding on to the root of a bramble bush with one hand, I wave the torch around above my head, screaming until my throat burns.
‘Hey there! We’re here! Somebody help us!’
There’s nothing. My ankle throbs and I almost throw up as I try to clamber up the brambles. Why did I leave my gloves behind? Why did I fall down this hole? Why did I not watch Mitch more carefully when I was chatting to Kit?
‘Arghh!’
My hands slip from the brambles and I tumble backwards onto the undergrowth again. My cry of pain draws a bark from Mitch. Winded, I lie on my back, staring up at swirling darkness. My ankle pulsates and I feel faint and see stars …
Real stars. Above me, the stars twinkle as if someone has torn a small and ragged hole in the fog. Seconds later, the hole is closed again and all is grey. I let out a yell of frustration and rage.
‘For God’s sake, will someone get us out of here?’