Jaap wants to tell her to run.
He knows he can’t.
He’s standing by one of the pools he’d seen earlier. Its surface is calm, serene, reflecting the sky, vast and untroubled.
The woman’s within five feet now, her eyes wild and bloodshot, her face sunken, as if being pulled towards whatever it is inside her, whatever weakness or trauma or fear that turned her into what she is right now.
Jaap’s mind is trying its best.
She doesn’t have a life, she’ll be dead in six months. Maybe slightly more, most likely less.
And Tanya’s worth more than that, Tanya’s alive, vital, carrying his child.
So it’s two lives, not one, he’ll be saving.
It’s not personal. One dies so two can live. Simple.
The drone buzzes closer again.
‘Where is it?’ the woman says, her voice cracked and harsh. She holds out the roll of cling film, a beaten relay runner passing on the baton.
Again, the drone moves towards him, pushing him, daring him not to.
Oh fuck …
Jaap steps forward, grabs her wrist and drags her to the ground. He flips her over, pins her arms with his legs, and reaches out to grab the roll where she’s dropped it.
His phone falls out of his pocket, he doesn’t notice.
He tries to find the edge, spinning the roll round, running his nail on the surface, hoping it’ll catch. Finally it comes.
The woman’s squirming, shrieking. The cling film hisses as he starts to stretch it out.