“I’ll drag her out by force if I have to, eh?”
But by the time they’d scratched their way through concrete, hardcore, earth and stone — a job which could not be done either quickly or quietly — the woman was in the throes of a complete meltdown. When Wilson squeezed in alongside her she lashed out with fists and whatever loose objects she could find to throw.
“Crazy bitch,” Wilson said, climbing stiffly out of the hole and touching his fingers to a sliced wound on his cheek. “At this rate the lassie’s gonna bring the thing down on herself and the wee bairn.”
“Would it help to have a female face with you?” I asked.
Joe Marcus shook his head immediately. “I’m not risking Alex getting herself injured. She needs all her fingers working just the way they are.”
“Actually, I was thinking of using someone far more expendable,” I said. “Me, in fact.”
It was interesting to note there were far fewer objections to that idea than to suggestions the French surgeon should put herself in any danger. Always nice to know your own worth.
Wilson rooted through his pack for a plaster large enough to cover his cheek. I borrowed a harness and what looked like a cycling helmet with an LED light attached from one of the other dig team members and waited for a final decision. It didn’t take long before Marcus headed over.
“OK, Charlie, you’re good to go. We’re running out of time so this is your last chance to back out.” His tone offered no opportunity for second thoughts.
I shook my head. “No thanks,” I said. “I’m all set.”
Wilson grinned at me. “Ladies first then, eh?”
I clipped the polypropylene recovery line to my harness and jumped down into the hole, then switched on my head lamp and slid head first into the short tunnel through the foundations. I low-crawled on my belly, using my elbows and the toes of my boots for purchase and wishing there had been time to dig a bigger hole.
When I emerged into the tiny cavern that was the cellar, the first thing that hit me was the four-day stench, acrid enough to make me gag. The second thing was a piece of brick, which bounced off the side of my helmet, accompanied by an inarticulate scream from the trapped woman.
“Please, I’m here to help,” I said loud enough to be heard above her wailing. “We just want to get you out of here.”
In the beam of my light her wild eyes showed briefly from beneath a matted tangle of hair. She threw another rock but with less force, as if she’d exhausted what little energy she had left. Still clutched in her left hand was the dirty bundle of rags. I feared the worst, but as I emerged from the tunnel she squeezed the bundle tighter and it let out a feeble squawk of protest.
I kept talking, trying to reassure her, but I knew I was fighting a losing battle. And when Wilson began to shimmy out into the cellar behind me, she became almost hysterical. Given the circumstances I couldn’t really blame her for that.
“What the feck do we do now?” Wilson muttered.
I rolled my eyes. If we’d been faced with a berserk man he would have had no qualms but this had him floored.
“Get ready to catch,” I said, and launched myself across the gap.
I tried to go as gently on the woman as I could, which wasn’t easy when she rained blows on my head and shoulders as soon as I was within range. But barely being able to move her hips put her at a disadvantage. I was able to get behind her far enough to put a solid lock onto her neck and press hard with my forearms at either side, restricting the blood flow to her brain. Already weakened, she was unconscious inside ten seconds. A startled Wilson managed to grab the baby as it slipped from her grasp. I fumbled in a pouch on my belt and secured her hands with a plastic zip-tie while I had the chance.
“You want to take the bairn out and drag the stretcher back in here?” he asked.
I eyed the filthy dripping baby he was offering toward me and hastily nodded to the mother. “What if she comes round while I’m gone?”
He grimaced. “Ah, good point. Back in a jiffy then, eh?” As he squeezed himself into the confined exit I heard a muffled, “Jesus, wee feller, you stink to high heaven.”
I thought I’d got the better end of the deal, but no sooner had the Scot’s feet disappeared into the tunnel than the earth around me began to shudder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As soon as the aftershock hit, the building above me started to groan like an old ship. I’d never suffered from claustrophobia but that sound brought me close to panic.
Most of the time the threats I face are small. Even in Mexico City, where we came under attack from an organised fighting force, I knew it was made up of small individual units. Men, who lived and breathed and bled and died like the rest of us. An earthquake is an implacable monster bigger than a mountain. At five storeys high, the building we were in represented a fraction of it.
And suddenly I felt very small and very puny by comparison.
I swung my head so the beam of my light shone towards the tunnel entrance. No sign of Wilson.
“Come on, come. Get your bloody arse into gear.” The shuddering picked up a notch. I eyed what was left of the cellar ceiling with alarm and muttered, “Not you!”
Dust speckled through the beam of the light as it fell. Over in a dark corner a skewed beam creaked and shifted and then let go with a tremendous dry crack like a rifle shot. I threw myself face down over the woman’s upper body as shrapnel splinters peppered my back.
I glanced across at the hole again, willing myself not to dive for it while I still could. Beneath me, the woman stirred and moaned. I lifted away from her.
The earth gave a violent heave and I heard the slithering tumble of stones and roof tiles and crashing timbers. It was hard to tell if they were directly above or outside. But if they’d fallen into the hole at the far end of the tunnel…
The woman came round groggily. She struggled against the restraints but without any force — she was spent. Nevertheless, I daren’t leave her.
This time, when I looked to the tunnel I saw the flickering of a light, the beam widening as it came nearer. A moment later Wilson’s grimy face shoved through, breathing hard. The relief was like a solid mass lifted from my chest.
“Aw, you could at least have brought me back a double espresso,” I drawled. “And a couple of those little caramel biscuits.”
Wilson grinned wearily. “I can go back if you like?”
He slithered round and dragged the rolled-up caving stretcher into the cellar behind him. It was made of canvas reinforced by wooden slats like the battens in a sail. We unrolled it quickly and tucked it underneath the woman as carefully as we could. She still shrieked with pain at every movement. We secured her in place with the kind of wide buckled straps you’d expect to see on a straitjacket. There was already a rope attached to the foot end.
We lined the loaded stretcher up with tunnel and Wilson jerked twice on the rope. Almost immediately the slack was taken up and the stretcher began to inch forward into the void. The ground shivered and the woman screamed again, in fear this time. I couldn’t say I blamed her for that.
“Do you want to go first — give her a shove?” I asked.
“Better you do it,” Wilson said.
I caught something in his voice and turned so I could put him in the beam of my light. I saw way he was holding his left arm stiffly, and the blood on his sleeve.
“Glass,” he said. “Bloody window dropped on me as I was handing the baby over. Lucky it didn’t cut the wee feller’s head off.”
My eyes widened, but I simply nodded and scrambled into the tunnel. There’d be time for talk later — or not at all. I put both hands against the woman’s shoulders and dug the toes of my boots in harder than was necessary. The stretcher shot out of the other end like a champagne cork and was hoisted out of the hole. As soon as I was clear I turned, grabbed Wilson’s outstretched right hand and hauled him free before the pair of us were hurriedly dragged back to ground level.