Page 68 of Girl, Reborn

She must have made a noise, somebitten-off curse or muffled prayer, because the man’s head suddenly snappedtowards them. His eyes were wide, rolling, more white than iris. He thrashedagainst his bonds, churning the water, wordless cries drowned to nothing bythe depths.

Ella was moving before her brain caughtup, hammering towards the edge with Luca hot on her heels. She skidded to astop at the lip, fell to her knees and lunged for the man’s flailing arm.

‘Help me!’ he gargled. Up close, Ella sawthe water was at his neck, his mouth, his nose.

‘You’re safe,’ Ella shouted. ‘Grab myhand.’

The man reached upward, but the distancewas too great. Ella couldn’t reach him.

‘Hawkins!’ She threw the name over oneshoulder, half-command and half-plea. ‘Need some help here!’

He was there before she'd finished thesentence, already shrugging out of his jacket and kicking off his shoes.‘Move.’

Then he was diving past her in a blur ofcoiled grace. The water welcomed him like a jealous lover, swallowing himdown with hardly a ripple.

Ella held her breath, counting off theseconds. How long could he stay under? How deep did this thing go? Whatmachinery was under the surface that could drag Luca down?

But then Luca was back, bursting throughthe surface in a sheet of silver. ‘Concrete,’ he gasped. ‘His feet. He’s lockeddown.’

As if summoned, Ella's gaze skitteredacross the room. Landed on the workbench. She lunged, snatching up anythingthat looked like it could chew through steel or bone. A hacksaw, heavy-dutypliers, even a wicked-looking hunting knife. She settled on the hacksaw.

‘Hawkins! Catch!’

She hurled the saw, watched it arc andspin. Luca’s hand shot out ad snagged the handle in midair like a barehandcatch in the bottom of the ninth then submerged again.

She dug through the rest of the tools,angling for anything she could use. A coil of wire, a crowbar. Bolt cutters,rusted but intact. She snatched them up. No time for subtlety or plans. Ellakicked off her boots, drew in a breath and dropped into the vat.

Icy water engulfed her. Needles stabbingevery inch of skin. She gasped, choked, forced her leaden limbs to obey andrecalled her old swimming days. Down here, she felt like she’d condemnedherself to some kind of watery underworld. There was a feeling of beingsomewhere other than the plane of reality she was familiar with. She had toimagine that this was how condemned men felt on their way to the gallows.

The victim – whoever he was – threw hishead back and clawed for air. Ella's feet couldn't touch the floor in here, sothis man was only a few minutes away from sleeping with the fishes given theoncoming drip from above. So she took in a lungful of air, submerged herself,and followed the path down the victim's left leg.

And there it was. A concrete block thesize of a cinderblock, strapped to his ankles with what Ella concluded wereplastic zip ties. A makeshift anchor, a one-way ticket to a watery grave.Through her hazy vision, she saw a Luca-shaped blur beside her hacking away atthe man’s ankles.

But one freed leg wouldn’t be enough.These concrete blocks could weigh a ton, and hoisting a body out of water withone attached to a foot would be near impossible.

Ella's lungs burned like she'd sucked downa carton of Camels in one go. Every muscle screamed, lactic acid flooding herlimbs as she sawed and hacked at the bonds. She gave it everything she could,but then needed to surface for air. She and Luca rose up in tandem, gulped downair then submerged again.

One more time.

And again.

Ella lost count of the surface-dives, thefrantic gasps and muttered prayers. Time blurred, melted, lost all meaning inthe face of their singular purpose. Save this poor bastard. Stick it to Baxter,one severed restraint at a time.

Then, with a muted snap, Ella’s tie gaveway. A second later, his other leg snapped free.

A shout of triumph burst from Ella's lungs– or tried to, swallowed by the fetid water. She grabbed hold of their victim,felt Luca do the same on the other side. Together they kicked for the surface,thighs and calves burning with the effort.

They broke the surface in a tangle oflimbs and sputtering coughs. The man flailed between them, choking on stale airand staler water. But alive, praise all the angels in heaven. Alive andcoughing, chest heaving as he sucked down that sweet oxygen. Together theyhauled him to the edge, rolling him onto the dank concrete like a landed fish.

‘Breathe,’ Luca said as he grabbed theman’s wrist. ‘We got you. It’s over.’

The guy blinked slowly, like a drunkwaking up after a three-day bender. He worked his jaw, coughed up another goutof rancid water.

‘Wh-Who…?’

‘Friends,’ Luca said firmly. ‘The kindwith badges and guns. You're safe now.’

Ella tuned out the reassurances, thepainful post-rescue patter. Her focus had narrowed to a laser, a tunnel withonly one exit.

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