Page 4 of Escape

“Will!” I shout, twisting in my seat.

He’s pinned awkwardly, his face pale and twisted with pain. “Stay... stay put,” he mutters, his voice barely audible.

“Like hell I will,” I snap, unbuckling my seatbelt. The movement sends a jolt through my side, but I grit my teeth and push forward.

I manage to push my door open and I clamper out, immediately sinking into the mud up to my ankle.

“Jon, help me!” I shout as I pull open the front passenger door. My hands fumble with Will’s seatbelt and it seems to take forever until I can free him.

Jon’s immediately by my side, his own injuries forgotten. Together, we pull at the straps, the cold seeping into my fingers.

Will’s eyes flutter shut, his head lolling to the side.

“Will, stay with me!” I yell, panic clawing at my chest.

But he doesn’t answer. His breathing slows, his body going limp as the storm rages on.

The rain hasn’t let up—it’s relentless, a deafening wall of water that turns the ground into thick, clinging mud. Every breath feels heavy, the air dense with moisture and the acrid stench of oil and earth. My fingers dig into the doorframe of the Hilux, slick with mud and rain, as Jon and I fight to pull Will free.

“On three,” Jon shouts over the roar of the storm. “One, two—pull!”

We heave together, and Will’s body slides out of the mangled truck, limp and heavy. His face is pale, almost grey, and hisbreaths come in shallow gasps. Blood streaks his temple, and the way his legs are twisted sends a spike of panic through me.

“Will,” I whisper, leaning close to him as we lower him to the ground. He doesn’t respond.

“Keep your fingers on his pulse and let me know if there is any change,” Jon barks, already moving to the driver’s side.

Arif.

I glance back at the wreckage. Arif is still slumped against the wheel, his body motionless, his face obscured by the rain streaking through the shattered windscreen. My stomach clenches as I realise he hasn’t made a sound.

Jon climbs over the crumpled doorframe, his hands reaching for Arif. “He’s not responding,” he says, his voice tight.

“Get him out!” I yell, scrambling to Will’s side to check his pulse. It’s there, faint but steady. My hands tremble as I brush the mud from his face and beard.

“Hold on, Will,” I murmur. “Just hold on.”

Jon grunts with the effort of pulling Arif free, his own injuries slowing him down. I rush to help, grabbing Arif’s shoulders and dragging him out with Jon. The mud pulls at my feet, sucking me down as we lower him next to Will.

“Arif?” I call, shaking his shoulder gently. His head lolls to the side, his eyes half-open but unfocused. “Arif, can you hear me?”

Jon kneels beside him, his fingers pressing against Arif’s neck. A flicker of relief crosses his face. “He’s got a pulse. Weak, but it’s there.”

People are scrambling down the embankment from the road above now, their shouts blending with the storm. A man in a heavy coat reaches us, his face etched with concern as he helps me prop Arif’s head up.

Jon moves between Will and Arif, checking vitals and issuing quick instructions to the bystanders; most of them don’t understand what he is saying and so he is resorting to a crude version of sign language. His focus is razor-sharp, but I can see the strain in his movements, the tension in his jaw as he assesses the impossible situation.

And then Arif’s body jerks.

“Jon!” I cry, panic surging through me as Arif’s chest stops rising. His face slackens, his head rolling back.

Jon rushes over, shoving me aside gently but firmly. He starts compressions, his hands moving in a steady, desperate rhythm. “One, two, three—come on, Arif, don’t you dare give up!”

I kneel beside him, my hands shaking as I try to help. The rain beats down on us, the mud soaking through my clothes.

“Breathe for him!” Jon orders, his voice strained.

I do as he says, tilting Arif’s head back and breathing into his mouth. His chest rises briefly, but there’s no response. Jon pounding against Arif’s sternum with relentless precision.

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