Page 13 of The Moment I Met You
Having a goal helps to calm me again, and I swallow, licking dry lips with an even dryer tongue. I try to speak, and at first my voice is a near-silent croak, a fumbled echo of what I usually sound like. I swallow again, even though there is nothing to swallow but grit, and manage one weak word. ‘Hello?’
Pathetic, I think, and try again, as loud as I can. I am a teacher, I remind myself. I am a master of making myself heard.
‘Hello?’ I say again. ‘Is anyone here?’
I strain my ears and wait for a moment. No reply, but vague noises starting to coalesce beyond the background hum of my damaged hearing. Please, I think, let it be the sound of rescue teams, of blessed heroes with hard hats and heavy machinery and morphine and foil blankets.
I have literally no idea how long I’ve been out of action, how long I’ve been down here. It could be minutes. It could be days. I have no clue what is unfolding out there – or if there even will be a rescue. The village is in the middle of nowhere, and it all happened so quickly. Maybe nobody even knows.
I try to move my legs again, shifting them gently, inch by inch. I don’t know what’s weighing on them, and for all I know the slightest displacement might bring everything that is above down below, which would be a very bad thing indeed.
As I poke and prod with my toes, the sensations tell me that one of my sandals has come off.
I curl my bare toes, and investigate the mass that is covering me from the knees down. It feels warm, firm but malleable. Not brick or mud or stone, I don’t think. It’s like being on some strange TV show, trying to identify the substance with my big toe.
I carry on exploring as much as I can, wondering if there is a way I can slither free without causing any disruption. After a few seconds I hear a noise. A quiet moan, so delicate it might not even be real. I stop moving, lie completely still, straining to hear.
Again, a dull groan.
‘Hello?’ I call out. ‘Is there someone there? Please! If there’s anyone there, please speak!’
I feel the slightest tremble of movement around my legs, a subtle shifting, then a voice, as hoarse and broken as mine. ‘Yes! I’m here! Are you okay?’
I recognise the voice. I recognise the accent. It’s him – the man from the coach. I don’t even know his name, but the rush of pure relief I feel is overwhelming. I know it’s ridiculously selfish to be glad that someone else is trapped down here with me, but I can’t help it – I’m not alone, and that makes everything more bearable. It gives me hope, which right now is probably just as important as water and air.
‘I think so,’ I reply, swiping blood from my eyes, ‘but I’m stuck. Something heavy is on top of my legs …’
He replies with a low grunt of pain, and says, ‘Ugh. I think that’s me. Can you stop poking me?’
‘Oh no! I’m so sorry! Are you all right? Can you move?’
‘I’m going to try – hang on.’
It takes an age, but slowly and carefully he inches himself up and away from my legs. I feel the sensation rush back into them, and a warm fizzing in my veins as the blood flows again. It’s not just physical – the mental relief of not being trapped is huge.
I listen to more grunting while he tries to shuffle himself around, tense as he does it. This fragile retreat of ours is small, and he is a tall man, and he’s obviously injured so it’s a long and fraught process. I whisper encouragement, whilst also hoping he doesn’t bring the roof in.
Eventually, I feel him moving towards me, the touch of his hand on my face, warm breath against my cheek. He is lying next to me, coming to rest by my side. I reach out and trace his outline, finding him contorted onto his side, one arm coming across me.
‘You’re bleeding,’ he says, his fingers gently exploring my forehead. ‘It doesn’t feel too bad though. What about the rest of you? Are you in one piece?’
‘My arm’s broken. I feel completely battered, and something’s wrong with my stomach, but I’m basically fine. You?’
‘My ankle, I think. Maybe a rib. Both broken.’
‘Ouch … I’m sorry. And thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For what you did out there. For putting yourself between me and … everything. Thank you. And also, you know, thank you for being alive – I’m sure you’d prefer to be elsewhere, but not being alone down here is stopping me from going mad.’
‘You’re welcome. It was all part of my master plan … How long have you been conscious? And have you heard anything from … up there?’
‘Only a few minutes, and no. What do you think is happening? How long do you think it’ll take them to find us?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t know how long we’ve been down here. I don’t think my backpack and phone are around. How about you?’
As soon as he asks, I feel like the world’s biggest idiot. I wonder why on earth I didn’t think of that myself. Okay, so I’ve been a bit distracted with the whole earthquake thing, but still.
