Jack
"Jack, will you do me a favour?" Nikki mutters after a while. "When we get out of here, go and see your brother – even if he doesn't want to see you – keep trying."
"Ok." I agree.
"Life's too short." She continues. "I know it's a different situation, but I was never able to forgive my Dad – at least not to his face – for what he did to our family and friends – what he did to me and Mum. He went back to Africa a while after he was released and I never saw him again." She sniffs and I realise that she's crying. "He died thinking I hated him." She mutters "I didn't. I hated the things he did and the man he became, but he was still my Dad...so you keeping trying to make up with Ryan. I don't want you to make the same mistake I did."
"I promise." I reassure her. "You're cold." I add, feeling her shiver as I attempt to comfort her.
She laughs weakly. "Well, it's cold and wet down here."
I shine my torch over her hand. "It's still bleeding."
I go to rip another piece of my forensic suit, fully anticipating that it's going to hurt physically this time as well as sartorially (my forensic suit is like a rite of passage and I wouldn't rip it for anyone else.), but Nikki stops me.
"No, Jack." She says firmly. "I've already pointed out that I can't tell how close to your heart the bullet is and asked you to be careful." She raises her voice, causing it to echo slightly inside our confined space. "That means NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS!" I wince at the echoing and even in the little light we have she seems to notice and quickly lowers her voice again.
"Sorry" she apolygises "but the bullet went straight through my hand. I'm not losing enough blood from it to kill me. At worst I'll lose my hand and to be honest I don't have the time to worry about it..."
"Well make time!" I snap sharply, interrupting but immediately wish I hadn't. It's not the physical pain I'm in this time. I hate snapping at her, but I'm totally unconvinced by her nonchalant attitude. I can tell that she's just saying empty words to try and make me feel better. Well, it's not working. I don't need to be able to see her face to know that she is in a lot of pain and worried about it. She's doing exactly what I asked her not to – what she asked me not to do. The macho thing as she calls it. Like me she just can't help herself.
"You've already dealt with my arm as best you can, Jack. I'm much more worried about you and where the bullet is – and hyperthermia." She adds.
Well, ok that bit probably is true. I expect she is more worried about me than herself – she always is, even when there is nothing wrong with me. That's just my Nikki and I wouldn't change her for the world.
"We're both cold and wet." She continues "and you're getting weaker from loss of blood." She pauses, obviously recognising my expression, even in the dim torchlight.
No man likes being told he's 'weak'.
She sighs "Jack, I know you're not going to like this suggestion – you're not going to agree – but I think we should go back."
Nikki
"No, Nikki." He answers forcefully. I will NOT take you back up to where we might come face – to – face with a gunman"
"We might not." I state defiantly.
I notice him wincing as he moves the torch away from me. I can tell he's struggling but is trying to hide it. It's what I feared he was going to do, but I suppose I've also been playing down my injuries so I can't really talk. Still, I'm determined to get him medical assistance...somehow.
"No one is coming, Jack." I say quietly. "They don't know where we are – or can't get to us. – or both. If we stay here than either one – or both of us is going to die, if not from our injuries, then hypothermia. "
I'm going to get him medical help, one way or the other, even if it risks my life in the process. Jack has nothing to lose; he will probably die anyway if he doesn't get the assistance he needs. I don't have the equipment down here to save him. There is no choice.
I wish more than ever that we had our phones down here but we don't. Our forensic suits don't have pockets and it's often necessary to make phone calls during a sweep, so we tend to leave our phones in our forensic cases once we are suited up. I don't have my case down here – and neither does he. No cases – no phones.
When we really need them.
"Probably you will die first, considering the potential whereabouts of the bullet in your back." I add. I hate saying the words, and I try to detach myself from them. I can't bear the thought of Jack dying. I can't bear the thought of not being able to save him. I know telling Jack he's getting weaker will dent his ego again – he doesn't like hearing that – no man does, but I think the thought he might go first and leave me injured down a dark, cold sewer, to die alone, will persuade him to give my idea a chance. Cruel to be kind, Nikki. Cruel to be kind. This could save him.
It might not.
"We have to risk it." I inform him, potentially signing our death warrant. We spend most days surrounded by death, but not like this. Jack could also die if the bullet catches his heart when we're moving. Every option seems to have at least a 50/50 chance of Jack dying. I don't want to make the wrong decision – but I don't know what the 'right' one is. I know I don't want to watch him die down here.
It takes a few minutes (time is everything – time is everything) but eventually, Jack agrees.
Despite my best hopes, Thomas and Clarissa don't appear to be able to hear us – either that or the gunman is still at large and they are unable to get to us. The latter doesn't bode well for our new plan, but what other choice do we have? We either wait down here and risk dying – or go back and risk dying.
We have no idea whether any of my messages got through. There is a tiny chance that they know where we are – but an even bigger one that they don't. We don't know whether they have reprehended the assailant or not. If we risk meeting the gunman, at least there is a chance that Jack will receive medical assistance.
But everything is against us.
We are making our way back slowly, so as not to injure Jack further, when there is a sudden loud rumbling noise.
"What the hell is that?" Jack stammers
We freeze. If it was a rescue party, they would be shouting for us, but there is no shouting and the rumbling is followed swiftly by loud bangs.
"Shit" Jack gasps "He's found us"
In our panic we feel we now have no choice but to run – as best we can in our current state anyway. Another risk to Jack.
We run further into the sewer instead. Away from the gunman. Away from daylight. Away from help.
And into goodness knows what.
