CHAPTER TWO
BLACK. SO MUCH BLACK.
Black and cold and something heavy pressing on his chest.
So cold.
Pain in his head.
A sickening creak of steel cut through the thick silence, making his gut tighten and panic creep through every cell in his body.
Black.
So cold.
So cold.
So cold.
‘Johnny? Nick? Eddie? Ethan? Anyone?’
Me. That’s my name. Ethan Reid.
Uncontrollable shaking spread from his gut through his bones and over his skin. His heart thumped and his head ached. Someone was shouting his name, someone out there in the blackness.
‘Cold. Head.’ He’d said it out loud, he was sure he had, but he couldn’t hear his own voice. He tried to take a deep breath, but something was on his chest and he couldn’t move. Something pressing down on his chest, his legs, his arm. He blinked. Again. Tried to make out something, anything. His heart rate doubled, trebled. He tried to move but he was pinned to the cold, wet ground. There was space above him, enough to lift his head up, but when he did he made contact with something big and immovable.
Where was he? What was happening? He couldn’t move? Where...?
Think. Think. Think.
Blackness everywhere. Time slowed and the blackness started to eat at him piece by piece. Blackness that was so tight and choking he thought he was going to drown in it.
Falling. Falling. Blackness.
‘Cold.’ He tried again. Cold and wet and black and...he was shaking. Every part of him. ‘Cold.’
‘Ethan? Thank God. Stay with me. Ethan!’
A warm hand on his. He couldn’t see... Wait, over there...a pinhole of a light.
‘Ethan? Ethan, can you hear me?’
He tried to nod but he couldn’t move his head. Everything hurt so much, the light and his head and his legs.
‘Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.’ Chase. Chase Barrington. It was Chase’s voice, right? And he wanted him to squeeze his hand. Why? Why the hell would he squeeze Chase’s hand?
They’d had a fight. Hadn’t they? They always fought. The last thing he’d do was squeeze his hand.
But, sensing this was important, Ethan did as he was told.
‘Hey, Ethan? I said squeeze my hand if you can hear me.’
He just had. Hadn’t he?
The warmth disappeared, as did the voice. Then, from somewhere far away, he heard Chase again. He strained to hear what he was saying. ‘It’s Ethan. Yup. Look, some of the others are...’ Chase paused. His voice had fractured, pain filling every word. ‘Accounted for. And Ethan was in the drying room the last time I saw him, before... No, I can’t get him out, he’s under about three storeys’ worth of bricks, plaster and a massive beam that’s snapped in half. And he’s unresponsive.’
No! I’m here. I’m here. Help me.
Somebody else said something. Muffled.
Then Chase again, ‘Nick? You’ve found him? He’s...where? Where? But that’s completely totalled. Oh. No.’
More muffled voices. Raised.
‘No, I’m not going to stand out here and wait. Who knows how long it’ll take them to get here? Nick or Ethan or just stand here and do nothing? What kind of a choice is that? No, just shut the hell up. Ethan’s right there and I know I can get to him, okay? He’s going to freeze to death or worse.’
Death? Wet. Black. Cold.
Foggy images flickered into Ethan’s head as he tried to stay focused. Snow? Yes, he was always in snow.
Try harder.
In a ski lodge. Somewhere? France. The world champs. Yes. Drying room. Chase. Clenched fists. An arm pulled back to swing.
He blinked and saw a tiny blue light getting bigger and in the bluish glow he saw wires hanging down. Broken beams. Part of a wall.
Shit. There’s half a wall on my leg. ‘Help! Get me out. Help! Someone!’
‘Ethan? Did you say something? Hey, don’t move, seriously, you’ll bring everything
