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He fell.
Bradshaw struggled on ahead, oblivious to what had happened.
His head went under the water and the world went silent.
Chapter 77
Poe struggled to his hands and knees, vomiting salt water. He couldn’t get to his feet. Each time he tried the weight of his wet clothes sucked him back down. And each time he tried, the weaker he became.
He felt dizzy.
He knew this was how people drowned in the Walney Channel. The tide came in slowly, lulling you into a false sense of security, but before you knew it, it had drained you of every ounce of strength. And once you were down it kept you down.
He thought of Flynn. Tried to extract one last bit of moisture from the well. Fell back again. Shouted in frustration.
A thin arm grabbed him under his shoulders. Began pulling.
‘Come on, Poe!’ Bradshaw yelled. ‘Don’t give up now!’
With one final heave he put everything he had into his legs and forced his body out of the foaming surf. Bradshaw steadied him before he could topple back over.
‘We’ll hold on to each other, Poe! DI Flynn needs you rather than me – my job is to get you onto that island.’
Poe nodded, too exhausted to speak.
By the time they reached the pier and the adjacent steps carved into the stone, they were wading rather than walking. Another five minutes and they’d have been swept out to sea.
Bradshaw wanted him to go up first but Poe refused. Once he was up he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back down.
He held her by the hips as if he was footing a ladder and steadied her as she climbed. One final push on her backside and she was up. She immediately turned and offered him her hand. Poe wasn’t taking any chances; he went up like Edgar would have done: on all fours.
He looked round. The natural alcove that acted as the observation point for the eastern side of Montague Island was empty.
Dave Coughlan was nowhere to be seen.
Poe gingerly got to his feet. He felt wobbly and he couldn’t feel his fingers and toes but that was to be expected – in the last hour they’d been caught in a snowstorm and had been wading in the Irish Sea.
Bradshaw was shivering so much it looked like she was vibrating. She needed to get some heat back in her. He removed his sodden jacket and wrapped it round her shoulders. It was better than nothing.
‘Put your shoes and socks back on then start moving, Tilly,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we were in long enough to lose core body heat so we should be able to generate the warmth ourselves. Watch me.’
Poe blew on his hands to get the blood pumping again then stuffed them in his armpits. He jogged on the spot and jumped up and down a few times to demonstrate.
Bradshaw copied him.
‘What are we going to do now, Poe?’ she said through chattering teeth.
And that was the question. The one that constant movement and panic had allowed him to put off.
Just what were they going to do now?
‘You need to stay at the pier, Tilly. Armed response will be here soon and they won’t know where they’re going. You’ll need to guide them in.’
She folded her arms in defiance. ‘Estelle Doyle said you weren’t to try to do anything yourself, Poe. She said he’s not a street fighter like you, he’s a stone cold killer.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ he said.
‘She said that calling in the men with guns isn’t a sign of weakness. I think you should wait.’
