St Matthew's Passion - By Sam Archer Page 0,46

He took in the flotsam from the smaller boat, the body of which had by now completely disappeared under the water; the larger vessel, which tilted sideways at a crazy angle, seeming to defy gravity; and the remaining bobbing heads as the divers helped the last stragglers to the bank.

And he saw her, so far away she seemed halfway to the other side, her head appearing and disappearing beneath the rolling wavelets, holding something bundled and writhing above her. If she made a sound, it was buried under the clattering roar from above.

Melissa.

Before his thoughts could catch up with what he was doing, Fin was stripping off his luminous overalls – any protection from the cold that they might afford him would be outweighed by how much they’d slow him down once they were soaked – and, in his shirtsleeves and trousers, he dived into the water.

He struck out towards where he’d seen Melissa. A strong swimmer, he ground his teeth against the almost paralysing cold and began a rhythmic crawl, putting his legs into the manoeuvre to propel himself forwards. Vaguely he registered one of the police divers ahead of him and off to one side, and he heard snatches of what the man was yelling at him – it sounded like the ship’s going to tip over, get out – but he ignored the warning, ignored the cold, ignored everything but the animal drive within him that was telling him to reach Melissa in time, and at all costs.

Fatigue was beginning to claw at him when he surged upwards to get a better view and saw Melissa’s upturned face twenty yards ahead. It disappeared again under the waves. Still her hands held the bundle aloft, and Fin could see now that it was a child of about three years, its face contorted in distress. That was good: it meant the child was alive.

Fin closed the distance. Ten yards. Five.

And he was at her, treading water, his arms enfolding her and hauling her vertically up so that her face appeared inches from his. Her eyes swam vacantly beneath thrumming lids and her mouth was agape and sucking greedily at the air.

Fin wrapped one arm around her waist, holding her tightly so that her head didn’t slip under again. With his other arm he gently hooked the child free from her grasp and draped its tiny frame across one shoulder, ignoring its pitiful, mewling cries.

Now came the difficult part.

With his free arm, the one that wasn’t clutching Melissa close so that the child was held in place between them across his shoulder, Fin began an awkward half-crawl, putting as much power as he could into his legs to make up for the handicap to his upper body. By pulling them forwards with the arm he turned them slightly in the process and had to swing his body to correct their direction each time. Despite the cold, everything about him burned: his shoulder muscles, his legs, the ragged breath in his chest.

Ignore it. Focus on what’s important, he told himself. One second at a time. Get through that. Then the next second.

Up ahead, between him and the impossibly distant bank of the river, he saw through the sheets of waves rising and falling at his eye level a police speedboat. Instead of approaching directly it veered sideways. The policemen on board were gesturing and shouting, but he couldn’t make out any distinct words.

Why aren’t they heading straight towards us to pick us up? thought Fin.

As before, when the police diver had been trying to communicate with him, he heard the odd word break through the deafening ambient noise of the surging water and the motors of the boats and helicopters.

Tipping... out the way... hurry...

As Melissa and the child weighed heavily on his shoulder and he felt the beginnings of cramp in his legs, Fin tried to focus on the men in the speedboat, tried to grasp what exactly they were getting at. They seemed to be staring at a point above and behind him.

Fin didn’t want to waste time and especially effort looking behind him, but he gave in to the inevitable and kicked his legs so that he twisted jerkily through ninety degrees in the water, his two charges clutched tightly to him. The move enabled him to see what the men had been gesturing at.

He was struck by not so much terror as awe.

The larger boat was toppling towards him in slow motion, the damage to its hull having