Holy Island Trilogy 03 - The Final Countdown by Sheila Quigley Page A

not checking the crossing times. Quite frequently actually. It was always in the papers about people having to be rescued from the roof of their cars. She sincerely hoped she was not going to be one of them.
    Who knows who will turn up to rescue me?
    Who knows who I can trust?
    ‘Stop it, just chill,’ she muttered. ‘No point in working myself up into a lather over something that might not happen.’
    It’s a calm night, so the weather’s on my side. Should be easy. No problem. What the hell am I worried about? she was thinking, as she passed the refuge, a wooden hut on stilts made for people trapped in their cars, Mike had told her that the night he got stranded, the sea came up to the top step which was above the roof of his car.  She prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.
     It was only a few minutes later, though, when she felt the car starting to drag. Her heart rate increased again, and she looked wildly around for help, even though she knew that there was no one there. She was on her own with no one to rely on, and real actual help would be a long time coming.
    Stupid bloody idiot that I am.
    I never should have tried it.
    Me against the flaming North Sea.
    ‘As if!’ she muttered, her heartbeat once more quickening as she started to panic.
    Terrified in case she had condemned herself to a watery grave, she pressed the pedal and breathed a bit easier when the car gained a small bit of traction. It gave a sudden lurch, then surged forward. She switched the wipers on and they swished back and forth, at first leaving a few streaks, but the spray soon took care of that.
    ‘Keep moving…keep moving,’ she muttered.
    Careful, though. Agitatedly, she kept tapping the finger of her right hand on the steering wheel.
    Slow, slow, keep it slow.
    Too much and it might stall.
    Just chill and take it steady, she told herself, knowing that she was well past the halfway stage now. It will all be over soon, dry land ahoy and all that.
     But staring ahead of her as the waves grew bigger, she knew that, for all her bravado, this was it. There was no turning back.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    The sound of sirens woke Danny Wilson up out of a deep sleep. He opened his eyes and blinked. ‘What the?’ he muttered, as he realised the sound assaulting his ears from all sides was not only that of sirens, but of deep heavy snoring. Old men snoring.
    And lots of them!
    He groaned.
    ‘Where the fuck?’
    ‘You’re in hospital, mate,’ a voice close to him said.
    Danny got a shock when he heard the voice and quickly swung his head to the right, then felt immediately sick. ’Ohhh,’ he groaned.
    ‘You’ve been doing plenty of that an’ all,’ the old man said.
    ‘Plenty of what?’
    ‘Moaning and groaning. Been going on for hours, it has.’
    Suddenly, Danny shot up. Ignoring the dizziness as best he could, he slid out of bed and stepped closer to the old man. ‘Have they been in?’ he whispered.
    ‘Who?’ the old man whispered back.
    ‘Them!’
    ‘Who’s them?'
    Danny starred at him. ’You taking the piss, or what?’
    ‘No, I thought you was.’
    Just then a young brown-haired nurse, with the largest green eyes Danny had ever seen, came into the ward. Going over to Danny’s bed, she said, ‘Let's have you back into bed. You know that you really should be resting.’
    Warily, Danny let her help him back into bed, wondering if she was one of them.
    ‘Where am I?’ he asked.
    ‘In hospital. Now go back to sleep. It’s the middle of the night, and there are other patients to consider.’
    I know I’m in a fucking hospital, he wanted to yell, but where, which hospital?
    The nurse left the ward, and Danny turned back to the old man. ‘Is she one of them?’
    ‘One of who?’
    ‘The fucking frenemy.’
    ‘What’s a fucking frenemy?’
    ‘One of them, them who pretend to be your friend, but really the lying, back-stabbing bastards are your enemy.’
    The old man thought it over. After a moment, he scratched his chin