She kicked feebly, trying to get away and then suddenly – amazingly – she was free, or her leg was anyway. The water was boiling around her. Her chest was a wall of air-deprived agony, her head still crushed in the merciless grip of massive jaws. Then suddenly the big caiman let her head go and she was knocked sideways by thrashing tails and rolling bodies. Terrified, injured, she floated up and drew in a breath. As her head broke the surface and she gulped down the fetid wonderful air, she looked up.

Harlan and his cronies were gone.

In the pond beside her, the caimans were fighting. Over her, their unexpected meal. A movement drew her eyes over to the other side of the pond and she saw a third one slide into the water. Her heart seized up in her chest.

Got to get out of here.

Belle didn’t so much swim as scramble to the edge of the pond. Panicking, gasping, she grabbed one of the rocks at the side and her hands slipped on algae. Crying with terror, she reached up further, certain one of the caimans was going to grab her in its jaws and finish her off with another death roll. Her shaking hands found a purchase at last and she dragged herself, hauled herself out and onto the stones.

Soaking, shuddering, she was unable to believe that she was still alive. Sucking in breath after breath, she looked down her body. There was blood everywhere. Her leg was bleeding heavily. Her face hurt. There was more blood on her dress, all down it, fresh blood coming from somewhere. But she was alive, and for now that would have to do. Shuddering, shaking, she levered herself to her feet. She was terrified that her leg was going to give out on her. That the bone might be broken. There were bleeding puncture wounds running all up her calf, as neat as if they had been stitched there. But she stood upright. Took a few staggering steps and thought He’ll be waiting outside. He’ll catch me.

She went out through the heavy polythene door, then – bracing herself – through the outer door. But there was nobody out here, not a soul. The buggy was gone. They were gone. She stood there breathing in the indescribable sweetness of fresh country air.

Harlan thought she was dead.

She ought to be dead.

Her head felt sore and strange. There was a warm trickle of blood coursing down over her neck. Her mouth felt weird, different; her ears buzzed like she was about to pass out; but she was alive. She would have to stay that way.

Mum, she thought in anguish. Dad . . .

Unsteadily, she started forward. If she could just reach the lane, she might have a chance. Someone would pass by, someone would help her.

They had to.

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