The Sister(22)
‘We need to get him out of here.’
Kirk stood up; he and the medic were the same height, but the former soldier’s bearing commanded respect, something the other man resented.
‘The boy is already in shock – if we try to take him now – under duress, we may do more harm than good.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the ambulance man, ‘I don’t agree. He needs medical attention…’
Kirk put a halting hand up, stopping him short. ‘Yes, he is in shock, but I believe he should be allowed to see the recovery of the bodies. It’s what he wants. Then we’ll take him out of here.’
‘He’s a young boy, and we are not in the army now, Mr Kirk.’
The men eyed each other, the medic angry, Kirk indifferent.
The younger man broke contact first, ‘Well, he’s your responsibility.’
‘I know that, son,’ Kirk said quietly. ‘And it’s just Kirk, not mister...okay?’
A fresh belch of sulphur invaded their nostrils; the medic pulled a face, and burying his nose into the crook of his arm, marched across to the nearest policeman. The officer listened, looked over and then started making his way towards them.
‘Can I speak with you, sir?’ The constable addressed Kirk, but looked closely at Milowski, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the waters, watching as the frogmen surfaced, dived and resurfaced repeatedly. ‘Over there, if you don’t mind.’ He motioned with his head.
Kirk pressed his lips firmly together and shook his head. He indicated the boy with a flick of his eyes. ‘Can’t leave him. Talk to me here.’
‘This isn’t a rescue operation, sir, this is a recovery situation.’
‘I know that, officer,’ Kirk said, leaning in close to him, speaking in a low voice. ‘You see, I myself was an officer in the British Army, served in Korea, 1951. I think I know a thing or two about the way young men react when they see their friends die right in front of them.’
‘Sir, with respect, that isn’t the point here. There’s no hope of finding the other two alive. The operation may go on for hours – might even have to resume in the morning. You can’t stay here all night. The paramedic told me you felt the boy might get some sort of closure from seeing the last two boys recovered.’
‘He might resent allowing himself to be persuaded otherwise, another emotion to deal with after the guilt and grief. Believe you me; I’ve seen the after effects too many times,’ Kirk continued, ‘I take full responsibility.’
The policeman reflected on what he’d said and looked over at Milowski, then back to the former soldier. ‘Just keep him out of the way.’
Kirk returned to the boy’s side. ‘You sure you want to stay?’
He nodded without taking his eyes from the waters, he wanted to see them all recovered.
Kirk lit a cigarette, pulled deeply, holding the smoke for a few seconds, before blowing it out of the corner of his mouth, away from the boy. He cupped it inside his hand, protecting it from the soft rain that had started to fall.
The next body, hauled out a few minutes later, looked as if it came from under the mud, coated all over as it was with a thick, tarry substance. Milowski got onto his feet, peering at the body apprehensively. He couldn’t tell who it was.
The frogmen heaved the body onto a tarpaulin, ready to haul it up the bank.
One of them held up a short, slimy and blackened branch. Horror dawned in his expression; he dropped it down in front of him.
Someone screamed, ‘Jesus!’
Kirk stared open mouthed in disbelief. Part putrefied, and part skeletonised; it was a forearm dislocated at the elbow, with the hand intact.
The diver fell to his knees, retching and muttering curses in between.
Still unable to pronounce Milowski’s surname, he said simply, ‘Look away, kid.’
The rain increased, falling with a vengeance, and then the heavens fully opened, forming a veil of obscurity in front of them, dampening the noise of the men calling out with a steady sissing sound.
He realised with horror that this tragic accident had become something else.
The police officer was striding their way, his face grimacing as the water ran off it, dripping from his eyebrows and nose.
Kirk guessed from his expression what he was going to say. ‘Come on, kid,’ he said, and stood before the policeman reached them. Tapping the unresponsive boy’s shoulder, he shouted above the noise of the rain, ‘We'd better go!’
Chapter 18
In the school the morning after, rumours circulated about a tragic accident. Everyone had gathered in the main hall. The air was heavy with expectation as the Headmaster approached the centre of the stage, he carried a sheaf of notes in his hand, which he placed on the lectern and, shuffling the papers, the sound rumbled, seeming to echo from the high walls. All eyes were on him as he switched off the sound system and stood immobile, looking down, collecting his thoughts. Then he straightened and looked out over the assembly.
His voice, loud and clear, projected without the aid of a microphone. ‘You will by now have heard about the tragic events of yesterday afternoon.’ He spoke highly of all the boys. ‘Christopher Brookes, the champion swimmer who proudly represented his school at County level. David Jones hated cross-country running when he first joined the school, but he blossomed into a keen long distance runner. And finally, Kenneth Walker, stalwart of the debating society...had the career makings of a barrister or politician.’ The Head put aside his notes and continued.