The Big Brother Hole Ch. 01

"No," she said trying to focus on me, "I mean I have - at home - but it was a glasses day when I..." She took a deep breath, "I had glasses but the other man that was here took them from me, and I haven't been able to find him or my glasses since."

"There's another man here?" I said.

"There was," she said looking nervous, "He arrived a few weeks after I did. At first he was OK, then he started to get angrier as he realised he was stuck in here. One night he attacked me and I fought him off, that's why I carry this stick with me."

"I'm so sorry," I said, "did he..."

"No, he tried to and I kicked and fought and screamed. He punched me and knocked my glasses off; he picked them up and ran away with them. The next few days he would shout at me from the woods, and taunt me that he had my glasses and how bad my eyesight must have been. It was like something out of 'The Lord of the Flies' - he even called me 'piggy'. I'll confess that I wasn't exactly a fashion model when I fell in here, but on my diet I've lost a fair bit of weight."

"What have you eaten since you've been here?" I asked in surprise.

"Fish from the stream," she said, "the hill down that way," she pointed over her shoulder, "is alive with rabbits. Sean, the other bloke, set up a load of snares and built some fish traps. I check them every couple of days and more often than not I find something in them. I keep the fire going and manage to find some wild greens and mushrooms. Sean showed me what to eat and what not to eat. It's just a shame that a week later he punched me in the face and tried to rape me."

"How long has he been gone?"

"I don't know, I thought that banging noise you made earlier on was him, trying to torture me."

"No, definitely me. It was shotgun cartridges, I was going shooting up in the borders with an old mate. I'm kind of hoping he's going to raise the alarm when I don't turn up. I was expected at midnight last night."

"I was expected at my sister's house three months ago, I'd like to think she might have raised the alarm."

"Where is your sister's house?" I asked.

"Oh just up the road a bit from here," she said, "Sweet little village just outside Richmond."

"Richmond?" I said, "Richmond was a good forty miles north of where I was."

"I was driving in from the Leyburn end," she said with a panic in her voice, "North of Richmond even." She put her bandaged hand onto mine, "Harry, I'm scared now, just where are we?"

"I don't know Emma," I said, "This is just too bloody weird. Either I'm forty miles adrift or you are." I stood, "I'll tell you what," I said standing up, "I have some excellent bread and some great cheese in my car that will either go stale, rot away or get attacked by rabbits, let's have a feast while we can."

"Harry," she said, "keep talking to me so I know where you are."

"OK Emma, no problem." By now I was quite good at getting in and out of the car and returned quite quickly.

The bread was still the right side of fresh, and the various cheeses I knew would be paradise to Emma's pallet that, according to her, had tasted nothing but under-cooked rabbit, trout and wild greens in three months.

I came back to where she was sat and put the carrier bag onto her lap.

"Ooh!" she said and lifted it to her face before she reached into the bag, lifting out the bread and holding it to her nose. "Oh Harry," she said, "You've no idea how wonderful it is to smell fresh bread again." Next she lifted up the various packets of cheese and held them up to the light and close to her face so she could not only smell them but actually see them.

"Help yourself," I said, and smiled as she ripped a big lump out of the bread, I could see she was struggling with the cheese, so set to tearing that open for her. It was just a large piece of Red Leicester but I guessed it would be Manna from heaven for my new friend. It was, and not before or since have I seen someone eat with such delight.

"So how did you end up in here Emma, I came round in my car first thing, not a mark on me or the car, you?"

"Can't remember," she said munching on the bread and cheese. "I remember leaving the vicarage stopping at the petrol station and then waking up down here with just my handbag."

"What about Sean?" I said, intrigued at what might have happened to the other incumbent of this hole in the ground.

"Same thing, he woke up in the stream with his motorbike underneath him. It would have been over there."

I picked up the cheeses and broke a piece off of the Red Leicester and walked across to the stream, nibbling it. There was indeed a small Honda motorbike that showed signs of being the worse for being dropped and left to lie in mud for a few months.

"I found it!" I shouted, conscious that she might not realise where I was.

I began to ponder on what might have happened to its rider. Looking where it had been thrown against the tree, no way could he have survived dropping down so far. Whatever had happened to me at least I had the benefit of being cushioned in my seat with my seat belt. He would have cracked his spine or broken his legs at the least. And how the fuck had he got out?

The pretty girl had been down here for three months and my brief inspection had confirmed what she'd found in her short-sighted stumbling. Had he made good his escape and left the young woman he'd tried to rape to starve to death and so hide his crime? Surely not.

Once Emma had eaten her fill, I repacked the bag and gave her one of the six cans of Coke I'd bought for the journey. The sun was climbing high into the sky and towards noon, and I figured I wouldn't have more light to see what was going on than right now.

She sipped the Coke luxuriously and after a few moments handed it to me,

"Let's ration it Harry, just in case."

I took the can and took a long draw on it, and handing it back.

"Can you show me around?"

"Of course," she said, "there should be a camp site around here with my handbag, and my jacket. I've got a hairbrush and a tooth brush in it. Once I lost my glasses I couldn't find it again. I think I'm sleeping in one that Sean created, it's like a little tent made of trees and branches. It lets the rain in quite often."

"Let's have a look then," I took her hand and I started to follow the line of the dirt wall that imprisoned us. I noticed that along with her stick Emma had to use her other hand to hold up her black trousers which must have loosened up as she lost the weight she spoke of.

After a few minutes I found the stream that Emma said ran through 'the hole'. It about two feet deep and was about the same across, flowing fast enough to be fresh. It formed a kidney shaped pool at one end and I guessed this was where it terminated. Again, it looked fresh enough.

There was a log thrown across it at the narrowest part and talking her across, we made our way over with dry feet. I guessed this was probably the only time she'd ever been over. We found the same wall of crumbly soil that went straight up twenty, thirty at some points even forty feet. Still in squaddie mode I found that I was starting to read the ground and count my paces, so we could get back again.

We found what must have been Sean's initial camp. There was his crash helmet and a motorcycle jacket. Strung across a couple of trees was what must have been his bike cover formed into a small tent. There was also a leather jacket and some clothing, all slightly damp from the floor. I picked up the jacket and stuck a branch through the arms to help the thing dry out.

I found that all of my senses were perking up, and I smelled the first sign of trouble before I saw it. Dead flesh has a smell that is like no other.

"Wait here Emma," I said, "I think I know what happened to Sean."

I sat Emma on the dry ground under the bike cover tent and kept on calling to her as I followed my nose. It was like something out of a comedy scene, about twenty yards away I could see a pair of legs sticking out of the bank. Black baseball boots, thin white shins and the bottoms of the jeans he must have been wearing. Nothing else, he must have tried to dig his way out only for the earthy to fall onto him and bury him, suffocating him under tonnes of soft dark loam. I tried to pull him out but it was hopeless. Emma hadn't seen him in a few weeks possibly even months, there wasn't much chance of him being alive that was for sure. I dug around and I found his right hand and his watch strap. I dragged at it in the vain hope it might still work and give me a clue about the date and time. With soil pouring around me, I finally got his watch free, rather a skinny girly looking one actually, only to find that the damage to his was almost the same as mine. The damage on his looked as if someone had smashed a hammer into it, and it was even more pronounced than the damage on mine.

I decided that I would leave Sean where he was. I tried to think if he would affect the water supply, but figured there was nothing I could do about it short of digging him out and wrapping him in his motorbike cover that would make probably the best shelter we'd find here. I took off Sean's shoes. There was no way they'd fit me, but I guessed that they be only slightly too big for Emma. They were reasonably new and only smelled the tiniest amount and I hoped that airing them would remove that smell of dead man's feet from them.

I walked back to the site and found that Emma was asleep shaded by the tent but was still enough in the sun to warm her. I figured she hadn't slept that well recently, but woke her none the less.

"Sorry Em," I said, "Was Sean wearing blue jeans and these 'Converse' trainers?" She moved them close to her face.

"Could have been," she said, "I don't remember that much about him after my glasses went".

"Sorry mate, he was obviously digging his way out and his workings collapsed on him. I don't think he'll be bothering you again."

"Oh," she said, staring at where the trainers had been, "I don't suppose you found my glasses did you?"

"Still looking," I said, "You go back to sleep, I'm only a few yards away." She lay back down using the same pile of soil as a pillow that Sean obviously had.

Shitty Damn, this did not look good. Time I got even deeper into squaddie mode...

As a medic I was always in the Headquarters Company of my battalion. Our company commander was a long term regular officer who had been around. He'd been to airborne school and the commando course and was destined for higher things. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a nasty habit of getting outrageously pissed and would then either insult or sleep with other officers wives.

It was the end of any 'higher things' he may have been destined for. But he loved his job, he loved his boys and he looked after us well. He still had his reputation for working hard and playing harder, hence he was dubbed 'The mad major', but was relegated to seeing out his remaining service with 'his lot'. The odds and sods in Headquarters Company.

HQ Company was made up of us medics, the storemen, the tailors, the cooks, the clerks, the motor transport section and all the other non-rifle company types that are needed to make a fighting infantry battalion operate on a day to day basis.

Whenever we went on exercise, us medics would find ourselves setting up a field dressing station or out with platoons or patrols, while the rest would guard company HQ and bitch about the change in our usually sedate lifestyle.

But our Major was made of sterner stuff and pretty soon HQ Company where doing lots of training and finding out about proper war fighting.

We did section attacks, battle drills, fire and manoeuvre and finally escape and evasion. This was where we learned to read the terrain, how to find cover and shelter and how to live off of the land. All of this training led to us being taken to the wilds of Salisbury Plain and being told we had to be at a certain point, a disused village, for pick up in four days' time.

We had made our own survival tins. The Americans all talk of 'Altoid tins', but we were British grunts and the best we could do was of course 'Golden Virginia' or 'Old Holborn' hand rolling tobacco and we duly created our tiny survival tins.

Mine held all kinds of wonderful things, a tiny knife, a brass button compass, string, a Firestarter, tinfoil, a condom (to collect water!) and other myriad useful items I just wished I'd stuck it in my car rather than leave it with all the other crap I had left over from army days.

We all survived our four days of course, and I hoped I could bring all that thought process back to life. Right now, I had to find everything I could to make the process of surviving and escape a reality.

Now I was thinking along those lines; shelter, fire, water, food and some way of letting the world know we were stuck here. I thought on where my survival tin was now. It was in a small rucksack back in my flat, still with the black tape wrapped around it.

I carried on walking, grabbing piles of dried sticks and creating several stock piles, eventually after about five minutes of walking I found a couple more camp sites. In the first was another crappy A-frame that was falling to bits. As I looked inside I found the detachable pannier box from the motorbike and hoped in vain in might be metal and I could bake in it - GRP - shit. This must have been Sean's most recent camp and the one he'd tortured Emma from. I searched everywhere for Emma's glasses but to no avail. Shit.

In the next camp I found another good quality A-frame this time, the kind of thing that our mad major had taught us to make all those years ago. I stood there and thought about the situation and figured that the camp that Emma was currently in was still the most promising. It was higher than all the others should the stream flood, the tree coverage from rain plus giving us a space we could warm up via sunlight.

If I could find some matches or a lighter, I could start a fire without all of that tedious buggering around with sticks.

Nothing.

I went back to the camp where Emma was lying, sleeping in the rays of the tiny bit of sunshine. I started to carry the dry sticks back and make them into a couple of piles. The previous night I'd sat in my car but it was cold and damp, I guessed that a fire wouldn't make it any worse.

By the time I'd finished I had two large firewood piles that, rationed, would make for a few warm nights. I carried on my rationalisation.

A while later and quite refreshed, Emma woke up and I had her guide me back to her camp site and show me where the snares were and the fish traps.

It was amazing. Using just her stick she guided me back to where she had lived for some weeks previously. There was a smoking fire and again, using just her stick and what must have been her heightened senses she walked towards it and grabbed a handful of firewood from the ground that she threw on the smoking heap and blew on it with gusto. Eventually it came back to life.

"Bloody hell Em," I said impressed, "That was brilliant."

"Done it lots of times," she said, "brought it back from worse than that."

"How long has it been going?"

"I've kept it alive for... well ever since Sean disappeared with my glasses." She sat up, "It's life or death Harry," she said. "Raw fish tastes bloody awful, I don't want to think about raw rabbit." She turned to look at me. "Tea," she sighed. "A hot drink, something warm and not with anything else in it."

Like with my survival tin at home, I thought on the 'brew kit' I'd always carried as a young soldier boy. It contained everything, tea bags, little packs of coffee and sugar and milk powder, and I thought about the contempt with which I chucked it in and out of by belt order webbing. I thought of everything else it carried. It held a water bottle, a mug, mess tins and a stove. Here I had nothing I could heat water in, let alone make Emma the hot drink she'd been pining for.

"I think we should move around to the camp site with the tent Emma," I said, "I'll see if I can carry enough of these burning branches to start another fire, you stay here and keep warm."

I was starting to work out distances now, and I figured the two camp sites were probably 60 metres apart. The first flaming brand went out before I reached the other fire, but on my return trip found a large branch that should catch and stay alight. I stopped by my car and found the wipes I'd used to clean Emma's hands and face and they had dried a bit, and wrapped them around the branch also. Along with the plastic wraps and bits of cloth they caught brilliantly and I was able to get the second fire burning within a matter of minutes and walked Emma to it.

Passing the car again, I thought about re-using waste and my empty Coke can almost leapt into view. TWAT!

Nothing to heat water in? fucking idiot. I rinsed it, filled it with water, and placed it gingerly into the embers of the first fire and let it burn - I thought that it might contain a lining of some description. Couple of test runs just to see.

I poured across that camp and found a black cardigan, and discovered what must have been Emma or Sean's waste pit. There was a faint smell of faeces and I guessed that on the rare occasions she passed anything it would be so small and natural for the smell to be quite minimal. It was well made, with a log to sit on and I guessed that Sean must have created it. It was far enough away from the stream and our new camp site so I figured I'd leave it there.

I also found a small pile of rabbit and fish bones and the skins of both. Now I have eaten wild rabbit a few times, nice lean grey brown wild ones, and I had never found a wild rabbit with black and white fur. Unless this was a descendent of a tame rabbit that had escaped, then this was definitely odd. Emma had told me that she had two 'Y' shaped sticks and a long thicker one she used for cooking, so I brought those as well. My time had been well used, using my leather-gloved hand I lifted the now hot water in the can and carried it across to our new camp.

"Put this glove on Em," I said, and she pulled it over her bandaged hand looking quizzical. "Now, take this - carefully!" I said, "It's not tea, but it is hot water at least."

She beamed at me, "Coke can?"

"Yep," I said, "it's not quite boiling but it should be hot enough to warm you up."

She messed around with the tin, blowing at it and staring at the hole to drink it from, before she took a gentle sip. She purred, and smiled across at me.

"Bread and cheese, hot water and warm hands, this is rapidly turning into the best day ever!"

"I'm not sure it's that," I said, "but I'm glad I could help."

"OK," she looked sidelong at me, "best day in a long time," she sighed, "Thank you Harry."

After a long afternoon of work and replenishing the wood pile, I built the fire and messed around with our tarp sheet and made a bit of a raised platform using the branches from the other two A-frames I guessed Sean had made and lay the spare jackets on them, keeping the others and the two blankets from my car made a bed. I gave her the black cardigan I'd found and she put it on. Next I gave her the thick hunting jacket for when it got really cold.

In my medic bag I had scissors, large tough ones designed to cut through clothing, underwired bras and at a push bone. I cut around the top of the can and wearing my gloves I rolled the sharp top over and bashed it flat with a small stone I'd found so we wouldn't cut our mouths on it. As the light fell, I brought the last of my bread, cheese, port, wine, Cokes, even the tin of travel sweets I kept in the car and placed them in the motorbike box for safe keeping. I put the scissors back in my kit. I refilled the can and warmed it in the embers a second time and it worked perfectly, with no cut lips.