Isolated. M. A. Hunter

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      Chapter Four

      Then

       Bovington Garrison, Dorset

      No, that can’t be the alarm already, thought Natalie, rolling over to hit the snooze button, but grimacing as the agony of the night’s escapades tore up her leg. Although Jane had yanked out the thin branch, Natalie was certain she could feel tiny splinters still firmly embedded beneath her skin, each one waiting to push through into her bloodstream and float around her body for the rest of the day.

      ‘Time to get up, sleepyhead,’ her mum called through the closed bedroom door, but thankfully she didn’t come in.

      Gripping her thigh, Natalie manually lifted and shifted her right leg, holding her breath to fight against the urge to yell out in pain. Her mum would know what to do, how to make it better, but she’d also want to know how Natalie came to have a gaping bloody hole in her calf.

      When she’d snuck back in last night, it had taken all her willpower not to knock on her parents’ door and tell them exactly what had happened: the woods, the game, Sally… everything. But as she’d hovered by the door, willing her hand to reach up for the handle, she’d remembered the sting of Louise’s slap and the warning that they weren’t to tell anyone. They’d made a pact, and breaking a pact was a dangerous thing, Natalie knew.

      Hitting the snooze button, Natalie propped herself up on her pillows. She leaned back into them and wiped the thin sheen that had pooled on her forehead. The room wasn’t overly warm but the effort of moving her leg had taken a lot out of her. Louise had said she was being a wet blouse worrying about the leg, and as an older girl she was surely more knowledgeable about such matters, right? If she said the leg wouldn’t get infected, then there really wasn’t anything Natalie should be worried about.

      Taking a deep breath to settle the bubble of anxiety building in the pit of her stomach, she whipped back the duvet and stared down at the strapping she’d managed to pinch from the bathroom cabinet and wrap around her leg in the pitch black. It was a bulbous and bloody mess, but at least the staining hadn’t spread to her bed covers; thank heaven for small mercies. She’d have to dispose of the strapping on the way to school. There was no way it could be reused, and she doubted her mum would be able to get it clean. If anyone asked what had happened to the roll of bandage, she’d just have to plead ignorance.

      ‘I’m going downstairs now,’ her mum called through the door again, this time adding a knock to ensure that her daughter was awake. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

      The last thing Natalie needed was for her mum to barge in right now and see the state of her leg. ‘Yes, please. I’m going to shower and then I’ll be down.’

      There was no response but the tell-tale sound of footfalls on the stairs confirmed her mum was on her way to the kitchen. That just left her dad to sneak past. His routine was like clockwork and, all things being equal, he’d now be sitting in the small toilet reading one of his angling magazines. But he wouldn’t remain in there for ever, which only offered Natalie a finite amount of time to get out of bed and into the bathroom without anyone catching her. The trouble was, she didn’t think her injured limb would be up to bearing her weight this morning.

      What was the alternative?

      Delicately swinging her left leg over the edge of the mattress, she lifted and shifted her right leg with her hands again, wincing as the bandage brushed against the bed frame. Then, with another deep breath, she pushed herself off the mattress and planted both feet on the thick pile rug where her slippers, trainers, and pile of school uniform sat. She couldn’t help the gasp escaping her mouth, but with her door shut and her parents otherwise engaged, she could only hope neither had heard.

      Her grandmother used to say that pain in an injury was the body’s way of saying it was healing; Natalie was certain that was a crock, but if there was some truth in the old lady’s words, then her body had to be working overtime to heal. Bearing most of her weight on her left leg, Natalie reached out for her chair and rested her right hand on its back, pushing it along as a makeshift Zimmer frame as she made it towards her bedroom door; she wouldn’t be able to use it beyond her bedroom without drawing unnecessary attention, but it would do the job for now. Finally, making it to the door, she slowly lowered the handle and peered out, her eyes searching for the figure of her father whilst her ears strained for any hint of where he might be.

      Neither sense alerted her to his presence and, venturing forward, she used the wallpapered wall to support her journey forward, only pausing momentarily when the sound of pages being turned confirmed her dad’s presence in the toilet. Continuing to the bathroom, she closed and locked the door. relief sweeping through her. Perching on the edge of the bathtub, she raised her nightdress and began very slowly and delicately to unwind the strapping. The bandage crackled and pulled as the congealed bloodstains cracked and tore until she was down to the final wraparound, but she had to stop as the tugging brought tears to her eyes.

      The healing process had resulted in the clot binding with the bandage and there was no way to remove it without restarting the bleeding, but Natalie didn’t think she had the strength to complete the deed without screaming and wailing.

      Her grandmother would have told her just to yank it off like any other Band-Aid, but even the gentlest of pulls was too СКАЧАТЬ