Eban

1 - Callum

Fury rose from the crowd in waves. Screams of anger and accusation rose and fell and rose again as an undercurrent of fear spurred the tide on once more.

There were words in there, somewhere, but Callum was far past hearing them. To his ears, their cries were distant, their anger and hatred somewhere else, aimed at someone else.

They had to be.

Because how could people who had been his friends and neighbours, who had come to him with their problems and helped him with his own, how could they be aiming this rage at him?

He stood, letting the weight of their emotion wash over him, even as the weight of the burden on his back threatened to force him to the ground. His eyes half-closed as if, by hiding the world, he could force it all away. Somewhere close by a voice he recognised made a declaration, but Callum did not - could not - understand it, and the words passed him by, washed away with the rest of the emotional storm.

A shove to his back and a blast of ice water to his front woke Callum from his stupor. Spring or not, the lake remembered the winter and it closed around him eagerly, sapping the heat from his limbs and short-circuiting his lungs.

For the first time since they had pulled him from his home, ignoring the whispers in the back of his mind that he was too late, he struggled. As long as he had breath in his lungs, he would find a way to survive.

Ropes trapped his wrists, but they were thin, thin enough that a veil of hope crept in as he pulled, twisted, fought against them. It took ten seconds, ten precious, wasted seconds of oxygen for him to realise it was only hope. The cords cut into his skin viciously as he tried to force them. At least the cold that numbed his body also dampened the pain.

Alright. So I can't free my hands. Callum forced himself to stay calm. A deep breath would help. Don't be stupid. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to consider the alternatives. The pole. If I can just get away from it...

Callum craned his neck, stretching desperately to see the thick oaken mast he was tied to. It was heavy, its weight on his back pushing him down, down, down into the depths of the lake. If he could just get free of it, he might have a chance. He was a fair swimmer and the opposite bank was not far, definitely still within his abilities. Once he was out of the water, all he needed to do was avoid the townspeople and make his way to the neighbouring county. There was just 20 miles between him and safety.

20 miles of open fields and patches of woodland.

Easy.

He struggled for 30 seconds, trying to push himself over the top of the pole, trying to find the knot of rope that tied his waist to it. For those 30 seconds, he hoped, prayed, twisted and fought with the water, the cold and, above all, the blasted rope. But he was not the first to be put to death by drowning and his captors had known what they were doing.

No matter how much he stretched and twisted, the knot was always just out of reach. He could feel it. Infuriatingly, his fingertips brushed the rough clump of rope, agonisingly close, an empty promise for freedom. Anything more was, quite literally, beyond him. And as for trying to push himself off the top... Callum forced away the black cloud growing in his mind. What good would giving in to that despair do him now?

Another ten seconds passed as he forced the panic away. He knew he could hold his breath for at least 90 seconds and his lungs weren't burning yet, which meant he still had time. All he had to do was stay calm, not panic, and, above all, not waste what precious oxygen he had left acting without a plan. He had to think.

Think.

In his mind, the counting continued. 40 seconds left before he really was in serious trouble. 35. 30.