As he breathed out heavily, his frosted breath danced in front of him. It was virtually all he could see – it was pitch black outside tonight. He could sense Ben was nearby, but couldn’t see him. What was he doing? Ben was an ok bloke basically, but he wasn’t good in confined spaces. He had nearly fainted earlier, in the throes of some sort of panic attack, and he screamed in his sleep. The steel walls that enclosed them amplified his night terrors, giving the whole scene a nightmarish feel and inducing a dull, nagging panic in Peter’s guts. Would anybody find them in time? Or would they die in this sorry hole?
Peter cast a glance in Ben’s general direction then, taking advantage of the darkness, slipped his hand into his pocket. He never travelled without a packet of Soft Mints – it didn’t do to go home stinking of booze – and slowly, cautiously, he eased the last sweet from the now empty wrapper. Quickly he dropped it into his mouth. He’d had half a packet in his pocket when they’d been dumped here. He’d worked his way through them without telling Ben. He was sure Ben would have done the same, so why not? Any pangs of conscience he felt had been stilled by the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He swirled the sweet round and round his mouth, letting the sugar slowly dissolve and trickle down his throat. It was warm, sweet and comforting.
What would he do now? His meagre supplies were exhausted. And he couldn’t sleep, which only made him hungrier still. What the hell was he – they – going to eat now? Coal? He laughed bitterly then swallowed it. The echo sounded weird and he was strung out enough already. He had to keep calm. He’d had two heart attacks in the last five years and he didn’t need another one – not down here.
He’d been shocked at first by their incarceration but had been pretty active since, desperately trying to find some means of escape. The sides of the silo were rusty in places and after a lot of tugging he’d managed to wrench off a two-inch-long metal splint. It was something to work with. He’d banged on the sides with it, tried to punch a hole in the wall with it, even attempted to use it as a form of crampon to help him climb to safety. But it was all hopeless and he’d slumped to the floor in defeat.
Suddenly the tears were rolling down his face. The thought of dying in an airless hole away from his boys filled him with an inconsolable despair. He had led a good life. Done good things. Or tried to. He didn’t deserve this. No one deserved this. Pushing the coal angrily aside, Peter fashioned himself a little hollow and settled down for the night. Was Ben asleep still? He’d gone quiet now and Peter couldn’t be sure. Should he have comforted Ben during his night terrors? Would Ben hold it against him that he hadn’t? Would it affect his thinking, now that they were… Peter let the thought fizzle out – didn’t want to go there. But the truth is he had no idea what Ben was thinking or feeling. He knew him as a colleague but not as a man. Ben had always been very coy about his past – why was that? Was