Looking Good Dead

hospitality so far,’ he said, trying to crack a joke back. But his words fell away into black silence.
    The water and the food were already making him feel a little better, giving him some strength. He decided to make his move.

    Half rolling, half squirming, he eased his way slowly, painfully, across the floor, over to the left, in the direction he had memorized from the spill of the torch beam a few minutes ago.
    Towards the line of chemical drums.
    Then he panicked as the chain jerked tight on his ankle. Please, just a little more, just give a little more. He pulled hard, but the clamp bit in even harder, making him cry out in pain.
    ‘Tom, are you OK? Darling?’
    Thank God, she was calm now. ‘Yes,’ he hissed, suddenly concerned anyone might be listening in. ‘I’m fine.’
    Then his face touched something. Please don’t let it be the wall. It felt plastic, cold, round. It was a drum!
    He tried to push his way up it. The drum wobbled. He slid down. Rolling onto his stomach, his legs tangled behind him, his ankle agony, he jerked himself up, then up again. Finally, taking a massive breath and exhaling and pushing himself at the same time with all he had, he succeeded. He got his chin over the rim.
    And it felt beautifully, raggedly, sharp.
    Slowly, inching back, keeping his chin clamped over it, he levered it back; it was heavy, much heavier than he had imagined, too heavy for him. Suddenly it toppled and fell to the floor with a loud, echoing boom.
    ‘Tom?’ Kellie cried out.
    ‘It’s OK.’
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    Working as fast as he could, he moved up to the rim, felt in the darkness where the cord strapping his arms to his sides was, and began to rub that against the rough edge.
    After some minutes – almost as surprised that it had actually worked as relieved – he was able to move his arms away from his body. Just one tiny step, he knew, but he felt as if he had just climbed Everest. Relief surged through him. He could do this!
    Now he swung his hands, still tied tightly together, through the darkness, feeling for the rim. He found it and began to rub the cord between his wrists furiously against the edge. Slowly, steadily, he could feel the strands giving and the binding loosening. And suddenly hishands were free. He shook off the last bit of slack cord from his wrist, pushed himself upright, stretching his arms and flexing his hands, trying to get the blood circulating in them once more.
    ‘Are we going to die here, Tom?’ Kelly whimpered.
    ‘No, we are not.’
    ‘Mum and Dad couldn’t bring the children up. We’ve never thought about that, have we?’
    ‘We’re not going to die.’
    ‘I love you so much, Tom.’
    Her voice brought him close to tears again. There was so much tenderness, warmth, caring in it. ‘I love you more than anything in the world, Kellie,’ he said, leaning forward, feeling his way along the cords that bound his legs until he came to the knot.
    It was tied incredibly tightly. But he worked on it relentlessly and after a short while it started to come loose. And suddenly his legs were free! Except for his shackled ankle. The thought was ever present in his mind that if the fat man came in now, there would be hell to pay. But it was a risk he had to take.
    He knelt, gripped the rim of the drum, then stood up and, lifting as hard as he could, righted it. Then he felt along the top for the cap, and found it quickly, clasping his hands around it, moving them across it, trying to work out how it opened, for the first time in his life having some understanding of what it must be like to be blind.
    There was a twisted wire and a paper seal over it. He worked his fingers underneath the wire and pulled. It cut into his flesh. Digging his hand in his pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief and wound it round his fingers, then tried again.
    The wire snapped.
    ‘Why are we here, Tom?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Who is that gross creep?’
    ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘What did he mean, about us “looking good dead”?’
    ‘He was just trying to scare us,’ Tom replied, attempting to sound convincing, struggling to make the cap move, aware that his voice sounded considerably higher than usual, a vague, flimsy plan developing in his mind.
    Slowly the cap began to turn. It took five, maybe six full turnsbefore it came away in his hand. A vile, burning acrid reek instantly filled his nostrils. He lurched back, choking, dropping the cap and hearing it