Page 47 of The Whispering Girls (Detective Katie Scott #14)
FORTY-THREE
John’s strength was dwindling fast and the cold began to seep into his bones. He wore a warm hoodie with a shirt underneath, but it didn’t begin to combat snow season. He noticed he was breathless a lot, which meant that his body was trying hard to stay warm at whatever cost.
Since it was daytime, he assumed late morning, it made the light better.
He could see more detail of his surroundings.
His mind flipped from one scenario to another of where he was located and why.
Katie and McGaven had a difficult and complex investigation they’d been thrown into, but John had seen them survive the most dangerous situations and solve the most multifaceted chain of events.
If anyone was able to find him, he would bet on them every time.
His stomach was past rumbling in hunger.
He was famished and it began to affect his body and strength.
No water made it even more desperate. He knew he had been thrown down the old well to kill him slowly.
First it was hunger, then numbness, and finally beginning starvation, where the body takes what it needs in order to survive—until it can’t anymore and starts to shut down all the major organs.
He’d read somewhere that these old wells in rural locations were often connected to help drive water to different areas on a working farm or ranch. One of his thoughts was that if he could get water to enter the well, then it would fill up, taking him to the top. Would it work? John had no idea.
He fought the urge to sit down but finally gave in. He leaned back with his head against the cold wall. He thought, if this were a test…how would he approach the problem with the highest odds of winning?
It was so quiet that he thought he had gone deaf, but there was something that caught his attention—a tiny sound, like someone had started a jackhammer far away. A burst of energy, no matter how small, propelled him to investigate.
John stayed on his knees as he began to touch the wall, as if he were using his fingertips to read it.
He kept at it and realized that there were clay, brick, and sandy soil components.
There were indications of various types of rock indigenous to the area.
When John reached the other side, there was dampness and trickling water—most likely due to the snow.
It smelled like river water, clean and pristine, and then he put his tongue on the droplets on his fingers. It was fresh.
John knew what he was going to do. He would begin to chip and claw until he could open a floodgate.
The downside was that if he couldn’t release enough water to get to the top or near it in an expedient manner, then he wouldn’t have to worry about dying from lack of food and water—he would die from hypothermia.