Ewan had to lower Jake’s immobile body onto a flat piece of concrete, relieving his arms and legs of the dead weight. Freed of the encumbrance, he scanned the loch for any sign of their tiny craft. There was none. The only vessels to be seen were the Spirit of Arcadia and HMS Ambush, connected, and floating just a few hundred metres away. It was clear that his only option was going to be to swim that distance and get help. The water would be icy cold, but at least the wetsuit would afford some protection. Before he could go, he had to tell Lucya of his plan. She would worry that he had disappeared and, paralysed, wouldn’t be able to investigate. Ewan set about climbing back up the concrete rubble, relieved that even though Lucya was partially immobilised, at least she was conscious and therefore not a dead weight like Jake had been. He arrived at the top of the stack to find that he was wrong. Lucya lay sprawled out flat, syringe in her arm, and out cold. A cursory glance at her situation suggested she had lost consciousness and fallen backwards, her head hitting the concrete with some force.
