Runaway World

Escape

     Andrew pulled at the rope binding his limbs. There was no give in it at all. There was no way he was going to wriggle himself free. He thought about shouting for help but the others would just ignore him. Even if they saw that Kartoshka had tied him up, they would probably approve and leave him like that. There would be no help coming.

     Kartoshka would sabotage the rover, he knew. He would only need a few minutes alone with one of the rover's vital systems. Something that would leave the rover unable to continue the pursuit but still able to keep its occupants alive. The remainers seemed to be anxious not to hurt anyone. They thought they were doing what was best for the human race.

     For a moment, Andrew thought about just staying where he was. Just stay tied up until Kartoshka had accomplished his mission. Mankind would remain safe on Earth, the crazy, dangerous plan to return to the inner solar system abandoned. His children and their descendants would be safe with thousands of generations ahead of them before the Earth's inner heat was lost.

     Something inside him rebelled at the idea, though. The policemen thought he'd deliberately led them away from Fox's route and he couldn't bear that idea. His wife and children would feel shocked and betrayed by him. They would be ostracised by their friends, by everyone they knew. He had to free himself and stop Kartoshka, to clear his name. He tugged at his bound limbs again, uselessly, and felt despair threatening to overwhelm him. Free himself how?

     He forced himself to think calmly and clearly. He was in his own bedroom. He was intimately familiar with everything in it. What was there in the room that he could use to cut the ropes? His imagination went through every cupboard, every drawer, sorting through handkerchiefs, underwear, Susan's Teddy bear collection, his antique paper books from before The Freeze... Useless. All useless.

     Then he thought of his wife's sandpaper nail files. Would that rub through a thin length of rope if he could somehow get it up against the bindings around his wrists? Where were they? She was a tidy woman. Everything she used was put away again afterwards which meant they would be in the top drawer of the cupboard by her side of the bed. He stared across at it. Tied the way he was, there was no way he'd be able to use his hands, but if he could pull the drawer open with his mouth...

     It took him half an hour to work his way, centimetre by painful centimetre, across the floor to the cupboard. Then it took him several agonising attempts to get himself into an upright position on his knees. He put his mouth to the small, round handle and pulled the drawer open until it came out all the way and fell onto the floor, spilling its contents onto the shaggy carpet. There were the nail files. One used, most of the sand worn away, but there were three more new ones, shining at him with the promise of freedom.

     He fell sideways onto the carpet, nearly banging his head on the cupboard, and then began the long process of turning himself around to bring his hands to where the nail files were. He reached out towards them, his fingers straining, the rope agonisingly tight around his wrists. By some impossible effort he managed to get hold of the nearest file, and then he turned it around in his fingers to bring the sandpaper in contact with the rope.

     It seemed to take an eternity in which he dropped the file several times and took several painful minutes to pick it up again, but eventually something gave way and he was rewarded by the feeling of looseness around his wrists. With a grunt of effort the remaining threads snapped and his hands were free. It took him just a few moments longer to free his ankles and then he just lay there for a few minutes, gasping with relief while he allowed the blood to return to his numbed extremities.

     His wrists were a mess. Bruised and blooded. He put them out of his mind and climbed unsteadily to his feet. Then he crossed the room to the door and put his ear to it, trying to hear what was going on outside. He heard nothing, so he cautiously opened the door.