Dead Scared by S. J. Bolton Page A

waist.
    ‘You wankers, it’s freezing outside.’
    Talaith’s protests were fading away. By this time my arms were pinned to my side and my face pressed close to the bloke who’d picked me up. His chest hair was scratching my cheek and I could smell both shower gel and sweat. Number three had his arms around my hips and the second was holding my feet together to stop me kicking.
    ‘Swing it,’ said the long-haired man. We turned at the top of the stairway and began the descent and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from screaming.
    The night air hit me like a slap. Another cheer went up as we appeared and the chanting got louder.
Fresh meat, fresh meat
. I was being carried through the crowd. Faces, pumpkin-orange in the lamplight, were staring at me. I could see eyes gleaming, heads twitching.
    No, I could not scream. They were just kids messing around; it was nothing to be afraid of.
    We’d reached a space in the middle of the green where the frosted grass was already brown with mud. A heavy chain lay around the central tree. At the front of the crowd I saw boys had formed a line and were passing along buckets from the nearest block. Water. They were going to throw water at me. That was all. It would be unpleasant and humiliating but I had no need to be afraid. I was on my feet, still held firmly from behind, as one of my captors bent down and grasped hold of my ankle. Then I felt something heavy and cold pulling down on it. They’d padlocked the chain round my leg.
    The first bucket took me totally by surprise. Freezing cold water hit me full in the face, streaming into my mouth and nose. For a second blind panic hit me when I couldn’t breathe. A moment later I was coughing hard.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the St John’s wet T-shirt competition,’ yelled a male voice as the contents of another bucket hit me. Another cheer went up and I looked down to see that the cotton running vest I nearly always wear in bed was soaked through. And that something like seventy people, standing in a circle around me, knew what my breasts looked like. One of the masked twats actually had a video camera, and for a second fury got the better of fear. This was sexual abuse, plain and simple. Where the hell were university security? Why was no one calling the police?
    The bloke with the video camera was closer than the rest and at that moment I really didn’t care if I blew my cover, I was going to land him one. Forgetting the chain, I ran at him. I got three feet and saw alarm in pale-blue eyes before a stabbing pain shot through my ankle. A split second later I found myself sprawled in the mud. More cheers. And voices rising from the crowd.
    ‘I think that’s enough now, guys. Come on, let her go.’
    Whoever he was, they took no notice of him. Six more buckets of ice-cold water were thrown at me while I was on the ground. I’d like to think it was the need to maintain my Laura Farrow cover that kept me lying there, curled into a ball, hiding my head behind one arm, but I’m honestly not sure. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted it to be over before I started to howl. When I couldn’t stop myself shaking I heard several voices shouting that that was enough. Then a warm hand was on my ankle and the cold chain was lifted away. Someone took hold of me under the arms and I was on my feet again.
    ‘You all right, love?’ said a northern accent. Not one of the masked boys. They’d disappeared into the night.
    ‘Does she bloody well look all right, you effing moron?’ A bright-yellow coat was wrapped around my shoulders and I was being steered by my tiny room-mate towards our block. I raised my head and pushed hair out of my eyes.
    ‘Christ, the mud we’re bringing in. Like that lot are going to clean it up. Come on, sweetie, let’s get you in.’ I let Talaith lead me inside. I was walking over linoleum, my feet squelching mud with every step. Talaith was guiding me towards the bathrooms at the end of the