‘It’s just a few feet ahead of you,’ he said, fighting to keep down the hysteria. ‘For Christ’s sake, Dealey, get that bloody door open.’
Culver began to make for the recess himself, forcing the girl to go with him, moving inch by inch, careful not to stumble over a body, to slip in the blood. Fortunately, the girl seemed to realize what was happening. She was still tense, stiff, but she no longer fought. He eased his grip over her mouth.
The rats had started to creep forward.
He risked a look at Dealey. The blind man had reached the door. But he was sagging against it. His face was turning in Culver’s direction. His eyes were closed tight and his mouth was open in a silent moan of agony.
‘Dealey?’ Culver said, still moving towards him.
‘The keys. The keys were in my briefcase!’ His last words were screeched and his fists began to flail at the door’s metal surface.
‘Don’t!’ Culver warned, but it was too late. The screams and the banging had spurred the black creatures into attack.
Culver cried out as the leaping bodies slammed into him, his arms instinctively protecting his face. Both he and the girl went down under the weight and a million razor-sharp teeth seemed to sink into his skin. He kicked, thrashed out with his arms, shouted his pain and terror.
The tunnel shook. Dust and bricks fell from the ceiling. The explosion ricocheted around and around the curved walls, spiralling towards them, heaving the earth. Three hundred yards away, the tunnel collapsed, flames roaring through in a great ball that billowed outwards.
The vermin screeched, their attack on the two humans forgotten. They cowered to the ground, a mass of dark quivering bodies, completely still, they themselves now rigid with fear.
Culver rose to his elbows and swiped at a rat nestled on his lap. It fell to one side with a snarling hiss, but did not retaliate.
Another explosion, louder than the first, and the fireball expanded, raced towards them along the tunnel, filling every inch, a swelling yellow that scorched the walls.
The creatures ran, scrabbling over the bodies, slithering past or leaping over Culver and the girl, squealing in alarm, they themselves the hunted now, the fast-approaching billowing flames the merciless hunter.
Culver was on his feet, lifting the girl, the vermin forming a dark-flowing river around his legs. He ran with her, just a few feet, praying that the recess in which Dealey knelt would offer some protection, the wall of fire hurrying to meet them, eager to incinerate them in its fiery embrace.
It was too near, they could never make it! He jumped the last few feet, the dead weight of the girl unnoticed in his panic.
They crashed into the metal doorway as the flames reached them and Culver felt the searing heat against his skin, licking at his clothes.
It was hopeless. The narrow refuge could offer little protection as the fire swept by. They would all be burnt to a crisp.
And then he was tumbling forward with the others, falling into a different light, the metal door giving way, the scorching flames at his back, dropping, tumbling, over and over and over, never wishing to stop, the world just light and pain and sound . . .
And then blackness.
5
‘Oh, Jes—’
A gentle hand forced him back down onto the narrow bunkbed.
‘It’s all right,’ a voice equally gentle said. ‘You’ve got a nasty wound in your leg; we’re dealing with it.’
Culver looked up into the white face that seemed to hover above him. The woman was frightened – he could just detect the glimmer of alarm hiding behind her outwardly calm gaze – but she worked steadily, professionally, swabbing away the blood from the gash in his thigh.
‘You were lucky,’ she told him. ‘Whatever did this just missed the artery.’
‘You sure?’
She didn’t smile. ‘If the artery had been severed we’d have both been painted bright scarlet by now. And you’d be considerably weaker than you appear to be. No, the blood’s deep red and it’s flowing rather than spurting, so it’s not too serious. What did this, anyway?’
He closed his eyes, but the memory became even sharper. ‘I don’t think you’d believe me.’
The woman stopped working momentarily. ‘After today, after this madness, I’m prepared to believe anything and anybody.’
A silence fell between them, one which Culver eventually broke.
‘There were rats in the tunnels,’ he said. ‘But like no goddam rats I’ve ever seen before.’
She looked at him curiously.
‘They were big, some as big as dogs. They . . . they were feeding off people who’d fled into the tunnel.’
‘They attacked you?’
He nodded. ‘They attacked. It’s hard to think . . . I don’t know how . . .’
‘Some of the engineers heard you pounding on the emergency door. You literally fell in among us.’
He tried to look around him. ‘Just who . . . what is this place?’
‘Officially it’s the Kingsway telephone exchange. Equally officially, but not for public knowledge, it’s a government nuclear shelter. You happen to be in the sick bay at the moment.’
Over her shoulder, Culver could see other two-tiered bunkbeds. It was a small room with grey walls and ceiling; strip-lighting glared overhead. There were other figures around a bed further down.
The woman followed his gaze. ‘The girl you brought in with you is being treated for shock. I took a look at her first – she doesn’t appear to have sustained any serious injuries, just minor cuts and bruises. Her hair is a little singed, but you must have protected her from the fire out there.’
‘Fire?’
‘Don’t you remember? The engineers said the tunnel was ablaze for a few seconds, a fireball of some kind. You’d have all roasted if the door hadn’t been opened at the crucial moment. As it was, you were lucky you were wearing a thick leather jacket or your back would have peeled . . .’
‘Where’s Dealey?’
‘. . . the skin on your hands and the back of your neck is scorched . . .’
‘He didn’t make it.’ Culver sat up.
A hand splayed against his chest and eased him back down again.
‘He made it. He’s talking with the CDO . . .’
‘The what?’
‘Civil Defence officer. Dealey wanted me to take care of you and the girl first.’
‘You know he’s been blinded?’
‘Of course. With luck, it may only be short-term; it depends on how long he looked into the flash. I assume that’s how it happened?’
‘Yeah. And it was only for a split-second.’
‘He may be fortunate, then. It’ll be a long wait for him, though.’
She busied herself tending his wound and for the first time he was aware of his naked legs.
‘If it was a rat bite we’ll need to disinfect. You’ll need an anti-tetanus jab, too,’ she muttered. ‘Feeling strong?’
‘Not particularly. Who are you?’
‘Doctor Clare Reynolds.’ Still no smile. ‘I’m only here for a meeting with Alex Dealey and several others which was scheduled for this afternoon.’
‘You work for the government?’
This time a brief, tight smile flashed. ‘I was drafted in when the situation reached crisis point. Normal precautions; nobody thought it would escalate to this. Nobody.’
She turned to a small trolley by her side and poured fluid onto a small pad. Wisps of premature grey mingled with the dark auburn of her hair, which was cut short in a practical rather than glamorous style. Her features were pinched taut – not surprising in the circumstances – and her pale skin seemed almost anaemic, although that could have been due to the harsh lights above (or again, the circumstances). He noticed she was wearing a wedding ring.
She turned back to him. ‘This is going to sting,’ she warned, brushing the soaked pad into the gash.
‘Shhhhh—’ Culver gripped the sides of the bunk ‘—iiiiit!’
/>
‘No masochist you. Okay, it’s done. No need for stitches, just a pad will do. We don’t want to bury any infection. You’ve a mass of smaller wounds and abrasions but no serious burns from the fire. I’ll treat them and then I want to put you out for a short time; you’ve been through a lot.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘Sure you would. Just think yourself lucky to be out of this for a while. What’s your name, by the way?’
‘Steve Culver.’
‘Pleased to know you, Mr Culver. I think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.’
‘What happened, Doctor? Why did they let it happen?’
‘It all comes down to greed in the end.’ Some of the forced stiffness went out of her. ‘And envy. Let’s not forget our old friend envy.’
She finished dressing the wound, and administered the anti-tetanus injection; then she reached back into the trolley for a Diazepam-filled syringe.
He awoke to find a different pair of eyes staring down at him. Her blonde hair fell around her face, a face that was still marked and grimy from the ordeal in the tunnel. Her eyes were wide, and unlike the doctor’s cried out her fear. A hand clutched at his shoulder.
‘Where am I?’ she asked, almost in a whisper. ‘Please tell me.’
He struggled to sit up and his head rode a coaster. Her hand tightened on his shoulder, digging into the flesh.
‘Take it easy,’ he begged. ‘Just give me a minute.’
Culver slowly eased his back against the wall behind and waited for the spinning to stop. His head began to clear, making way for jumbled thoughts to rush in. His senses sharpened rapidly as he remembered. The dread drifted down into the lower regions of his stomach like a ship sinking to the sea bed. He looked at the girl, then pushed a hand between her hair and cheek.
‘You’re safe now,’ he told her softly. He wanted to hold her, to hug her to his chest, to tell her it was all a bad dream that had ended. But he knew it was just beginning.
‘We’re in a government shelter,’ he said. ‘The entrance was in the tunnel near where we found you.’
He watched her shudder.
‘I remember.’ Her voice, her gaze, was distant. ‘We heard the sirens. No one could believe it was really happening, but we ran, we hid. We thought the tunnels would protect us. Those things . . .’ She broke and he pulled her to him.
Her sobs were muffled against his chest and he felt his own emotional barrier, a shield that was tissue-thin, beginning to tear. There was a closeness between them – he was sure it was shared – an intimacy imposed by what they had both been through, a desperate touching of spirits. Culver held on to the girl and fought against his own despair.
After what seemed a long while, her shuddering stopped, although she continued to tremble slightly. She pulled away from him.
‘Were . . . were you the one who helped me? Out there, when those . . . Oh, God, what were they?’
‘Vermin,’ he answered, keeping his voice calm. ‘Rats that must have been breeding underground for years.’
‘But their size! How could they get to that size?’
‘Mutants,’ he told her. ‘Monsters that should have been wiped out years ago when they first appeared. We were told that they had been, but it looks like we were misinformed. Or deceived.’
‘How could they survive, how could they breed, how could they go unnoticed?’ Her voice was rising and Culver could see she was beginning to lose control again.
‘Maybe we’ll find the answers later,’ he answered soothingly. ‘The main thing is that we’re safe now. Whatever’s above, whatever’s in the tunnels, can’t touch us here.’
He would never forget the haunting shadow that touched her face at that moment. ‘Is . . . is there anything left . . . above?’
He could not answer. To have done so, to have had to think of it, would have broken him. Push it away, Culver, save it for later. It was too much to take right now, too much to envisage. Keep away thoughts of black-charred children, torn bodies, crushed, bewildered children, a devastated, ravaged city, country – world? – contaminated, shrieking, children, children, children!
He had cried out then, not loudly, not frenziedly; a piteous sound that was faint, but nevertheless, an outpouring of anguish. And now it was the girl who comforted him.
The doctor came for them a little later. She stopped for a moment in the doorway of the small sick bay, briefly wishing that she, too, had a pair of arms to fall into, someone who would hold her, tell her things would be all right . . . if only she knew if Simon . . . mustn’t think about it, mustn’t even consider her husband’s death.
‘How are you both feeling?’ she asked, professionalism stifling rising emotion.
They looked at her as if she were some weird alien, perhaps the creator of the havoc above; but the man, Culver, recovered quickly.
‘How long were we out for?’ he asked as they separated.
‘About six hours,’ Clare Reynolds glanced at her wrist-watch. ‘It’s now just after seven. Evening.’
She approached them. ‘Now tell me how you’re feeling. Any aches, pains, you think I should know about? You?’ She looked at the girl.
‘I’m just numb.’
The doctor now looked even paler to Culver, if that were possible, but she managed a sad smile. ‘We all are mentally. How do you feel physically? Do you hurt anywhere?’
The girl shook her head.
‘Good. Do you want to tell us your name?’
The girl sat upright on the edge of the bed and wiped a hand across her eyes. ‘Kate,’ she said.
‘Surname?’
‘Garner.’
‘Welcome to the survivors’ club, Kate Garner.’ The icy tone hardly sounded welcoming. ‘How does your leg feel, Mr Culver?’
‘Like it was bitten by a rat.’ Culver raised his knees beneath the single blanket and rested his wrists over them. ‘What’s been going on while we were asleep?’
‘That’s why I’m here. A meeting is about to start in the shelter’s dining room. You’ll find out all you want to know there. Are you fit enough to get dressed?’
Culver nodded and realized that, for the moment at least, he had put something behind him. The pain, the tormenting images, could be kept in cold storage for a while. They would never leave him, of that he was sure, but for the time being they could be suppressed. A cold fury was taking hold inside and he knew it would help sustain him throughout whatever was yet to come. For a while.
The doctor reached up to the bunkbed above, then tossed his clothes into his lap. ‘Jacket’s a little burnt and your jeans and shirt are somewhat torn, but no need to worry – the meeting won’t be formal. Kate, could you come over to another bed? I just want to have another look at you.’
Culver quickly dressed, wincing at the pain sudden movement caused. He must have been more bruised than he realized, and the whole of his thigh had stiffened. He found his tan boots beneath the bed and grunted as he bent to lace them up; it felt as though someone had slammed a medicine-ball into his stomach. He stood, using the upper bunk as support until he felt steady, then joined the doctor and the girl.
‘Everything okay?’ he asked, looking from one to the other.
‘No serious damage.’ The doctor stood. ‘Let’s join the others.’
‘How many “others” are there?’ Culver said. ‘And who are they?’
‘Engineers mostly, technicians permanently based here to operate the telephone equipment. The rest are ROCs – members of the Royal Observer Corps – and one or two Civil Defence people. More should have joined us at the first warning of attack, but . . .’ she shrugged ‘. . . such clinically devised plans don’t always work out in practice. Especially when a whole city is in a state of panic. There are nearly forty of us in all.’
She led them from the sick bay and both Culver and the girl gasped at the size of the area they had entered.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Dr Reynolds said, noticing their astonish
ed looks. ‘It would take well over an hour to walk around the whole complex. I won’t bore you with a list of technical equipment housed down here – mainly because I don’t understand most of it myself – but we have our own power plant and two standby plants. We also have our own artesian well and purification plant, so water won’t be a problem. That’s the switching unit area to the left and the power plant is just ahead of us. Further on is the kitchen, dining room and welfare department; that’s where we’re headed.’
The harsh glare from the overhead neon lights added to the atmosphere of machine-sterility; no warmth reflected from the grey-green walls. A quiet hum of power indicated electronic life in the non-human world, but Culver noticed that no individual machinery appeared to be functioning. He briefly wondered if there was anyone else left to communicate with.
Eventually, after what seemed like a long journey through confusing corridors, a different kind of humming reached his ears, but this was distinctly human: it was the sound of many voices in low-pitched conversation. The three of them entered the dining room and heads swung round in their direction, all conversation coming to a halt.
6
Dealey sat at one end of the room, white pads held by a bandage covering his eyes; at the same table, positioned at a right angle to the three rows of dining tables, were two blue-uniformed figures, one female, and two other men in civilian clothes. One of the latter whispered something to Dealey, who stood.
‘Please come forward, Mr Culver,’ Dealey said. ‘And the young lady, too. Dr Reynolds, if you would join us at this table.’
Many of the people in the room were wearing white overalls and all looked pale and tired. They watched Culver and Kate curiously, almost as though they were interlopers gatecrashing an exclusive club. Two seats were offered them and they took their places close to the top table. The doctor sat next to Dealey.
Two mugs and a coffee pot were pushed towards Culver and he nodded his thanks, pouring for himself and the girl. No sugar or milk was offered. The buzz of conversation had started again and, as he raised the mug to his lips, he was aware of the barely suppressed stridency that prevailed. He glanced at Kate; she was gazing into the dark brown liquid as if it would somehow reveal some insane reasoning for all that had happened, some crazy logic as to why man should choose to shatter the very earth he lived upon. He wondered what she had lost personally – husband, family, lover? No wedding or engagement ring, so perhaps lover or even lovers. Parents, brothers and sisters. The memory of them all had to be bombarding her emotions, a relentless tormentor that only oblivion itself could vanquish. Everyone in the room was going through the same ordeal, the loss of relatives, loved ones, the sense of waste, futility, the fear of what lay ahead for themselves. Culver felt the coldness spreading through him like a creeping night shadow.