Domain

  McEwen stepped back, his feet moving rapidly over the wet pavement. He tripped over rubble, sprawling backwards.

  The animal, mortally wounded, tried to reach him, crawling forward, its howls diminishing to a low snarling.

  Culver moved in for the kill.

  He aimed at the dog’s head. Fired.

  Then again, into the jerking body.

  Again, and the body went rigid.

  Again, and the body went limp.

  He let his breath go and holstered the weapon.

  McEwen was slowly rising to his feet and wearing a stunned, disbelieving expression when Culver reached him.

  ‘Did it bite you?’ Culver asked.

  McEwen stared at him before answering. ‘No, no, it didn’t touch me. I didn’t realize . . .’

  ‘It attacked Bryce.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘Help us get him back.’ Culver had already turned away and was walking over to Fairbank and Bryce.

  McEwen studied the inert canine body and bit into his lower lip. He had been so close, so fucking close. The realization dawned on him that nothing could be taken for granted any more, that the ordinary could never again be trusted. That was a legacy that had been left them. Just one of the many.

  As with Culver, the chill was now inside McEwen. He hurried after the three figures as they disappeared down the steps leading into the station’s ticket hall.

  The sweet, putrid smell hit them before they had even reached the bottom step. Eagerness to get back into the shelter’s cocoon safety, the same feeling a rabbit had for its burrow when a fox was on the prowl, battled with their reluctance to enter the gloomy interior with its infestation of glutted insects and rotting human cadavers. Bryce’s moaning urged them on.

  The awkward descent down the corpse-crowded escalator was almost surreal now that their initial horror had been muted by an excess of shocks. They had the feeling of creeping into the pit of Hades and that the dead littering their path were those who had tried to flee, but had not managed to reach the sunlight. Paradoxically, the four men realized that the hell was above them.

  At one point, Fairbank and Bryce stumbled, nearly tumbling in what would have been a snowballing fall – the snowball comprised of gathering corpses – if Culver hadn’t grabbed a handrail and used his strength to hold back the others. They rested for a short while before continuing, each man drained by what had proved to be a harrowing and arduous reconnaissance. They were mentally tired, too, for the trauma had its own special debilitating effect.

  Nevertheless, none of them was keen to spend too long on the escalator: the slumped half-eaten shapes above and below were a gruesome reminder that they were not yet safe. They journeyed on, Bryce supported by Culver and Fairbank, McEwen leading the way, torchlight sweeping the stairway before them.

  They heard the peculiar rushing noise long before they reached the bottom, and looked at each other quizzically before resuming the descent. The sound was emanating from the archway leading to the eastbound platform and as they drew nearer the four men began to understand its source. McEwen anxiously hurried ahead, the others hampered by the injured man.

  The sound became a roar as they rounded the corner into the archway. McEwen’s lone figure was standing at the edge of the platform, his torch held low. They reached him and they, too, shone their lights down into the raging torrent, its sound amplified by the circular walls and ceiling of the station platform.

  ‘The sewers must have flooded!’ McEwen shouted above the roar. ‘All this rainfall must have been too much.’

  ‘Too many cave-ins, caused by the explosions,’ Fairbank agreed. ‘The water’s had nowhere to run.’

  ‘We must get back!’ There was panic in Bryce’s voice.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll make it.’ Culver shone his torch into the eastbound tunnel, from which direction the water was pouring. ‘It’s not too deep, not waist-high yet. We can use the struts and cables inside the tunnel to pull ourselves along.’

  ‘What about Bryce?’ said Fairbank. ‘He won’t be able to use his hand. I doubt if he’s strong enough to fight the current anyway.’

  ‘We’ll keep him between us, help him along. One in front, two behind. He’ll be okay.’

  Fairbank shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘McEwen, you get behind Fairbank, help him support Bryce as much as you can.’ Adrenalin flowing through him once more, reviving his beleaguered body, Culver prepared himself for the ordeal ahead. ‘We’ll use just my torch – that’ll leave your hands free. You set?’

  Fairbank and McEwen nodded, tucking their torches into their clothing. Bryce’s had long since disappeared.

  They walked to the end of the platform and Culver dropped down into the tunnel.

  The water was icy cold and took his breath away for a moment. The current tugged at his lower body and it was an effort to move against it, much more so than he had expected. He grabbed one of the metal struts that ribbed the arched tunnel and pulled himself along, struggling to maintain his balance, hindered by the torch in his right hand. He stopped when the other three had dropped into the water. Bracing his back against the wall, he turned to them. It was difficult to talk, not just because the confined space reverberated with the rushing sound, but also because it was difficult to regain his breath. His legs were already numbed by the chill.

  ‘Put your left arm through my right,’ he told Bryce, crooking his elbow, still holding the torch in that arm. Bryce did so and Culver gripped tight so that their arms were linked. That way he could keep the light shining ahead while still supporting the injured man, and use his other hand to grab any holds along the tunnel wall that he could find. Providing both he and Bryce kept their backs against the wall, they would be all right.

  They moved off once more, a bedraggled procession, the force against their legs becoming greater as they waded deeper into the tunnel. It was soon evident that Culver would not be able to use the torch and support Bryce at the same time; the weight on his arm was too great.

  He brought them to a halt. ‘You’ll have to use your torch, McEwen,’ he shouted. ‘Try to shine it ahead of us, against the wall on this side.’

  McEwen’s light flicked on and Culver tucked his own torch into the waistband of his jeans. He linked Bryce’s arm again, this time keeping his fist tucked tight against his own chest.

  Perspiration was soon pouring from him with the effort of pulling both himself and the injured man along, despite the numbing coldness in his lower body. The first journey into the tunnel ran through his mind, the deep, hollow silence, the discovery of the bodies, the gorging mutant rats, the petrified girl. Kate! God, he wanted to see her again.

  Bryce began to slip from his grasp.

  ‘Hold him!’ he shouted back to Fairbank as the injured man started to sink.

  Fairbank grabbed Bryce beneath his shoulders and heaved him upwards. He held him against the wall, Bryce’s mouth wide open against the dirt-grimed brickwork, gasping for breath. He tried to speak, but they could not hear his words.

  ‘He’s not going to make it!’ Fairbank shouted to Culver.

  Culver, too, rested against the brickwork and tried to recover his breath. He leaned close to Bryce and spoke into his ear. ‘Not far now, only a little way to go. We can do it, but you’ve got to help.’

  Bryce shook his head. His eyes were closed and he looked as if he were moaning.

  Culver slid one arm from his jacket and slipped off the shoulder holster. Pulling the jacket sleeve back on, he tossed the flashlight into the swirling water, knowing there would not be room enough for both torch and revolver. He took the gun from its holster and tucked it securely into his jeans. Somehow it was more important to him than the torch. He reached for Bryce’s uninjured arm once more and tied the leather straps of the holster around his own arm and the Civil Defence officer’s.

  ‘You’ve got to help me, Bryce!’ he yelled. ‘I can’t do it on my own. Lean into me and don’t let the current p
ull you away! Fairbank, keep close! Keep bloody close!’

  ‘I’m up your arse,’ Fairbank assured him, even managing a grin.

  It was like travelling uphill with a typhoon around their legs and a dead weight pulling against them, but inch by inch, foot by foot, groan by groan, they made progress. After a while they saw that the floodwaters ahead were bubbling foam and the wrenching grip was now around their hips. The water was rising.

  ‘We’ve got to cross the tracks, get over to the other wall,’ Culver shouted back to the others, inwardly cursing himself for not having thought of it when the going had been a little easier. The rushing, liquid roar was almost deafening and he wasn’t sure that the others had heard him. He pointed to the opposite wall and Fairbank nodded.

  Culver let go of the thick cables that ran along the wall at shoulder level and, taking a deep breath in case he should fall, stepped out into the flow. He almost lost his footing immediately, so strong was the current. He staggered back, but hands reached out to steady him.

  ‘Let me go first,’ Fairbank shouted into his ear. ‘We’ll form a chain. Me, then Bryce with you hanging on to the cables at this side. We should be able to stretch right across. McEwen can go with Bryce, keeping behind him to hold him steady.’

  Culver gripped the top of the fixed cables and braced himself. ‘Go ahead.’

  Holding on to the wrist of Bryce’s injured hand, Fairbank waded into the water, body leaning into the flow, McEwen stretching out from behind to help. Careful not to trip on the tracks hidden below, the engineer reached the centre of the tunnel, Bryce supported by the ROC officer, left arm still strapped to Culver’s, going with him. Fairbank paused, struggling against the tide to maintain his balance. He felt as if icy arms had wrapped themselves around his legs and were trying to drag them backwards, maliciously eager to unbalance him. He knew if he were to make it to the other side he would need all his strength and manoeuvrability; he’d have to release the injured man’s wrist.

  ‘Hold him!’ he shouted to the others, then plunged towards the opposite wall, jumping forward slightly, knowing the current would carry him back. The idea worked, but he had trouble finding a handhold, for he was down in the water, the current sweeping around his chest. He was carried several yards back before finding something to grip. There was a small recess in the curved wall and he grabbed its edge gratefully. Dragging himself up, he rested there for a short while, catching his breath, chest heaving. He could make out the shapes of the others, silhouetted by McEwen’s unsteady torch. Bryce would not last long out there in midstream, for McEwen was having problems himself. Fair-bank used the cables on that side to haul himself back.

  When he was level with the other three men he took a firm grip on the top cable and stretched his body out towards Bryce, bending into the current as he did so. There was a gap of several feet still between them.

  ‘McEwen, you next. Grab my hand.’

  The ROC officer moved from behind the injured man, working his way steadily towards Fairbank. Once the gap had been bridged, they could all move across providing the engineer had the strength to hold them all.

  His fingertips touched Fairbank’s, palm slid across palm, fingers curled around wrists.

  ‘The torch, pass me the torch,’ Fairbank ordered. He uncurled his grip from around the other man’s wrist and splayed his fingers.

  Still holding on to Fairbank’s arm with his right hand, McEwen placed the torch in the engineer’s open palm, the movement slow and deliberate, the current threatening to dislodge them at any moment. The positioning was awkward and the light was never still, but it afforded them some visibility.

  The strain on Culver at the opposite side of the tunnel increased, for only his strength now held Bryce. He could feel the Civil Defence officer weakening by the second.

  ‘Hurry!’ he shouted across to the others. ‘He can’t last much longer!’

  McEwen grasped the injured man’s wrist, keeping his eyes off the bare stumps of the fingers, the makeshift bandage long since gone, concentrating only on pulling Bryce towards him.

  Culver moved away from the brickwork, a foot brushing against a rail beneath the swirling dark waters. He stepped over it, nudging Bryce ahead of him, his body angled against the current. He let go of the cables, stretching his arm forward for balance. The pressure was tremendous and he noticed that the water was up to his waist.

  Fairbank pulled and Culver pushed and they might well have made it had not something rammed into McEwen’s midriff. The object spun around so that its length jammed against all three men midstream.

  When McEwen looked down and saw the wide rictal grin of the dead man, the lifeless eyes somehow conveying the agony of drowning, something snapped inside. He screamed and both hands lost their grip.

  The merciless water snatched him away before he could regain his balance.

  The sudden total burden of Bryce’s weight was too much for Culver’s own precarious balance. Both he and Bryce plunged backwards.

  Fairbank, shoved against the wall, could only watch in dismay as the three men hurtled back along the tunnel, only heads and occasionally shoulders bobbing above the surface. McEwen’s screams could be heard over the roar.

  He pressed himself back against the shiny brickwork and closed his eyes. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he said. ‘Oh Jesus.’

  Culver went under, his body spinning beneath the churning surface. Something was pulling him down, a weight that hardly struggled against the force that tore at them. Whether Bryce was unconscious or merely shocked into immobility there was no way of knowing, but regret that he was tied to the injured man stabbed at Culver’s disordered thoughts like a taunting barb. He choked on the water that filled his throat, his lungs, forcing his way back above the foaming surface, spluttering, coughing, wheezing for breath.

  He pulled at the limp body, dragging it up, Bryce’s head rising next to his, unseen in the darkness but jerking violently as if he too were gasping for air.

  Culver felt the straps around their arms loosening, Bryce’s body beginning to slip away. It would have been a relief to have let the burden go, to use all his unencumbered strength to reach safety, but old, unrelenting memories stirred inside, rising through the panic like dark shadowy ghosts.

  He reached beneath Bryce’s shoulder and struck out for the side of the tunnel, digging his heels into the firm ground below. Carried along by the momentum of the water and his own efforts, he crashed into the wall. He desperately clung to the other man as their bodies were spun round, once, twice; on the third spin his grasping hand found purchase. They had been swept back as far as the metal-ribbed section of the tunnel, the station platform probably just a short distance away in the darkness. Culver clung there, holding Bryce to his chest with his other arm, gasping in air and praying that the surge would not grow any stronger.

  When he had regained his breath, he called out for McEwen, but there was no answer. Maybe he couldn’t hear above the noise. He might have found a hold somewhere and be hanging on for dear life just out of earshot. Culver doubted his own hopes, for inside the station itself the walls were smooth with nothing to cling to. Unless McEwen had managed to scramble onto the platform, he had no chance of preventing himself from being swept through into the next tunnel. Light suddenly skimmed along the surface of the broiling water from the other direction, the glare dazzling him.

  Fairbank! Fairbank was still back there! This time he called out to the engineer, but again doubted his voice could be heard.

  Bryce began to stir and Culver drew him upwards, so that their faces were level.

  ‘Can you move, Bryce? We’ve got to get back along the tunnel before the water rises any further.’ A thought struck him, one that he pushed away, refusing to worry over it at that stage. One thing at a time, Culver, just one thing at a time.

  Bryce tried to reply, but the words were inaudible.

  Holding the Civil Defence officer’s arm tightly, Culver began to edge his way forward once more. A shape rus
hed by, reflected highlights from the torchlight giving it some form. Another shape, and this time its face was pointed upwards, protruding from the water like a death mask. Oh God, thought Culver, somewhere else in the lower regions of the city others had been taking shelter, perhaps in another station further along the line, perhaps in the tunnels themselves – possibly even the sewers – and they had been flushed out by the flood. Another body sped by, arms outstretched and hands clawed as if the corpse was still angry at its fate. Perhaps by now the whole of the Underground system had become one vast catacomb.

  The light was closer and Culver realized that Fairbank was coming back for them. He renewed his efforts, fighting against exhaustion as well as the tide. Fortunately, Bryce had revived enough to help himself a little.

  The journey was easier for Fairbank, who was travelling with the flow, and soon he was next to them, shining the light directly into their faces.

  ‘Thank God you’re all right,’ he yelled. ‘I thought that was the last I’d see of you.’ He shone the torch past them. ‘Where’s McEwen?’

  Culver could only shake his head.

  Fairbank stared into the distance, hoping to see the lost man. He soon gave up the search. ‘You ready to try again?’ he asked Culver.

  ‘Is there a choice?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Then I’m ready.’

  As the engineer turned away, Culver held his arm and pulled him close. ‘I thought of something a moment ago.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘What . . .’ Culver struggled to voice the concern. ‘What if we can’t get back inside? What if the shelter itself is flooded?’

  ‘Didn’t you notice the door we left by? It’s sealed. It’ll hold out any water.’

  ‘Not if they have to open it for us.’

  Fairbank thought about it, then yelled back, ‘Like I said, we got no choice.’

  Culver eased Bryce around him so that the injured man was in front. They kept him sandwiched between them as they made their way forward again.

  It was a long, long, painstaking haul, but mercifully the force against them did not increase. They were aware of more bodies floating by, but by now corpses had become nothing new and nothing to spend thought on.