It couldn’t have been hours – it only felt like it – when they reached the recessed door. They collapsed into the opening, careful to keep their feet and relieved that some of the pressure decreased slightly. Fairbank began pounding on the metal surface with the end of his torch.
Culver felt Bryce beginning to sink once again and he held on to him tightly, knowing he would not be able to keep his grip for too long; now that they had reached comparative safety his strength was fading fast. Last time it had been fire he was trying to escape from, this time it was its opposite – water.
‘Open up, you bastards!’ Fairbank was yelling. ‘Open this fucking door, you shitheads!’ He pounded harder, rage giving him the energy.
Bryce was slipping away and Culver resolutely held on to him. He suddenly felt incredibly weak, as though his last remaining ounce of strength had decided enough is enough, there was no more.
He forced himself to stay erect by sheer willpower and it was only when that instinct had also decided to desert him that he felt the metal behind him giving way.
The door opened and he, Bryce and Fairbank were washed through with the torrent.
Hands reached for them as they tumbled over the floor. Culver came to rest between a large locker and a concrete wall and he lay there, resting his back in the corner, watching the figures struggling to close the metal door against the floodwater. It was a hardfought battle, the water cascading in and threatening to flood the whole complex.
More figures rushed forward to help and he saw Dealey standing nearby, watching anxiously, water already lapping around his ankles.
Culver’s tired mind could not understand why the man standing next to Dealey was holding a gun on him. Why yet another man, the engineer called Ellison, was also pointing a gun, this one directed towards Culver himself.
15
‘Would someone tell me what the hell is going on?’
Kate passed a steaming hot mug of coffee to Culver which he accepted gratefully. He sipped, the liquid burning his lips, but tasting good, warming. He was still soaking wet and had not yet been allowed to change into drier clothes. The faces surrounding him in the Operations Room were neither hostile nor friendly; they were curious.
‘What happened to McEwen?’ asked one of the engineers whom Culver knew as Strachan, ignoring the pilot’s own question. Strachan was sitting in the seat behind the room’s only desk, the one usually occupied by Alex Dealey. Culver noted that there were no longer any guns in evidence, but the shift in power was obvious without them.
‘We lost him,’ Culver answered. His hair was damp and flat over his forehead, his eyes heavy-lidded, an indication of his exhaustion.
‘How?’ Strachan’s tone was cold.
‘In the tunnel. He was swept away with the floodwater.’ He tasted more coffee before adding, ‘There’s a chance he’s still alive out there. Now would you mind telling me what this is all about?’
‘It’s about democracy,’ Strachan replied, his expression serious.
‘Lunacy, more like it.’ Dealey was sitting on one side of the room, agitated and looking as if ready to erupt.
Farraday, leaning back against a wall map behind the desk, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and hands tucked into his trouser pockets, said, ‘Perhaps not, Alex. Their attitude could be the correct one.’
Culver noticed Farraday’s shirt collar was open at the neck, his tie hanging loosely against his chest. It was the first time he had seen the senior engineer appear so untidy. Farraday had maintained his own rigid discipline in the shelter, shaving every day, shirt and tie always neatly in place, even if the collar had lost most of its crispness of late.
‘That’s nonsense,’ Dealey retorted. ‘There has to be some kind of order, some voice of authority—’
‘Some ruling power?’ Strachan smiled and Culver thought the smile didn’t look good on him.
‘Wait a minute,’ the pilot interrupted. ‘Are you saying you’re taking control, Strachan?’
‘No, not at all. I’m saying there’ll be a majority decision from now on. We’ve seen what bloody power-mad individuals can do, and that all ended with the first bomb.’
Dealey’s tone was acid. ‘Government by consensus, if I understand you correctly. Well, we had a little example of that just a short time ago, didn’t we?’ He turned to Culver, who did not enjoy his smile either. ‘Do you know they had to take a vote on whether or not to let you back into the shelter? They were worried it would be flooded once they opened that door. You were lucky they wanted any information you had gathered.’
Culver looked at Strachan, then around at the others who had managed to cram into the room. He said nothing, just sipped the coffee. The revolver had disappeared from his waistband and he wondered if he had lost it in the tunnel or if it had been taken from him while he lay exhausted on the floor near the tunnel doorway.
Strachan betrayed only a hint of anger.
‘From here on everything’s to be decided for the common good. If that sounds like Marxist or Trotskyist phraseology, then it’s your own blinkered thinking that’s telling you so. There aren’t enough of us left any more for hierarchy, or government by a few fools. Your kind of politics are over, Dealey, and the sooner you realize it the better it will be for you.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘No, I’m not bloody threatening you. I’m explaining the situation.’
‘Do you mind telling me what you’ve got in mind?’ said Culver, impatient with the argument.
‘Autonomy for—’
Culver interrupted Strachan. ‘I’m not interested. I want to know what you plan to do about the situation we’re in.’
Ellison spoke. ‘We’re going to abandon this shelter, for a start.’
Culver leaned back in his seat and sighed. ‘That may not be a good idea.’
‘Would you tell us why you think that?’ asked Farraday.
This time it was Fairbank who answered.
‘Because there’s hardly anything left up there, you silly bastards.’
There was a stunned silence before Strachan said, ‘Tell us exactly what you found. We’ve already decided on our course of action, but it would be helpful to know what we’ve got to face.’
‘You’ve decided?’ Fairbank shook his head in mock dismay. ‘I thought this was a democracy. What happened to our vote?’ He pointed at Culver and himself.
‘It’s a majority decision.’
‘Without proper consultation and, more importantly, without all the facts,’ said Dealey.
‘The most important fact is that most of us want to leave.’
‘It’s not safe, not yet,’ said Culver, then began to tell them of their expedition, the sheer horror of their discoveries. They listened in wretched silence, each man and woman lost in their own personal despair. There were no questions when he had finished, only a heavy quietness hanging in the room like an invisible, oppressive cloud.
Finally, Strachan broke the silence. ‘It changes nothing. Most of us have families we have to get to. I accept that not many may have survived in London itself, but not all of us had homes in the city. We can get out to the suburbs, the home counties, find them.’
Culver leaned forward, wrists on his knees. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said calmly, ‘but just remember: there are rabid animals out there, people who are dying and who are just too many to help, and buildings – those left standing in some form – are collapsing all the time. Nothing’s solid above us, and the rain is making it worse.’
He drained the last of the coffee and gave the cup to Kate to be refilled.
‘Disease is bound to spread,’ he continued, ‘typhus, cholera – Dr Reynolds has already listed them for you. If that isn’t enough, you’ve got vermin roaming the tunnels, maybe even above ground by now. We saw one or two dead rodents in the station and we saw the damage they’d inflicted. If you come up against a pack of them, you’d have no chance.’
‘Listen to him, he’s right,’
Dealey said almost triumphantly. ‘It’s what I’ve been telling you all along!’
‘Dealey,’ Culver warned, well aware that the man’s attempt to dominate, to run things to his order, had led to this confrontation. Law and Order did not exist any more, and Dealey had no force behind him to back up his command. As far as Culver could tell, those who had been aligned with him had soon defected; Farraday was a prime example. ‘Just keep your mouth shut.’
Dealey’s mouth closed, more in surprise than in obedience. Culver stared at him directly, trying to convey that the situation was more threatening than it appeared; he sensed the mounting tension despite his own tiredness, an hysteria that had steadily risen during the weeks of their incarceration. The fact that these men had used arms as an aid to their ‘coup’ was an indication of just how high emotions were running. And there was a gleam in Strachan’s eye that was as unwelcome as his grin.
‘Well, isn’t this cosy.’ Clare Reynolds pushed her way through the cluster of bodies around the doorway. She cradled a brandy bottle in one arm. ‘Thought you two could use some of this,’ she said, making her way over to Culver and Fairbank. She uncorked the bottle and poured stiff measures into their coffee mugs. ‘You ought to get out of those wet clothes right away. I’ve treated Bryce’s wounds and given him his first rabies shot, but it looks like he’s in for a rough ride over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, for him, his incubation period could last from anything to ten days, a month – maybe even two years if he’s really unlucky.’
The doctor turned towards the men seated around the desk. ‘So how’s the revolution going?’
‘Take it easy, Clare,’ Strachan told her. ‘You were just as disgusted with Dealey’s imposed regime as any of us.’
‘I didn’t like his high-handed ways, sure, but his objectives made some sense. One thing that disgusts me above all else, though – and particularly after all that’s happened – is the use of force.’
‘We didn’t use force,’ Ellison snapped.
‘You used weapons, and in my book, that’s force! Haven’t you learned anything?’
‘We’ve learned not to listen to bastards like him!’ Ellison pointed at Dealey.
She sighed wearily, knowing it was pointless to continue the argument – she had tried that just before and after the take-over. ‘Bryce was able to tell me a little of what it’s like up there: can you fill in the details?’
Culver repeated his story, giving an even more graphic account of the radiation victims’ condition.
‘That settles it, then,’ the doctor said when he had finished. ‘There’s no way you can leave the safety of this shelter. If all the other factors don’t destroy you – including the flooding in the tunnels – then the vermin will.’
‘The water will subside once the rain stops,’ Strachan said quickly. ‘And it may even have done us a favour.’
All eyes turned towards him.
‘It will have flushed out the rats, destroyed their nests,’ he told them. ‘They won’t be a threat any more.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Dr Reynolds. She lit a cigarette. ‘These creatures can swim.’
‘Not in the conditions out there,’ countered Ellison.
‘All the tunnels may not have been flooded.’
‘She’s right,’ said Dealey. ‘Many of the tube tunnels and sewers have flood doors that would have been closed shortly after or before the bombs dropped.’
‘More government precautions to save the élite,’ sneered Strachan.
Dealey ignored him. ‘And other tunnels would be well above sewer level.’
Clare Reynolds exhaled cigarette smoke into the tightly packed room. ‘I think it’s time we learned a little more about these Black rats. Did you come across any live vermin, Steve?’
Culver shook his head and Fairbank added a ‘Thank God’.
She regarded Alex Dealey coldly. ‘And what does – did – the government know about them? You see, I found poisons in the supply store that could only be used against rats, as well as the antitoxin I administered to you and Steve when you first arrived at the shelter. That antitoxin was specifically for the disease carried by this particular strain of mutant Black rat, so I figure their threat was still known and still feared. Was the government aware the problem hadn’t been completely eradicated, that these creatures still existed in our sewers?’
‘I was just a Civil Servant, Dr Reynolds, and not one to be taken into ministerial confidence,’ Dealey replied uneasily.
‘Your office was the Inspector of Establishments and you yourself admitted that a large part of your duties involved fallout shelters. You must have had some knowledge of it! Look, Dealey, try to understand that we’re all in this together; the time for “official secrecy” is long past. Just tell us what you bloody-well know, even if it’s only to prevent people leaving this shelter.’
Dealey looked more irritated than intimidated. ‘Very well, I’ll tell you what I know, but believe me it isn’t much. As I implied, my position was not very high in the Civil Service echelon – far from it.’
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I’m sure most of you know that during the first London Outbreak – that was what the Black-rat infestation of the capital became known as – it was discovered that a certain zoologist by the name of Schiller inter-bred normal Black rats with a mutant, or possibly several mutants, he had brought back from the radiation-affected islands around New Guinea. The new breed soon proliferated and spread throughout London, a stronger and much more intelligent animal than the ordinary rat with, unfortunately, an insatiable taste for human flesh.
‘Most were exterminated quickly enough, although the havoc they caused was severe—’
‘You mean they killed a lot of people,’ Strachan interrupted bitterly.
Dealey went on: ‘It was thought at the time that all the vermin had been eliminated, but several must have escaped. In fact, the new outbreak several years later occurred just north-east of the city, in Epping Forest.’
‘I seem to remember we were told the problem was solved permanently at that time,’ said Dr Reynolds.
‘Yes, it was believed to be so.’
‘Then how d’you account for those bloody things out there?’ Fairbank’s eyes were narrowed, anger boiling in his usually genial face.
‘Obviously some escaped the net, or had never left the city in the first place.’
‘Then why wasn’t the public informed of the danger?’ asked Strachan.
‘Because, by God, nobody knew!’
‘Then why the antitoxin, the poisons?’ Dr Reynolds asked calmly. ‘There’s even an ultrasonic machine in the supplies store.’
‘They were provided as a precaution.’
Ellison’s fist thumped against the desktop. ‘You must have known! D’you think we’re really that simple?’
Some of Dealey’s composure had gone. ‘There have been rumours over the years, that’s all. Perhaps one or two sightings, nothing—’
‘Perhaps?’ Strachan was furious and so were others in the room.
‘Nothing,’ Dealey continued, ‘definite, certainly no attacks on anyone working in the tunnels or sewers.’
‘Any disappearances?’ Culver sipped his coffee-mixed brandy as he awaited the answer to his quietly put question.
Dealey hesitated. ‘I have heard of one or two workmen going missing,’ he replied eventually. ‘But that wasn’t unusual. Sewers flood from time to time after heavy rainfall, tunnels collapse—’
‘How many exactly?’ Culver persisted, remembering Bryce’s earlier conjecture that Dealey would know.
‘Good Lord, man, I can’t give you figures. It was hardly my department.’
‘But you were involved in the building of new shelters and extending and updating old ones. Any records of men disappearing while that kind of work was going on?’
‘There are always accidents, deaths even, involved in underground excavation.’
‘Disappearances, though??
??
‘This is getting—’
‘Why so evasive, Dealey?’ Clare Reynolds asked. ‘What are you hiding?’
‘Nothing at all. It’s just that I don’t see the point of all this. Certainly, several people have been lost in the tunnels over the years, but as I’ve stressed, it’s nothing unusual.’
‘Were their bodies ever recovered?’ persisted Culver.
‘Not all, but yes, some were.’
‘Intact?’
Dealey shook his head in frustration. ‘If they weren’t found until weeks, perhaps months later, then of course you’d expect the bodies to be decomposed.’
‘Eaten?’
A snort of annoyance. ‘I’m not denying there are rats living beneath the streets, but not of the mutant kind. We’ve never had evidence of that.’
‘You said earlier there’d been sightings.’
‘They could have been anything – cats, even lost dogs. And yes, I admit, large rats. Not monsters, though, as you’re suggesting.’
Clare Reynolds’ cigarette was almost singeing the filter, but still she did not extinguish it, conscious of just how low the supply was running. ‘Autopsies must have been carried out on the remains that were found, so I’d imagine the existence of the mutant Black would easily have been determined.’
‘That may be so, but I was never privy to such knowledge.’
‘So you say,’ remarked Ellison.
‘Why should I lie?’ Dealey snapped back.
‘To protect yourself.’
‘From what, exactly?’
The silence had an ominous hollowness to it.
Dr Reynolds quickly stepped in, striding to the desk and regretfully stubbing the meagre remains of her cigarette into an ashtray lying there. ‘The real point is that if we’re to deal with these overblown rodents we need to know as much about them as possible, and what poisons are most effective.’
‘I promise you,’ said Dealey, ‘I know no more than I’ve already told you.’