Noises came from outside, shouts, splashing, a frenzy of movement. They shone the lamp and the flashlight towards the door just as Strachan appeared; Ellison was close behind, and there were other figures jostling one another to get into the ventilation room. Strachan beamed his own torch in their direction and shouted with relief when he saw them.
A scream from outside changed his expression.
The men – there appeared to be no women among them – bundled through the door, some falling, tripping those behind. A flurry of activity outside increased the panic.
Culver understood what was happening and dived beneath the water, taking the guillotine blade with him. He found the grille lock and tried to insert the length of metal into the crack beside it, using the thin blade-edge. The task was too cumbersome with the torch in one hand and the metal in the other. He quickly re-surfaced and thrust the dripping flashlight into the startled Jackson’s hand.
‘Take a deep breath and come down with me!’ Culver instructed him. ‘Hold the beam on the lock while I prise the grid open.’
He disappeared again and felt the long crack between door and frame with his fingers. The light appeared almost immediately and he guided Jackson’s hand towards the lock. Using both his own hands, Culver slid the blade fractionally into the slit just above the lock, then worked it in, using only slight pressure to open the gap wider, pushing the metal blade in further as he did so.
When it was two or three inches inside, he used more pressure, pushing the blade at an angle towards the shaft wall, praying the metal would not snap. The gap widened, just a little. He eased the pressure, then tried again. The lock resisted and the blade quivered in the eerie, watery light. His breath was leaving him, but he knew he hadn’t a second to lose; Strachan and the others had been followed and there were no prizes for guessing by what. The ventilation room would soon be overwhelmed by vermin.
A sudden greater use of force, regardless of breaking metal, and the door sprang open, its release quickly cushioned by water – so that it stood ajar just six inches or so.
Culver pulled it wide, snatched the torch from Jackson, and swam through, rising up on the other side gasping for air. And the air was so sweet.
He stood inside the shaft, pointing the beam upwards, drawing in deep breaths of this new, fresher air. A metal ladder was set in the wall, not with separately mounted rungs as Dealey had supposed. The ladder went straight to the top, a height of some sixty or seventy feet, perhaps more; there were openings on either side, smaller shafts, metal arteries from a major vein.
Another grille obscured the top and he noticed the ladder led to a small trapdoor set in it.
He dropped back down into the water and slid through the opening, emerging among a ring of expectant faces on the other side.
‘It’s okay,’ he told them. ‘We can make it.’ He handed the blade back to Fairbank and pulled Kate closer to the shaft. ‘Take a deep breath and go straight through the opening. You’ll find a ladder to your right – start climbing straight away!’
He turned to Jackson, giving him the torch. ‘You go with her and keep the light on the opening inside the shaft.’
Activity near the doorway caught his attention.
The water’s surface was a churning pink foam and he realized that several of Strachan’s party had been caught there, the rats dragging them down, tearing them to pieces beneath the water. These strange mutants had adapted to sewer life in a way he would not have thought possible, the foul waters, whether sluggish with slime or rushing with rainfall, holding no fears for them, just another part of their underworld environment. At least those dying men were distracting the vermin, unwillingly giving the others a chance to get clear.
‘Move!’ he yelled at Kate.
She vanished and Jackson quickly followed. The others in the group clustered around Culver.
‘Hold it!’ He raised a hand as if to ward them off. ‘One at a time or we’ve all had it!’ He tugged at the nearest man to him. ‘You next, make it quick!’
The engineer eagerly complied.
As the next man went through, Culver saw that there were no more than a dozen left in the ventilation plant. There was no way of knowing how many others were still alive but trapped in other parts of the complex, and no time to reflect upon it. There was nothing more that he and the others could do; to attempt to rescue any more would probably prove fatal for them all.
One of the men standing on the fringe of the group suddenly cried out. His eyes showed surprise, but he kept motionless except for his head, which slowly peered down into the black water swilling just below his chin. His face abruptly creased in agony as he screamed, the cry filling the room, rebounding off the walls. He fell backwards, arms beating at the water.
Another man, close to him, shouted and lunged down. He quickly came up, his hands full with a writhing, black-furred creature. The rat’s incisors snapped at the air, its frantic scrabbling too powerful for the man to contain. It fell onto his shoulder, wicked, pointed head twisting to gouge his cheek. The spurting blood drove the rodent to a new frenzy.
As the others watched dumbstruck, Dealey was already sinking below the surface, nose and breath held. He found the opening and pushed his clumsy body through.
‘The bastards are coming from beneath!’ Fairbank held the blade high and shone the lamp down into the water. He slashed down and a murky shape below changed direction. He slashed again, keeping up a constant thrashing, more to scare off the creatures than to injure them. Blood oozed from one that was not quite swift enough.
The men were bunched together forming a rough semi-circle, their backs to the shaft. Culver found himself next to Ellison who, like Strachan, held a flashlight.
‘Put the torches under the water,’ Culver ordered. ‘It might just dazzle them enough to keep them away.’
They did so and shuddered when the dim light revealed shadowy forms swimming below the waterline, like giant piranhas milling around the two men who had fallen, darting in to shake and worry their victims, backing off only when their jaws were full of ripped flesh.
Fairbank kept the lamp above the surface, afraid it would be extinguished in the water. ‘Oh, Jesus . . .’ he said as the light showed the mass of humped shapes gliding towards them.
‘You two – together!’ Culver snapped at two engineers between Ellison and Strachan.
‘I can’t swim,’ one of them said pleadingly.
‘Move, you silly fucker!’ Culver roared.
His companion pulled him down and their shapes disappeared through the opening.
‘Give me the torch,’ Culver said to Ellison, who looked at him suspiciously before doing so. ‘Go through,’ Culver told him. ‘You too, Strachan. You can keep your light.’
The two men wasted no time in arguing. Bubbles rose where they had been standing.
Now only Culver and Fairbank remained outside the shaft. Just beyond the foaming patch where the unfortunate victims were under attack, the surface was covered almost totally, scarcely a break between them, by gliding dark humps, an army of vermin, now unhindered, streaming through the doorway like a thick, black oil slick, spreading outwards.
No words were necessary: both men swallowed air and dived.
Fairbank went through first and turned to help Culver. The pilot was almost inside when something dragged at his ankle. He whirled beneath the water as sharp pain shot up his leg. His hands found the bottom of the frame and he pulled himself into the shaft, his right leg held back by the rat that had sunk its teeth to the bone of his ankle.
Culver kicked out with his other foot, but the water would allow no force. The blow glanced off the vermin’s back.
Fairbank pulled at the leg, slicing down with the blade at the same time. The lamp, its light gone as soon as it was below the surface, had been discarded, but Culver had the presence of mind to keep his light on the creature. The blade sank into the animal’s shoulder, but not deep enough to shake its grip. Fairbank tugged the leg through and drove t
he cutter down again into the rat’s back. Inky fluid almost blinded him.
He let go of Culver’s leg and pulled at the metal grille, closing it as much as the rat and Culver’s foot would allow. Something heavy struck the outside and he felt a sleek body brush against his fingertips. A sudden nip made him quickly withdraw them from the meshwork.
Culver managed to get his foot below the bottom rim of the opening, the rat still clinging, its neck stretched over the strip of metal, the rest of its body outside. Even though visibility was poor, Fairbank was able to understand Culver’s intention, and he struck quickly, pressing down on the flat side of the blade with one hand, slicing through the creature’s spinal cord at the neck.
The rat squirmed for several seconds before becoming rigid, then limp. In desperate need for air, Fairbank helped Culver prise the teeth from his ankle. The pilot kicked the corpse back through the opening and punched out at another long snout that was wriggling its way through the narrow gap. Surprised, the rodent backed off.
Both men pulled the grille shut, feeling the tremors as their attackers darted forward and struck the other side. They snatched their fingers free before they could be bitten off, then rose to the surface together.
A clamour of relief burst out around the shaft as they emerged and hands clapped them on the shoulders and back. The two men shielded their eyes against the glare of torches. Several rungs up on the ladder, Kate laughed and wept at the same time, hysteria close, a trembling weakness threatening to dislodge her.
Culver brought the cheering to an abrupt halt. ‘We’re not out of it yet!’ he told them, the words unusually loud in the confines of the tower, noises from the shelter itself completely cut off. ‘There’s no way we can keep the grille closed, so start climbing that ladder – fast!’
He saw there were already three figures perched on the ladder, Kate being the highest. He just hoped it would take all their combined weight. ‘Jackson, get past Kate. You’re going to have to smash a way out through the top.’
They began moving upwards, those below crowding around the foot of the ladder, anxious to be clear of the water. A bright flash from above, followed almost immediately by a deep rumbling. For a heart-stopping moment they feared the worst, another nuclear attack. But they soon realized the reverberation was thunder, the white light its precursor. They continued the journey to the top of the ladder.
‘Those rats are going to be in here at any second,’ Fairbank muttered to Culver as they watched the others climb.
‘If we just had something to keep the door tight against its frame . . .’
‘A belt? We could thread a thin belt through the grille, hold it closed from this side. We wouldn’t need much pressure to keep it shut.’
‘You want to put your hand outside to push the belt back in?’
‘Not such a good idea, right?’
Strachan drew close, unscrewing the bottom of the rubber torch he held. ‘Just an idea,’ he said.
The light went out and Culver shone his own torch on the engineer. The tight-fitting bottom section of Strachan’s flashlight came away and he held it in the palm of his hand, exposing the tough length of curled wire inside. He dropped the main section into the water.
‘We can shape this so it’ll fit around the grille,’ he said. ‘It isn’t strong, but maybe we can keep the grille shut long enough for all of us to climb out.’
‘It’s an idea,’ Culver agreed. ‘If we push it through near the top, one of us can stand and still hold onto it. Let me have it.’
‘No, you come down with me and hold the light.’ Strachan pulled the spring out, then bent it into a curve.
They took deep breaths and allowed themselves to sink. The rats outside were thumping their bodies against the grille, aware that their prey was just beyond the thin barrier. Teeth gnashed at the wire as it was threaded through.
The other end came back a few notches lower and Strachan quickly twisted it around the part still connected to the torch base. He gave the loop a testing tug then straightened, his fingers still holding on. Culver checked the improvised lock before rising himself.
‘It looks good,’ he said, after taking a breath.
‘Yeah,’ Fairbank commented. ‘The only question is, who hangs onto it while the rest of us get clear?’
‘Or how long will it take for the water to cover whoever that person is,’ Culver added, noticing that Strachan was stooping to maintain the hold, his chin touching the water’s surface.
‘You two go,’ Strachan said. ‘I’ll hold it for as long as I can.’
Culver and Fairbank glanced at each other and the latter shrugged. ‘Who’s arguing?’ he said. He offered the blade to Strachan. ‘You want this?’
‘No. When I climb that ladder I want to get up fast. That thing’s going to get in the way.’
‘Anything you say.’ Fairbank reached out for a rung, the heavy blade gripped precariously between his teeth.
‘You sure?’ Culver said quietly to Strachan as Fairbank climbed.
‘Get going, they’re getting impatient out there. I can feel the clever buggers pulling at the grille with their claws. Thank God they need air and can’t keep it up for too long.’
Culver briefly clutched the engineer’s shoulder as he pushed by him. ‘Okay. See you up top.’
‘Culver?’
The pilot turned, one hand on a rung above his head.
‘What the fuck are these monsters? How could they have grown like this?’
Culver shook his head. ‘Maybe Dealey has more answers.’ He began to climb.
Above, Jackson was pushing at a fine wire mesh that covered the top section of the shaft. It swung open easily and he went through. He found himself in a space about five feet high, louvre-type struts on either side, the roof slightly curved. Strong metal bars crossed the wire mesh from side to side, giving a firmer base to stand on. He could hear the rain outside as he listened at the opening, but could see nothing. It was strange to realize it was night time out there, for the last few weeks had been a world of constant artificial light. Kate joined him and breathed in the wonderful night air, its clean dampness so much fresher than the air inside the dark tower.
There were five separate strutted sections, each no more than a foot wide, and Jackson pushed at one, testing its strength. ‘I think I can kick them out,’ he said to Kate.
‘Hurry then,’ she replied, moving aside to give him room.
Jackson lay with his back against the metal bars and kicked with both feet. The struts he had aimed at held, but he felt them shift with the blow. A second, more concentrated kick splintered them. A third created a gap. He aimed higher next time and repeated the process.
Progress on the ladder had come to a halt, the space at the top of the shaft too confined and the mesh, despite the bars, too weak to support them all. Dealey, just behind an engineer whose head and shoulders were poking through the opening above, looked down into the well and felt nauseated. They were an awful long way up. He closed his eyes, resting his head against a ladder rung, his fists clenched tightly around the uprights. He was already wondering how they would get down on the outside.
At the bottom, Strachan strained to keep a grip on the wire loop beneath the water, twisting his head every so often to suck in a breath, the level now well past his chin. The rats outside were frantically scrabbling at the grille and several had managed to widen the gap at the lock side and were pushing their claws through, excited by the blood tingeing the water around them.
Strachan tensed even more when he felt something catch the wire loop on the other side. The loop jerked as razor-sharp teeth bit into it. It snapped.
Strachan wasted no time. He lunged for the ladder as the door began to swing away from him.
Just ahead of Ellison, who was above Fairbank and Culver, the engineer who had earlier announced that he couldn’t swim clung to the ladder, his lips moving in silent prayer, eyes gazing through the rungs at the rough concrete directly in front of him,
refusing to look either up or down, and wondering if he should have mentioned that he couldn’t stand heights either. More brilliant light suddenly filled the upper levels of the tower, followed closely by the deep, rumbling thunder which seemed to shake the very ladder he rested on. He pressed closer to the wall. The thunder faded and a new noise caught his attention. A scraping sound.
Set in the wall beside him was a rectangular air duct, covered, as was the one now below water, with a metal grid. Beyond the grid, he assumed, were the filters to purify the air that was sucked through. The scraping seemed to be coming from inside.
He peered closer, nervous of looking but too nervous not to. He thought he heard movement inside. Thankful that the metal grid covered the opening, he looked even closer, squinting his eyes to see into the small, regular-patterned holes.
Lightning from outside invaded the upper part of the tower again, not quite penetrating its depths, but creating enough reflected light for him to see.
It seemed that a hundred yellow-gleaming eyes were staring out at him, black, hump-shaped bodies crammed into the tiny space behind them. As one, they leapt forward, crashing into the grid and rattling the metal in its mounting.
The engineer howled in fright, reflexively backing away. His foot slipped from the rung, his hands lost their grip. He fell outwards, his cry continuing to a higher pitch, ending only when he plunged into the murky waters below.
Strachan felt, rather than saw, the descending body. He squeezed against the ladder, shoulders hunched and body tensed. A foot caught him a heavy blow on his scalp and he went down, only his tight hold on a rung saving him from falling to his knees.
He felt movement around his legs, smooth bodies bumping against them. The small, confined chamber abruptly exploded into a violent, thrashing cauldron of motion and sounds. The fallen engineer’s gurgled shrieks merged with the high-pitched squealing of rats.
Strachan tried to heave himself upwards, but something held his leg. Teeth punctured his thigh.
He pulled, using all his strength, mouth open wide but only a thin, keening sound emerging. He began to rise and then another weight attached itself to his lower body. The pointed jaws closed on the loose parts below his groin and, as he rose, inch by inch, he could feel them tearing away, a fraction at a time, tendons and blood vessels stretching, separating, bleeding. He moaned at the men above to help.