Domain

  Culver shuddered. It was as though the souls of the dead were revealing their story to him, their horror still existing in the complex of torn metal, the last thoughts of the dying collected there, waiting to be absorbed by receptive minds. He shook his head, a physical act to disperse the notion.

  ‘I know this place,’ Kate was saying. ‘The down-and-outs used to sleep under this bridge. There was a mobile soup kitchen every night. But I was never aware of any compound.’

  Dealey spoke with some satisfaction. ‘Nobody was meant to. It’s surprising how anonymous and innocuous these enclosures are.’ He corrected himself. ‘Were. The tramps actually wrapped themselves in cardboard and slept against the very walls of the compound. They presented a perfect camouflage. The bridge overhead was thought to be adequate protection in the event of a nuclear explosion.’

  ‘Looks like someone goofed again,’ Ellison said bitterly. ‘Is there any way we can get through to the entrance?’

  ‘You can see for yourself. It’s buried beneath hundreds of tons of rubble,’ Dealey replied.

  ‘But there are other places.’ Culver was alert once more. ‘You told me there were other entrances.’

  ‘This was the obvious one, the one I planned to use. It was the most protected. The others are mostly inside government buildings, and they, of course, will have been covered by the ruins, just as this has.’

  ‘They must have realized what would happen,’ Fairbank said. ‘They had to have other escape routes.’

  ‘In the main, the other exits are outside what was considered the danger zones.’

  Culver frowned. ‘Wait a minute. Yesterday you told me there were other, smaller points of access along the Embankment.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s true. But I’m not sure that we can get into them, even if they aren’t covered by debris.’

  ‘Can’t we just knock?’ Fairbank asked wryly.

  ‘You don’t understand. These entrances are meant for maintenance inspection and are really only narrow shafts and tunnels.’

  ‘We’re not choosy.’

  ‘I’m not sure we’ll find a way into the main complex.’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ said Culver.

  ‘How the hell do we get past all this?’ asked Ellison, indicating the massive debris before them, then pointing towards the even bigger mass that was the destroyed Charing Cross railway station. ‘I don’t have the strength to walk around that lot – I think a couple of my ribs are fractured.’

  ‘We’ll work our way through here,’ said Culver. ‘It might be dangerous, but it’ll save time. Are you up to it, Kate?’

  She gave him a nervous smile. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s strange, but I feel so exposed out here.’

  ‘That’s what comes from living underground for so long.’

  ‘Yesterday it was different. I felt free, liberated, glad to be out of the shelter. Since this morning, though, since we were attacked . . .’ She did not bother to complete the sentence, but they all knew what she meant; they shared her feelings.

  Culver took her hand and led her towards the beginnings of the wrecked bridge. The others followed and began to climb, Fairbank giving assistance to Ellison in the more difficult places.

  ‘Keep away from anything that’s loose,’ Culver warned. ‘Some of this junk doesn’t look too solid.’

  The smell of oil and rusting metal was everywhere, but it was a relief from the other odours they had been aware of that day. Culver chose the easiest route he could find, wary of touching anything unstable. The climb was arduous in the damp heat, but not difficult. Soon they were on a level section, overlooking the continuation of the road they had just left. Culver paused, giving Kate a chance to rest and allowing the others to catch up.

  Below, the wide roadway curving slightly with the river was jammed with scorched, immobile traffic. Another road, equally wide, veered off to the right towards Trafalgar Square. The mist was minimal now, but Nelson’s Column could not be seen. Victoria Embankment, running alongside the Thames, was relatively free of debris (apart from vehicles), for the offices on the north side had been set back from the thoroughfare, gardens and lawns between. As expected, the buildings were no more than crushed ruins: the Old War Office, the Ministries of Defence and Technology – all were gone. The Admiralty at the beginning of the Mall should have been visible since nothing obscured the view but, of course, that had vanished too. He briefly wondered if all the works of art in the National Gallery, which was on the far side of Trafalgar Square, had been destroyed beneath the deluge. What significance did they have in the present world, anyway? There would be little time to appreciate anything that was not of intrinsic material use in the years ahead. As he knew they would be, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey, at the end of the road he faced, had been totally destroyed. Peculiarly, the lower section of the tower housing Big Ben was still erect, sheered off at a hundred or so feet; the top section containing the clockface protruded from the river like a tilted, rock island. And again, surprisingly, only the southern end of Westminster Bridge had collapsed. It defiantly spanned the river, just failing to reach the opposite bank.

  The sun’s fierce rays sucked up moisture from the Thames, so that it looked as if the water were boiling. Somehow it appeared to him that here were the intestines of the city’s torn body, exposed to the light and still steaming as all life gradually diminished. Masts of sunken, ancient boats, those that had been converted into smart bars and restaurants, jutted through the rolling mist. Pleasure boats, their surfaces and passengers charred black, drifted listlessly with the current, the longboat funeral pyres of a modern age. A stout wall, still unbroken, lined the riverbank, and the waterline was high, lapping over the small quaysides that were situated near the broken bridge. Much of the gardens on the other side of the road from the Embankment wall were buried beneath fallen office blocks, but here and there a tree stuck through the debris, protected from the worst of the blast by the very buildings shattered around them, leaves washed clean of dust by the constant rain, and flourishing under the humid conditions. Culver’s eyes moistened at the sight.

  Someone tapped his arm. Dealey pointed into the distance. ‘Look there, you can just see it as the road curves.’

  ‘D’you want to tell me what I’m looking for?’

  ‘Don’t you see it? A small, rectangular shape set in the pavement quite near the river wall.’

  Culver’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve got it. Like a tiny blockhouse, is that what you mean?’

  ‘That’s it. That may get us inside the shelter.’

  Culver shook his head. So many everyday sights, ignored, not even wondered at, all part of the big secret. He recalled mild curiosity when coming upon the odd ventilation shafts around the city, but always assuming they were for the Underground railway system or low-level car parks. It was only when viewed subjectively that they obtruded from the general background and took on a special significance – like the stockade over the Kingsway telephone exchange and the one they now stood over, crushed beneath Hungerford Bridge. He supposed the art of concealment was to make something commonplace, unnoticeable.

  ‘Let’s get to it,’ he said and, containing their eagerness, they scrambled down from the wreckage.

  The going was easier once they were on the ground, only human remains, carrion for colonies of feverishly crawling things, marring their progress. They had still not become used to the legions of insects, but fortunately the swarming droves were concentrated on less resistant entities.

  They were passing over a long grating set in the pavement, when Fairbank brought them to a halt. He knelt, peering down through the iron slats.

  ‘Listen!’ he said.

  The others knelt around him and saw there were thick pipes running horizontally a few feet below ground level.

  ‘What are they?’ Kate asked, slightly out of breath.

  Dealey told her. ‘Ventilation pipes, conduits containing cables, wiring. The complex is directly below us.’


  Fairbank hushed them again. ‘Listen!’

  They held their breath and listened.

  It was faint, but definite. A humming vibration.

  ‘Generators!’ Ellison proclaimed excitedly.

  They looked at each other, a gleaming in their eyes.

  ‘Jesus, they’re functioning.’ Fairbank was triumphant. ‘There are people down there!’

  He and Ellison let out whoops of glee.

  ‘I told you,’ Dealey said, surprised at their outburst, but smiling nevertheless. ‘I told you this was the main government headquarters. Didn’t I tell you that?’

  ‘You told us that.’ Kate was laughing.

  ‘Wait!’ Culver held up a hand. ‘Is it me, or is the sound getting louder?’

  The group listened more intently, Fairbank putting his ear against the grille. ‘Seems like the same pitch to me,’ he commented after a few seconds. He twisted his head to look up at Culver.

  But Culver was watching the sky.

  The others noticed and followed his gaze.

  The humming became a drone, a sound different from the one below them, and the drone grew louder.

  ‘There!’ Culver stabbed a finger at the sky.

  They saw the aeroplane at once, a dark smudge in the hazy sky, flying low from the west. Slowly, as if sudden movement would disperse the image, they rose to their feet, their faces upturned and with stunned expressions, none of them daring to speak.

  It was Dealey who broke the silence, but only with a whisper. ‘It’s following the river.’

  The aircraft was drawing nearer and Culver saw it was small, light.

  ‘A Beaver,’ he said, almost to himself.

  The others looked at him in puzzlement, then quickly returned their gaze.

  ‘An Air Corps Beaver spotter plane,’ Culver expanded. ‘On bloody reconnaissance – it has to be!’

  The tiny aircraft was almost over their heads. Fairbank and Ellison began to shout as one, waving their arms to attract the pilot’s attention. The others instantly joined in, leaping in the air, running back along the Embankment in a vain attempt to keep up with the machine, calling at the top of their lungs, flapping their arms, desperate to be noticed.

  ‘Can he see us, can he see us?’ Kate was clutching at Culver. ‘Oh God, make him see us!’

  Then it was gone, taking their spirits with it. They watched until it became a smudgy speck. They waited until it could no longer be seen.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Fairbank.

  ‘He couldn’t miss us!’ Ellison.

  ‘He may not have spotted us through the mist.’ Dealey.

  ‘It’s clearer here. There’s a chance.’ Culver.

  Weeping. Kate.

  Culver put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. ‘It doesn’t matter whether he did or not. We’re safe now. Once we’re inside the shelter, we’ll be okay. And there’s a whole tunnel network down there – a way out of London.’

  ‘I know, Steve. It’s just that for a moment we almost had contact with . . . with . . .’ She found difficulty in choosing the right word. ‘I don’t know – civilization, if you like. Something beyond all this.’ She gestured at the ruins.

  ‘We’ll have real contact soon, I promise you that.’

  ‘Do you suppose the plane will come back?’

  ‘Who knows. The pilot might choose another route; he’d want to cover as much ground as possible.’

  She nodded and wiped a hand across her nose. ‘It’s my day for crying.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ve pulled through so far. Just a little longer.’

  They returned to the grille set in the pavement and passed over it, no longer interested in the faint thrumming sound emanating from its depths.

  Reaching the grey-stoned block, they studied its rough surface, walking all around, bemused at first and soon worried.

  ‘Terrific,’ Fairbank said, wiping sweat from the back of his head. ‘No opening. How the fuck do we get inside, Dealey?’

  The object, massive and dark, a strange monolith, remained impassive and seemingly impregnable. At least twelve feet long and five or six feet wide, it resembled a huge tombstone. Or a sacrificial altar, thought Kate.

  ‘There’s a hole in the top,’ Dealey announced simply.

  The others looked at each other and Fairbank grinned. The stone blockade was six feet high, perhaps more, and the engineer had scrambled up before anyone else could move.

  ‘He’s right,’ Fairbank called down. ‘There’s a part at the end here that isn’t covered. It’s cunning, you’d never know. And there’s a door.’ He pulled the axe free of his belt. ‘It looks as if it’s locked, but I think I can handle that.’ White teeth split his grime-covered face in a grin as he surveyed them from his lofty perch. ‘Care to join me?’

  Culver stood below helping up the others, Fairbank pulling from above. He scrambled up after them and looked down into the opening.

  ‘What is this thing, Dealey? It can’t be newly built.’

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘I’ve passed this spot many times over the years and never even given it a second glance, never even wondered what its purpose was.’

  ‘It was an air-raid shelter during the war,’ Dealey told them, brushing away a buzzing fly and wiping his face with a discoloured handkerchief. ‘At least, it led down to an air-raid shelter. I explained to Culver yesterday that the original underground chambers, built many, many years ago, have been expanded through the decades.’

  ‘Well, we can see how much for ourselves,’ said Ellison, growing impatient. ‘For God’s sake, let’s get inside.’

  ‘Right,’ Fairbank agreed. He slipped down into the opening, and examined the lock. ‘Don’t you have a key?’ he called back to Dealey, who shook his head.

  ‘Not for this place,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem anyway.’ He swung the axe.

  It took no more than four solid blows to open the door. It swung inwards and a chilling coldness sprang out like an escaping ghost.

  Culver shivered. The dank cold seemed more than just released air. It brought with it a sense of foreboding.

  26

  The coolness inside was a relief from the humid atmosphere above ground. They descended the stone steps, Fairbank in the lead, axe tucked back into his belt. The air was musty, the smell of disuse, and the concrete walls were rough to the touch.

  Fairbank paused. ‘There’s no light down here.’ He rummaged in his pockets and passed back two small bright tubes. ‘Picked these up yesterday,’ he told them. ‘Figured they might come in handy for lighting fires.’ He flicked on the cheap throwaway lighter he had kept for himself. The flame, weak though it was, gave some comfort.

  Culver passed his over his shoulder to Ellison, who was bringing up the rear.

  ‘I’ve got one,’ the engineer said. ‘Maybe you’d better pass it down to the front, though, and let me have one of those midgets.’ He handed the lighter to Culver, who passed it on. ‘It’s the one I found yesterday,’ Ellison explained. ‘The flame’s stronger.’

  They continued, the lighter casing growing hot in Fair-bank’s hand. Their footsteps were hollow-sounding and loud. It was a long climb down and, inexplicably, Culver’s unease increased with every step. He wondered if the others felt the same. Just below him, Kate let both hands slide against the close walls, as if afraid she might stumble and fall. Her hair was tangled, dark in the feeble lighter glow, and her shirt was torn and still covered with dust. He squeezed her shoulder and she briefly touched his hand with her fingertips, but did not turn around.

  Fairbank eventually stopped and brushed away cobwebs from the opening before him.

  ‘There’s a big room here.’ His words had a slight echo. He waved the light ahead of him. ‘Seems to be empty.’

  They crowded in behind him, branching out so that their lights covered more of an area. Other rooms led off from the first chamber and Ellison poked his head through a doorway t
o one.

  ‘Nothing,’ he pronounced, disappointed.

  ‘This one too.’ Fairbank was at another doorway.

  ‘They’re all empty,’ said Dealey, walking to the far end. ‘This is just part of the old air-raid shelter system. As you can see, it hasn’t been used since the last war.’ He reached an opening and called back to them. ‘This way.’

  They quickly hurried to him and he led them through what seemed a labyrinth of corridors with empty rooms branching off. He finally stopped beside a square doorway set into the wall two feet from the floor.

  ‘We’ll need your axe again to force it,’ he said to Fairbank.

  The engineer slid the sharp end of the tool into the crack, close by the lock. He exerted pressure and the door easily snapped open. Inside they could see thick piping, some at least a foot in diameter, and heavy cables. The thrumming was louder, more distinct than when they had listened at the grille above ground.

  ‘Maintenance entry,’ Dealey said by way of explanation as he stepped through.

  Inside, the narrow corridor with its wall of pipes and cables extended in both directions. Dealey took them to the right.

  ‘You sure you know where you’re going, Dealey?’ came Ellison’s voice from the rear.

  ‘Not a hundred per cent, but I think this way should take us close to the new complex.’

  The darkness and the narrowness of the passageway began to have a claustrophobic effect on Kate. Outside she had felt exposed; down there she felt threatened. She kept close to Culver, who was now in front of her.

  Dealey had stopped once more and was kneeling, holding the small flame towards a two-by-two-foot grid in the floor. He inserted his fingers between the meshwork and pulled; it swung open like a trapdoor. They saw metal ladder rungs disappearing downwards.