‘Oh, shit, beam me up, Scotty,’ Fairbank said in hushed awe.
‘Culver, we can’t get it open. It’s stuck!’
The pilot turned and saw Ellison and Dealey struggling with the drain cover, Kate holding the light for them. He reached for the axe tucked into Fairbank’s belt and said, almost in a whisper, afraid anything louder would encourage the vermin to continue their attack, ‘Start firing the moment they break.’
Fairbank did not risk looking at him; he merely grunted affirmation, finding the advice totally unnecessary.
Culver knelt beside the two men and handed the Ingram to Ellison. ‘Help Fairbank,’ he said, then examined the edges of the drain. ‘How far down are the sewers?’ he asked Dealey, still in a low voice.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Dealey’s reply was equally quiet. ‘I think there are channels below us, running into the main waterways, but I don’t know how far down they are, or even if they’ll accommodate us.’
Culver bent low and listened, but although he could hear the water trickling down the walls he could not tell whether it was running into a stream. He inserted the sharp side of the axe head into the gap between the grating and its surround. Before trying to lever it up, he scraped out mud.
Fairbank’s whisper was harsh. ‘They’re coming forward again! Taking it slow this time, just creeping along. The bastards are stalking us!’
Culver shoved the blade in as far as it would go. ‘Dealey,’ he hissed, ‘push your fingers through on this side of the drain. Pull when I give you the word.’
‘Hurry it up!’ Ellison’s voice was a frantic whisper.
The light Kate was holding shook madly.
‘Okay, now!’ Culver leaned on the blade with all his weight and Dealey heaved upwards. For two dreadfully long seconds nothing happened. Then Culver felt something beginning to shift. The drain cover came up with a squelchy sucking and water ran more freely into the widening gap. After the first few inches it swung up more easily and Culver grabbed at its edge pulling it wide. The lid clanged against the passage wall, the signal for all hell to break loose again.
He snatched the flashlight from Kate and shone it into the opening. The drain was roughly two foot square, large enough for them to climb into. About ten feet below he saw sluggish moving water.
Culver had to shout to make himself heard over the cacophony of muffled bullets and screeching rats, and even then the others could only guess at his meaning. He tugged at Dealey.
‘There are no rungs! You’ll have to drop down into the water – it shouldn’t be too deep! Help Kate when she follows!’
Dealey needed no second bidding. He was horrified at having to jump into such a black, unknown pit, but even more horrified at the idea of being eaten alive. He lowered himself onto the edge, then sank his overweight stomach into the hole, using elbows to hold himself in that position. There was little room to spare, but he managed to scrape through. With an intake of breath, he slid down, hanging onto the edge with his fingertips. Closing his eyes, Dealey dropped.
His belly and chin scraped against rough brickwork and the fall seemed to last an eternity. He cried out as his feet plunged into cold wetness, but the sound was abruptly cut off when he touched the slimy channel bed. He found himself on hands and knees in flowing water, the level just reaching below his hunched shoulders. His figure was bathed in light from above.
‘It’s all right!’ he shouted upwards, almost laughing with relief. ‘It’s shallow! We can make it through here!’
He thought he heard a shout from above and then another body was blocking out the light. Rising, Dealey realized the roof of the channel was arched, rising to no more than four feet at its apex. He now stood inside the drain shaft through which he had dropped. Loose chippings and water fell onto his upturned face as Kate’s feet slid towards him. He reached up and took her weight, endeavouring to lower her gently, the effort almost too much.
Above, one of the guns had stopped firing.
Culver looked anxiously at the two men and saw Fairbank throw his Ingram away.
‘That’s it!’ the engineer shouted. ‘Empty!’
‘Get back here!’ the pilot told him, tucking the small axe into his own belt. ‘Dealey, here comes the flashlight! For God’s sake, don’t drop it!’ He let the torch fall and was relieved when it found safe hands.
Ellison came with Fairbank, still firing along the tunnel. Fairbank dropped to one knee beside Culver and leaned close. ‘We can’t hold them back any longer! One more rush and that’s it!’
‘Give me the light!’ Still pointed towards the vermin, the flashlight was handed to him. The firing had become more sporadic, the rats advancing, then stopping, Ellison having the sense not to waste bullets. ‘We’ll get Ellison down there first, then you,’ Culver said to Fairbank, keeping his voice low in between bursts of fire. ‘I want you to stay inside the drain to support me when I come through. I’m going to have to pull this cover shut before I come down.’
‘That’s not going to be easy.’
‘What the fuck is these days?’
Fairbank grunted and stood with Culver, who reached around Ellison and took the gun. ‘Get in the hole!’
Ellison could not take his eyes off the sprawl of dark, inert bodies and their more lethal companions – those who still crept forwards. ‘They know. They know they can take us. Look at them! They’re getting ready for the final attack!’
It was true; Culver sensed it. The bristling, quivering motion among the packed bodies was building to fever pitch. Instinct, cunning, maybe just determination – something told these creatures that their enemy had become more vulnerable.
‘Get into the drain,’ Culver said evenly and Ellison moved away. The pilot faced the rats, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. ‘Is he down yet?’ he called quietly over his shoulder.
‘Nearly,’ Fairbank replied.
‘You next.’
‘Okay, but first back up until you’re on this side of the hole. It’ll make things easier for you.’
Hands reached out and guided Culver around the opening. Fairbank clapped his shoulder and wriggled into the drain.
‘Make it quick,’ he said before dropping from view. ‘I’ll be waiting.’ He was gone and Culver was alone.
Alone except for the creeping mutants.
He gently eased himself into a sitting position, gun and flashlight held chest-high, then slid his legs over the edge. Now comes the tricky part, he thought.
The rats sensed their prey was escaping. The squeals rose to high-pitched screeches as they surged forward.
Culver squeezed the trigger, knowing he would never contain this charge. Bullets thudded into rushing bodies, spinning them over, ripping them apart. But still they came, splashing through the water, a solid, heaving mass.
With a cry of fear, Culver pushed himself off the edge, his elbows catching his weight before he dropped down completely. He kept firing and the rats kept coming, pushing past those that fell, brushing aside their wounded, pure fury storming them forward.
Culver’s feet scrabbled around below him until firm hands grabbed his ankles and guided them. He triggered one last spray of bullets, then knew he had no choice. He dropped the flashlight, grabbed the drain cover and ducked.
He felt the support beneath him dropping too, giving him room to manoeuvre in the confined space. He stayed crouched just beneath the grating, knowing it had not sunk properly into its home.
‘Take the gun!’ he called down, lowering the weapon as far as he could. Someone, probably Fairbank, took it from him. The drain was brilliantly lit by torchlight.
Culver lifted the cover just a little, pulling his fingers from the opening immediately when something sharp brushed their tips. Using the flat of his palms, he tried again. The weight above him was tremendous and he knew the vermin were swarming over the cover. He could hear their squeals only inches away from his face. He felt talon-like claws through the slits of the drain cover, tearing into his hands,
and he ignored the pain, using all his strength to lift and slide the lid round. Fairbank’s shoulders trembled beneath him, but the stocky engineer held firm, assisting him as much as he could.
The cover closed with a firm, satisfying thud. The rats frantically scraped at the other side, their screeching reaching a crescendo. Culver could not see them, but he felt their hot, fetid breath on his face. He allowed himself to slowly collapse and Fairbank sensing it was all right to do so, gently lowered him. Other hands supported him and he gratefully sank into the running water.
He rested there, head back against the slimy brick wall of the channel, brownish water flowing over his lap, his hands clasped around his knees, breathing in deep lungfuls of stale air, his eyes closed. The others sprawled in similar positions, too exhausted to care about the soaking. They listened to the scrabbling, the frustrated scraping above them while trying to regain their breath, their composure. The squeals from the enraged vermin sent shivers running through them.
Presently, Dealey voiced what they all knew. ‘They’ll find other ways into the sewer.’
Culver opened his eyes and was relieved to see the flashlight he had dropped had been saved. Fairbank held the Ingram above water level, his face a taut mask, eyes staring and particularly white against the contrast of his dirt-grimed face. Kate’s head was against her knees, loose, bedraggled hair falling around her face. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her, knowing there was precious little time for comfort. Ellison and Dealey held the torches, the latter also clutching the Browning automatic; there seemed to be barely any strength left in either of them.
Culver stretched out a hand. ‘Let me have the gun.’
Dealey hardly had to move to give it to him, so close were the walls of the channel. ‘It got wet when I fell into the water; I had it in my pocket.’
Culver took the gun, praying it would still fire. ‘Ellison – the flashlight.’
Without argument, the engineer passed it over.
‘Any idea which way we should go?’ Culver asked Dealey. The sound of his voice sent the squealing above their heads into a new furore.
‘No. I don’t have much idea of the sewer network and I’m completely disorientated anyway.’ He glanced up nervously into the opening above.
‘Then we’ll move in this direction,’ Culver indicated with the Browning to his left. ‘That’s the way the water’s flowing, so it must lead somewhere.’ He rose, crouching because of the low ceiling, and climbed over the others. ‘I’ll lead. Kate, you stick close to me. Fairbank, you bring up the rear.’
They all scrambled to their feet, desperately tired and limbs aching, but keen to be moving. They waded after Culver through the filthy water, the foul smell considerably less unpleasant than the other odours of that day. It was difficult to walk, for the sluggish water leadened their feet, and the constant crouching put added stress on their legs. Yet it was a relief when the sounds of the vermin faded behind them.
They splashed onwards, water trickling through to the channel from other, smaller outlets on either side. The curving walls were covered in lichen and repulsive to touch; here and there, brickwork had fallen inwards, leaving dark impenetrable gaps. Soon a new sound reached their ears and they paused to listen.
‘It’s rushing water,’ Dealey said. ‘There must be a main sewer ahead of us.’
‘And a way out,’ added Ellison.
‘Yes, there has to be.’
Their pace quickened and the rushing noise quickly became a mild roar. They stumbled on, ignoring the small things that bumped against their shins, the occasional pocket of gaseous fumes, constantly slipping on the smooth floor beneath the water, but rising to their feet instantly, not stopping to regain breath or rub bruised knees. It wasn’t long before they entered the bigger centre channel.
It was at least twelve feet across, the ceiling curved and high. On either side of the swift-moving stream, its spumes-cent surface littered with debris, were causeways wide enough to walk on. As they shone the flashlights in either direction, they saw other conduits and outlets spilling their contents into the main sewer.
They stepped up onto the causeway on their side, each of them feeling a sudden lift in spirits at this new sight.
‘We’re lucky,’ Dealey said over the noise. ‘This tunnel must have been completely flooded when the rainfall was at its worst.’
‘I can’t see any ladders.’ Fairbank was shining his torch more carefully in one direction, then the other. Culver did the same to add more light.
‘There’ll be some further along. I would think there’s a storm weir in that direction . . .’ Dealey indicated the water’s flow ‘. . . so we may find a way out along there.’
Culver felt a hand slide round his waist and looked down to see Kate gazing up at him.
‘Are we safe now?’ she asked, her eyes imploring.
He couldn’t lie. ‘Not yet. Soon, though.’ He briefly pulled her to his chest and kissed her hair. ‘Keep your eyes open,’ he told them all. Then he was moving on once again, the others filing close behind.
The rushing water reminded him of the flooded Underground tunnel and his mind wandered back further, to the desperate race against the fallout, the journey along the railway track – the first encounter with the mutant rats. And his first sight of the terrified, frozen girl who was Kate. He thought of the long, trouble-strewn days inside the Kingsway shelter, the first expedition into the shattered world above. The dying, begging people. The rabid dog. Bryce. He remembered the fight back against the floodwaters, the rebellion inside the shelter itself. And then the invasion of rats, the flooding of the Exchange, the terrible struggle to escape. He thought of Dr Clare Reynolds.
Strangely, this day and the day before were just a mad, turbulent blur, with no order, no sense. An insane jumble of visions and stenches. Mixed with death.
One element was common throughout, apart from the weeks of waiting inside the shelter: since the first bomb had dropped he had been running, running, running. Even now he had not stopped and he began to wonder if he ever would, for there would be more danger to face in the new world outside, where only the insects and scavenger beasts could thrive. Perhaps there were no more places left where people could rest.
‘Hey! You missed something! Over there.’ Fairbank was casting his beam towards the opposite causeway.
Culver aimed his own flashlight in that direction and saw the opening, a passageway beyond. He could just make out stone steps further back. ‘Any idea where it could lead?’ he asked Dealey.
‘Impossible to say. It’s not a channel or a drain.’
Culver stared down into the spume-flecked water. ‘We can’t risk crossing here. We’ll have to go on.’
‘Not much further, though,’ Kate said excitedly. ‘Look, there’s a gangway across.’
Deep in thought, Culver had missed both the opening and the small, causeway-connecting bridge in the near distance. They hurried towards it, and found the structure was made of iron, narrow in width, and with just a spindly handrail on one side.
‘It has to be fairly close to that passageway for a reason,’ commented Ellison. ‘It’s gonna take us out of here, I know it.’
Culver led the way across, testing the bridge’s safety with every step. The metal surface was rusted but firm, although the handrail itself wobbled uncertainly. They hurried back the way they had come, this time on the opposite bank, and soon reached the opening. The passageway was at least eight feet high and wide enough for two men to walk along comfortably side by side. The glistening wet stone stairway at the end of the passage was easily visible in the illumination of both flashlights.
It led upwards, into the ceiling.
Kate clutched Culver’s arm. ‘It’s the way out! It has to be!’
Fairbank whooped with glee and even Dealey managed to smile.
‘What the hell are we waiting for?’ cried Ellison, and Culver had to restrain him from charging forwards.
‘There’s
a whole network of sewers, conduits and pipes all around us – not to mention passageways such as this. Those rats could be anywhere by now: above, behind or ahead of us. It’s their territory, so let’s just take it quiet and easy.’
He moved to the foot of the steps and shone the torch upwards. Just beyond ceiling level was another opening, a doorway. He began to mount the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time. The others, heeding his warning but nevertheless impatient, crowded behind him.
Culver reached the top and saw the door itself was old and rotted, a rusted metal sheet battened to its surface. It was open about two feet. He shone in the beam and saw another long corridor. Like the previous one, puddles covered the floor and its walls were of old, crumbling brickwork. It appeared to stretch a long way.
Culver pushed at the metal and the door ground protestingly against the stone floor, shifting only a few inches. Wary of what could be on the other side, he slipped through. No half-eaten corpse held the door open.
The others came in after him, shivering anew with the dank cold. Culver examined the lock and found an open bolt, rusty with years of dampness.
‘This is an entrance for the sewer workers and inspectors,’ declared Dealey. ‘It probably leads to an exit along the Embankment, or somewhere in the vicinity.’
‘I thought they used manholes,’ said Fairbank.
‘Of course not. They have to bring in equipment for repairs and suchlike, as well as large work crews.’
‘Why would the door be unlocked?’ asked Culver.
‘Negligence probably. You can see the door’s been warped out of shape by dampness. I doubt anyone found it necessary to lock it anyway. Sewers aren’t generally frequented by trespassers, are they?’
‘No,’ Culver agreed, ‘but I’d feel safer if we got it closed. Remember what’s chasing us?’
Fairbank lent his weight when Culver put his shoulder to the door. It closed reluctantly, the movement echoing back from the far end of the passageway. Culver shot the rusty bolt with some satisfaction.