Their footsteps were less hurried as they tramped along the lengthy corridor, not because their fear had left them – although it was not quite as acute as before – but because weariness was finally asserting a stronger grip, adrenalin losing its power.
Another door greeted them at the far end, and this one was locked. A hefty kick from Culver opened it.
They found themselves in a spacious room with several doorways around the walls.
‘Ah, now I think I understand,’ said Dealey.
The others regarded him curiously.
‘We’ve come back to a part of the old World War Two shelter. This must be the second level, just below the section we first entered. I was wrong about the passageway we’ve come through; it wasn’t for sewer workers. It was meant as a means of escape should whoever inhabited this shelter be trapped. The whole region is catacombed with chambers such as this. When you consider how long ag—’
‘Take a look!’ The coldness in Fairbank’s voice startled them all. He was sweeping his flashlight along the floor.
At first they thought the objects lying there were just debris, pieces of mislaid junk left by previous generations of occupiers. When they looked closer the chill inside them all deepened.
The first object to take on an identity was a severed arm, all but one of the fingers missing. The next was the remains of a head, one empty eyesocket bored into and enlarged as though something had been dragged out. A piece of putrid flesh that may once have been a thigh lay close by. The human parts lay scattered around the floor, white bones reflecting the torch lights, dried and shrivelled meat lumps standing alone like strangely shaped rocks on a desert of dust.
The familiar dread returned, only this time more potently, for they were weakened, exhausted, close to total hysteria. Culver caught Kate as she sagged. She did not faint entirely, but that unconscious state was not far away.
Ellison began to head back towards the door through which they had just arrived and Culver brought him to a sudden halt.
‘No!’ The pilot’s voice was firm, almost angry. ‘We’re going on. We didn’t come across any rats on our way into the old shelter, so I figure it’s our safest way out. Nothing’s making me go back into the sewers.’
The words rebounded off the empty walls, as if to mock him.
He continued determinedly, ‘We’re going to walk straight through this, right to the other end of this room. There’s a doorway there and with any luck, a stairway beyond. Just look straight ahead and don’t stop for anything.’
Culver set off, supporting Kate, keeping her walking, her head tucked into his chest. The arm around her shoulder clutched the Browning, its muzzle held erect, ready to swing down into action. He kept the flashlight in his other hand aimed directly at the far doorway. Someone behind stumbled and he looked around to see Dealey on one knee, a skull, with the back of its cranium cracked open like a hatched egg, rolling to a stop a few feet away.
‘Get up and keep walking,’ Culver commanded, his voice tight. ‘Don’t stop for anything,’ he repeated.
But they did stop.
As one.
When they heard the child crying.
29
The group stood as a rigid tableau among a macabre landscape of human remnants, listening to the pitiful crying. Culver closed his eyes against both the sound and the new pressure. He wanted to be free of this sinister madhouse, this vault of atrocities, but there was no clear escape, no relief from the mental tortures it inflicted upon them. His only desire was to take Kate’s hand and run, never stopping until daylight bathed their faces, until clean air filled their lungs. Yet he knew it wasn’t possible. He would have to find the child first.
They listened, feeling wretched with the plaintive cry. The wailing was high-pitched, possibly that of a little girl.
‘It’s coming from over there,’ someone said at last.
They looked to the right, towards an opening that had been boarded up with heavy planks, the bottom section broken inwards. The wood appeared to have been gnawed.
The crying continued.
‘I don’t think it’s wise to stay,’ said Dealey, looking around anxiously at the others.
‘Then go to Hell,’ said Culver in a low voice.
He felt a slight resistance from Kate when he moved away; then she was moving with him. The others reluctantly joined them at the boarded doorway. Culver and Fairbank shone their flashlights through the gaps between the planks of wood and peeked in. The far wall was at least forty feet away and the room itself was bare of furniture, like the chamber they stood in. Fairbank aimed his beam low and tapped Culver’s shoulder.
The stone floor of the room had collapsed inwards, leaving a ridge of jagged concrete around its circumference, with broken, exposed joists protruding. Below was a pit filled with rubble.
The sad, despairing cries tore at their nerves.
‘The kid’s somewhere below,’ Fairbank said.
Culver called out. ‘Can you hear us? Are you on your own?’
The crying stopped.
‘It’s all right. We’ll come down to get you! You’re safe now!’
Silence.
‘The poor little sod is terrified out of her mind,’ said Fairbank.
Culver began to pull at the planking. The rotted wood came away easily, breaking into long, damp splinters. The crying began again.
It was an eerie sound, the emptiness of the surroundings giving it a peculiar resonance, as if it came from a deep well.
‘It’s okay!’ Culver shouted again. ‘You’re going to be all right!’ Echoes of his voice bounced back.
There was quiet from below once more.
The two men pulled away the wood, creating a hole large enough to climb through. They shone the lights in, the others peering over their shoulders.
‘Construction work on the new shelter must have caused the fall-in,’ Dealey said. ‘With the continuous dampness over the years, the vibration from the new works, it’s a wonder the whole bunker hasn’t fallen in.’
Culver indicated the dark chasm before them. ‘Maybe the nuclear bombs caused the final collapse.’
‘Steve, please don’t go down there.’ Kate spoke in a low whisper, and there was an urgency in her request that disturbed Culver.
‘There’s a kid inside,’ he said. ‘It sounds like a little girl, and she’s alone, Kate. Maybe others are with her, too injured to speak, unconscious, maybe dead. We can’t just leave her.’
‘There’s something wrong. It . . . doesn’t feel . . . right.’ The first sound of the crying child had sent a harrowing and uncanny sensation spilling through her. There was something unnatural about the voice.
‘You don’t really think I can walk away.’ Culver’s statement was flat, his eyes searching hers.
She averted her gaze, not replying.
‘How can you get to her?’ Ellison was still agitated, hating Culver for wasting so much time in this God-forsaken hole. ‘You’ll break your neck trying to get down there.’
‘There could be a way through the sewers,’ Dealey suggested. ‘Underneath here must be the very basement of the old shelter, close to the sewer network.’
Culver shook his head. ‘There’s no way I’m going back there. Look.’ He pointed the flashlight. ‘There’s a broken joist over there sticking up from a pile of rubble. The top end of the joist is leaning against the wall, just below the overhang. I think I can make it back up that way. Getting down is no problem; the ceilings are low in here; it’s an easy drop.’ He turned to Fairbank. ‘I’d like to borrow the Ingram.’
The engineer surprised him by shaking his head. ‘Uh-huh. I’m coming with you. You’ll need a hand with the kid.’
Culver nodded gratefully and handed the Browning to Dealey. ‘No point in you three waiting. Take them out of here.’
Again he was surprised when Dealey refused. ‘We’ll wait for you,’ the older man said, taking the gun. ‘We’ll be better off if we all stick together.’
‘You’re crazy!’ Ellison erupted. ‘Look around you! Those bloody rats have been here, and they can get to this place again! We’ve got to leave now!’
He made as if to grab the gun from Dealey, but Fairbank’s hand clamped around his arm.
‘I’ve had all the shit I’m going to take from you, Ellison.’ The stocky engineer’s eyes blazed angrily. ‘You always were trouble, even in peacetime, bitching, whining, never happy unless you were complaining about something. Now if you want to leave, leave! But you go on your own, and with no flashlight and no gun. Just don’t go stumbling into any hungry rats in the dark.’
Ellison appeared ready to attack the other man, but something in Fairbank’s glacial smile warned him off. Instead he shook his head, saying, ‘You’re all insane. You’re all fucking insane.’
Culver gave Kate the flashlight. ‘Keep it shining into the floor opening – we’re going to need all the light we can get.’
Her quietness disturbed him, but he turned away. ‘Ready?’ he said to Fairbank.
Muttering something about ‘another fine mess’, the engineer eased his way through the gap they had created.
Both men paused on the other side, Fairbank shining the light downwards. Apart from rubble, the room looked empty. The light beam reflected off black pools of water in the debris.
‘Can you hear me down there?’ Culver called out, aware that it was impossible not to be heard.
‘The kid may be too scared to answer,’ Fairbank suggested. ‘God knows what the poor little beggar’s been through.’
They thought they heard a shifting sound.
‘You want the gun or the flashlight?’ the engineer asked.
Culver would have preferred the Ingram. ‘Let me have the light.’
With backs to the wall they eased themselves around the overhang, fearful that it might collapse beneath them. Streams of dust trickled into the darkness below. Kate, standing just inside the gap, one leg still in the outer room, helped guide them with her light.
Culver came to a halt. ‘Okay, this is where we go down.’ They had reached a corner, the flooring wider and seemingly more solid there. He could just make out the iron beam projecting beneath the overhang.
‘Hold the torch for a moment,’ he said, then lowered himself into a sitting position. He turned onto his stomach and lowered himself, his feet finding the angled beam. He let himself go, boots sliding down the joist, the descent to the heap of rubble not long. Steadying himself, he looked up.
‘Throw me the torch, then the Ingram.’
Fairbank did so and clambered over the edge himself. They were soon standing side by side.
‘Easy,’ acknowledged the engineer, retrieving the weapon.
Culver swept the torch around the room. ‘There’s nothing here,’ he said. ‘Nothing.’
He moved forward and something gave way beneath him. Fairbank tried to grab him as he fell, but was encumbered by the gun. Culver toppled, rolling in the debris, the axe in his belt digging painfully into his side. The sound of sliding masonry echoed around the damp walls. Fairbank went after him, and fell also, cursing as he went.
And the crying began once more, high-pitched and fearful, the voice of a terrified child.
Both men looked towards the direction of the cries. They saw a dark doorway, another room. A familiar nauseating stench came from that room.
Dust settled around them as Kate’s voice from above called out, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, we’re all right, don’t worry.’
The two men picked themselves up and noticed that, yet again, the crying had stopped.
‘Hey, kid,’ Fairbank yelled, ‘where the hell are you?’
They heard what sounded like a whimper.
‘She’s in there,’ Culver stated what they both knew.
‘That smell . . .’ said Fairbank.
‘We have to get her.’
‘I don’t know.’ Fairbank was shaking his head. ‘Something—’
‘We have to.’
Culver led the way, sloshing through the puddles, stepping over debris. After a moment’s hesitation, Fairbank went after him.
The next-door chamber was wide and long, its ceiling, fallen in many places, low. Parts of the walls had collapsed, too, creating deep, impenetrable recesses. In the distance they could hear a faint rushing, gurgling noise, the cadence of the sewers. Long cobwebs, like soot-filled lace, drooped everywhere. Scattered on the broad expanse of floor before them were humped shapes, yellow-grey in the gloom. Smaller white shapes glowed almost phosphorescently. Dark, less discernible forms lay between.
Both men took a step backwards, Fairbank raising the weapon, Culver reaching for the axe in his belt. The urge to run, to flee from this stinking, horror-strewn cellar, was almost irresistible. Yet it held a peculiar, paralysing fascination. And the distressed whimpers could not be ignored.
‘They’re not moving,’ Culver whispered urgently. ‘They’re dead. Like the others in the shelter, wiped out by the plague. They must have crawled back here, their lair, to die.’
‘All those skulls. Why all those skulls?’
‘Look at them. They’ve been broken into. Through the eye sockets, between the jaws. Look there – holes bored straight through the top of the cranium. Don’t you see! They eat the brains. That’s why so many corpses we found were headless. The bastards brought them back here to feed off.’
‘Those other things . . .’
Culver singled out one of the bloated, yellowish-white shapes. Its form seemed peculiarly blurred, indefinable.
‘What the hell is it?’
Culver had no answer to the engineer’s question. He moved closer, fascinated, despite himself.
‘Oh, sweet Jes . . .’ The words faded on his lips.
The bloated creature barely resembled a rat. Its head was almost sunk into the obese body, long withered tusks emerging from the slack jaw. Under the strong light they saw there was a pinkishness to the fine, stretched skin, a smattering of wispy white hair its only covering. Dark veins streaked its body, blood vessels that had hardened and stood embossed from the skin. The twisted spine rose to a peak over its rear haunches; the tail curved round like a lash, its surface hard with scales. There were other projections about its body, these resembling malformed limbs, superfluous and hideous in shape. The slanted eyes glinted under the torch glare, but there was no life in them.
‘What is it?’ Fairbank repeated breathlessly.
‘A mutant rat,’ said Culver. ‘Of the same strain as the Black, but . . . different.’ Dealey’s words came back to him. He had said there were two breeds, born of the same altered gene. ‘A grotesque’, Dealey had called it. It was an inadequate description. He had implied they were undergoing some genetic transformation. Oh Christ, so this was the result!
There was a rustling, not far away.
Nerves taut, ready to snap, both men whirled around, the light beam stabbing at the darkness.
‘Over there!’ Fairbank pointed.
Shapes were moving. A mewling sound to their left made them turn in that direction. Other movements, scuffling in the darker corners.
‘It’s like before,’ Fairbank said in dismay. ‘They’re not all dead.’
Culver swept the light over the sluggishly heaving forms. ‘They can’t harm us. Listen to them. They’re weak, dying. They’re frightened of us!’
A black shape disengaged itself from the mass. It tried to crawl towards them, hissing as it came, but it could hardly move. Fairbank aimed the gun.
Before he could fire, a squealing scream came from a far corner. The two men looked wide-eyed at each other, then towards its source.
‘The kid!’ exclaimed Fairbank.
The torch beam reached the far corner, but too many other objects were in the way for a clear view.
‘Let’s get her and then get out!’ Culver urged. He held the axe ready. ‘Shoot at anything that moves, try and clear a path!’
They se
t off, both men determinedly keeping panic in check, making for the corner where the piteous crying had resumed. Only now the sound was different, more shrill . . . less like a child’s . . . more like . . .
A hail of rapid phuts overshadowed the other noises as Fairbank fired at the obscenely bloated bodies. He could not be sure that they moved, but was taking no chances. The creatures seemed to pop with small explosions.
A Black rat rose up in front of Culver, standing on its haunches so that it looked immense. It snarled and hissed at him, blood-flecked foam dripping from bared teeth, but Culver could see the animal had no strength, only instinctive hatred driving it on.
Blood splattered Culver’s hand as he brought the axe down on the thin skull.
The two men kicked ground bones aside as they made their way towards the crying child, scuffing up white powder and looking away from dismembered human parts. As Fair-bank stepped over an inert pink form, the creature raised its sinister, pointed head, toothless jaws attempting to snap at his ankle. The engineer stamped down hard and felt bones crunch beneath his foot.
The mewling increased in pitch, became an intense swell of squealing, of helpless ululation . . . infantile wailing . . .
Childish crying . . .
The realization struck Culver like an icicle dagger. He almost stumbled, almost fell among the fearful writhing bodies. He tried to reach out and bring Fairbank to a halt, but it was already too late. They were there. They had reached the far corner. They had reached the Mother Creature’s nest.
‘Oh . . . my . . . God . . . NO!’ Fairbank sobbed as they looked down at the throbbing, pulsating flesh and its terrible spawn.
‘It can’t be,’ Fairbank moaned. ‘It . . . just . . . can’t . . . be . . .’
In another section not too far away, from a hole in the crumbled brick wall, came the sounds of scuffling, of scampering clawed feet.
30
Kate, Dealey and Ellison flinched when they heard the gunfire. Kate stood perilously close to the edge of the collapsed floor, attempting to shine the flashlight into the doorway through which Culver and Fairbank had disappeared.
‘Steve!’ she called, but only heard more soft gunfire. And in the pauses, an awful ululation, a strident, piercing screeching. She turned to the others. ‘We must help them!’