Spiral

  “Right,” Will replied, as if he understood exactly what Parry had said, which he didn’t. But at least he now knew they’d be flying down south.

  “It’s time,” Parry said to everyone. “I know you’re all weighed down with kit, but you must keep up with the Colonel as he leads the way to the LZ. Our window is very tight, and we can’t afford to be late.”

  Parry slid the hatch open and the boys shuffled aside to allow the Colonel to slip past and outside. Then they all followed into the whirling flurries of snow.

  “Jeez, it’s freezing!” Chester exclaimed as the cold air filled his lungs.

  They moved quickly, one following the other, through the gate in the chain-link fence and then downhill, their boots thudding on the frosted ground as they jogged along.

  Ahead of Will were Chester and the Colonel. Directly behind him came Parry, then he could make out the vague forms of the rest of the party: Mr. Rawls, Eddie and Elliott, Stephanie, Mrs. Burrows and, last of all, Drake.

  A gale was sweeping up the mountainside and whistling through the overhead electrical lines as they passed beneath them. There was barely any moonlight due to the thick cloud cover, so Will found it impossible to make out anything much ahead. He could see Mr. Rawls was struggling to keep up, and began to wonder how far they still had to go. Were they heading toward the valley floor itself? But some twenty minutes later the ground leveled out, and the Colonel began to slow. Will saw that Sweeney was crouched beside a number of crates that contained the mobile detectors he’d helped to pack.

  “Stay put,” Parry ordered. Then he and Drake moved off. Standing some forty feet apart, they held up devices that resembled flashlights, although they gave off no discernible light.

  Everyone was looking up when there was a sound as if the sky had fallen in. It was so tumultuous and unexpected, it was impossible not to duck.

  The helicopter had been flying so low that there’d been no warning whatsoever as it appeared directly over them. As the immense downthrust from its powerful rotors whisked the snow blizzard aside like confetti, the massive piece of war machinery hovering no more than forty feet above their heads was quite terrifying.

  As it taxied into position between Parry and Drake and began to descend, it tipped back. It maintained an angle of forty-five degrees and the moment the wheels at the rear of the fuselage touched down, a ramp swung open between them. Over the sound of the helicopter’s engine, Parry and Drake were yelling at everyone to get on board. There were subdued red lights marking the edges of the ramp to guide them, and as Will climbed it, he glimpsed army insignia on the fuselage. Drake, Sweeney, and the Colonel hauled the crates up the ramp and then it thudded shut, and they were airborne.

  Will took the place beside Chester and strapped himself in. With seats down both sides, the interior was easily twice the size of a train car, but there was no sign of the crew. Will and Chester watched as Parry moved to the front of the helicopter. The boys caught a momentary glimpse of the two pilots bathed in the green glow of their instrumentation, before the door to the cockpit closed again.

  Seeing their interest, Drake came over and leaned between them, speaking loudly so they could hear. “So what do you think of our ride?”

  “Wild!” Chester replied.

  “What type is it?” Will shouted.

  “It’s a Chinook from No. 27 Squadron on its way back to Hampshire. Dad called in a few favors and managed to hitch us a lift. Of course, our presence is completely unofficial, and there’ll be no record of us being picked up on the flight log.”

  Will and Chester nodded.

  Drake gestured toward the window behind the boys, and they both swiveled around to look through it. There were one or two tiny points of light glimmering like stars in the distance, but otherwise there were just eddies of snow twisting into the darkness. “Keep buckled up as it’s going to be a bumpy flight. We’re tree-hugging all the way to avoid radar as much as we can,” he told them.

  “Yeah, we’re really shifting it,” Will said excitedly as they zipped over an illuminated stretch of road.

  But as Drake went back to his seat, Will’s initial enthusiasm quickly evaporated. The beat of the engines and sudden changes in altitude brought back memories of the last helicopter flight he’d been on.

  Although it was difficult to tell in the dim light, Will was certain that he caught both Elliott and Colonel Bismarck looking at him. He wondered if they were also thinking about the journey they’d taken together in the inner world. It was shortly after Dr. Burrows had been gunned down by one of the Rebeccas, and Will had been so beside himself with rage and grief, he’d had to be strong-armed onto the aircraft by two New Germanian soldiers.

  And then, to make matters worse, Will had proceeded to blame Elliott for his father’s death. He could see the glint of her eyes as she sat opposite him in the helicopter, and he felt so ashamed of his behavior. But more than this, he couldn’t stop thinking about his father’s violent end on the sun-soaked pyramid.

  He was still lost in these thoughts when Chester poked him in the ribs, a big grin on his face as he gave the thumbs-up. Will could only manage a weak smile in response. But at least someone was enjoying the flight.

  Will wasn’t sure if he’d nodded off, but it seemed no time at all before the engines changed in pitch. Then he glimpsed many more lights through the windows as they reduced altitude. Before he knew it, there was a jarring bump and the helicopter had touched down.

  Parry and Drake were there, shouting at everyone to disembark over the sound of the rotors, which were still turning. The crates were quickly off-loaded, and in less than a minute, the helicopter lifted off again.

  Will’s ears rang in the silence. They’d been dropped in a field where the snow was coming down even heavier than ever, and there was nothing visible around them.

  Then, from a far corner, a single pair of headlights flicked on for an instant. Parry signaled back with his flashlight, and suddenly multiple lights raked across the field.

  The vehicles began to approach, one at a time. The first was a camper van, followed by a Land Rover, then a Volvo estate and a whole succession of rather nondescript cars. Parry spoke to each driver as Drake and Sweeney loaded a crate into the back. Then the vehicles continued on, their wheels churning the snow as they went.

  As the last of them disappeared into the night, Parry spoke to Eddie, who was waiting beside a single remaining crate of detectors. “This is where we part company. Good hunting.”

  Eddie gave him a nod in response, then looked at Elliott. “Do you want to come with me?”

  Elliott paused, throwing a half glance at Will through the steady fall of snowflakes. “OK,” she replied casually.

  Will’s jaw dropped; he hadn’t expected for one second that she’d accept the invitation. He felt betrayed and abandoned by Elliott and, although he would never have admitted it to himself, a little jealous of her newly established relationship with her father. And he realized how much he relied on her being at his side, just as he did with Chester.

  Parry struck out for the edge of the field, but Will didn’t move. Drake nudged him in a friendly way with his arm. “It’s all right, old mate; before you know it, she’ll be back with us again,” he assured him.

  “Um, right . . . yes,” Will mumbled, realizing how obvious his feelings must have been. He hunched forward, pretending to cough so he had an excuse not to speak to Drake as he began to walk beside him.

  Battling the blizzard as they went, everyone followed Parry through several fields until they came to a fenced-off area. Here he opened a gate. On the other side was a raised, snow-covered mound the size of several tennis courts. Will tried to make out where they were, but there wasn’t time as Parry led them briskly around the edge of the mound, then down some ice-crusted steps and through a door.

  They were grateful to be out of the freezing wind and snow, and they filed after Parry, descending several more flights of basic concrete steps. Then they came t
o a battered metal door with a sign that proclaimed PUMP ROOM.

  Chester went through before Will. “Look at this!” he whispered to his friend.

  They were on a platform complete with a Tube train waiting in the tunnel. The platform wasn’t that different from the old-fashioned ones still in use in the London Underground; the walls were tiled, although it was impossible to see what color they were due to the thick crust of dirt and efflorescence on them. And the platform was littered with massive drums of armor cable and rotting wooden boxes filled with engineering components that were more rust than metal.

  Will spotted a board with ALERT STATUS just visible at the top, beneath which were a pair of hooks, although there was nothing suspended on them. And as he scanned farther along the platform, he couldn’t see anything to indicate the name of the station.

  “We must be near London?” he asked Parry.

  “No, that’s a good thirty miles away. We’re in Essex.” Parry waved a hand at the roof. “We’re directly under Kelvedon Reservoir, and you won’t find anything about this place in any of the history books,” he said. “This was known as the First Circle of the defense infrastructure, so the government could decamp from the capital if things got sticky. When it was built, this train link originally ran all the way to Westminster.”

  “So that’s where we’re going?” Will said.

  Parry shook his head. “The last mile’s been out of commission for years — due to flooding.”

  Will had turned his attention to the train. There was illumination coming from inside the two cars directly in front of them, although their windows were almost opaque with dirt.

  “It’s been maintained by a few of the Old Guard, more as a hobby than anything else,” Parry said, then swung around when a whistle rang out from the far end of the platform, and the train doors creaked open. “And there’s one of them now.” The man was too far away for Will to see him clearly as Parry waved to him and shouted, “Everyone in!”

  The interior of the car consisted of a wooden slatted floor on which there were a few heaps of tattered tarpaulins.

  “We have to keep the speed down because of the state of the track, so the journey takes about an hour. You should try to get some sleep,” Parry advised as everybody took their Bergens off and chose somewhere to put themselves.

  Drake took over. “The golden rule is to catch some shut-eye whenever there’s an opportunity. You never know when you’ll get the chance again.”

  “So we’ve had a helicopter, and now a train,” Chester said to Will. “What next?”

  “Maybe a boat,” Will suggested, lying down with his head against his Bergen and trying to make himself comfortable. As the doors ground shut, he gave a large yawn. “Yes, a boat. We haven’t been in one of those since the Deeps.”

  “No way. I hate boats,” Chester said in a disgruntled voice. “Boats and elevators and going underground.” He wiped the moisture from his face, then stifled a sneeze. “And being cold and wet. I hate that, too.”

  “What about insects,” Will added. “Don’t forget insects.”

  “The station’s coming up,” Drake shouted.

  Will’s eyes flicked open, but it took him a moment to work out where he was as he saw Chester’s slack face not two feet away from him.

  “Oi, ugly! Wake up!” Will said, prodding his friend. “We’re here!”

  Chester looked dazedly around at the grimy floor. “Oh. Right. I was dreaming that I was on holiday,” he complained. “In Center Parcs again, with Mum and Dad.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Will said.

  They disembarked from the train to find themselves on a platform similar to the one they’d left from. As they trooped down it, there was a figure waiting for them by the exit. Although his face was obscured by a ski mask and he had a sidearm on his belt, he didn’t look the slightest bit intimidating. As he puffed away on his pipe, he gave the impression that he was even older than Parry.

  “Thank you, Albert,” Parry said, giving the man a pat on the shoulder as they went through what Will knew must be a blast door from its thickness, then up a flight of circular stairs. The stairs went on forever, spiraling around and around, until they came to a door at the top, which led into a dark corridor. There were brown carpet tiles on the floor, many of which were loose, and office furniture was stacked down one side of it. At the end of the corridor was a small service elevator, which Parry summoned. It wasn’t big enough to accommodate them all, so Parry took Will, the Colonel, and Stephanie with him.

  “Where exactly are we now?” Will asked as they ascended.

  “You’ll see,” Parry replied. The doors rattled open, and Will squinted because of the light as they followed Parry from the elevator. “It’s criminal this place isn’t used for anything much these days,” Parry said. “There was once a restaurant a couple of levels below where we are now, with a rotating floor.”

  “We’re in the BT Tower,” Will gasped.

  “We’re in London!” Stephanie squealed with glee.

  Daylight poured in through the windows running around the outside of the floor, which, except for the central area housing the elevators, was completely empty.

  And through these windows was a breathtaking vista — the London cityscape. Will went over and peered down, seeing rooftops covered in snow, and people in the streets. As he walked slowly around the windows, he spotted a group of army trucks down in Charlotte Street, but otherwise nothing looked out of the ordinary. Until he reached where Parry had come to a stop.

  “My God. Who’d’ve thought we’d ever witness that.” The old man exhaled, transfixed by the view through the window.

  Three or so miles away, in a stretch from Westminster to the city, several thick columns of black smoke rose into the sky. Will spotted the legions of helicopters hovering over the stricken areas and became aware of the constant howl of sirens in the background.

  “It’s anarchy out there,” Parry said. “The Styx have achieved what I never thought possible. We’re at war with ourselves.”

  Drake and the rest of the party had come up in the elevator. As they joined the old man at his vantage point, they, too, stared through the windows. There was a moment of shocked silence.

  “Are you all right, Mum?” Will asked, seeing his mother reel back.

  Her fists were clenched, and she’d turned quite pale. “Too many people,” she whispered. “I can feel their hate and their fear. It’s worse than the last time we were here.” She was backing toward the center of the floor. “It’s too much to take . . . and a man has just come up in the elevator.”

  Somebody cleared their throat, and they all turned to find an elderly man with a handlebar mustache, dressed in blue overalls, standing there. He began to read from a card. “The dragon sleeps . . .”

  “Oh, don’t bother with that claptrap,” Parry said, striding forward and grasping the man’s hand firmly. “Sergeant Finch’s cousin, I presume.”

  The old man nodded, then there was a small high-pitched noise. He patted his ear and it stopped. “Hearing aid’s acting up,” he explained. “I’m Terrence. . . Terry Finch.”

  “Look this way for a moment, please,” Drake said, holding Danforth’s Purger in the old man’s face. The blast of purple light reflected in his rheumy eyes, but there was no reaction from him.

  “Did you take my picture?” Terry asked.

  “He’s clear,” Drake said, putting the Purger away. “No Darklighting.”

  “We’re just making sure you’re one of us,” Parry said.

  Terry clearly hadn’t heard Parry. “One’s enough?” he inquired, a hand cupped to his ear.

  Parry spoke even more loudly than usual. “Has the requisition order been served on the security staff downstairs? We don’t want to be disturbed up here.”

  “Come again?” Terry said.

  With a sigh, Drake leaned toward the old man. “Terry, take me to the Transmission Room,” he shouted. “I need to set up.”


  In another part of London, Harry trundled downstairs, his head raked awkwardly forward on his shoulders as he negotiated the steps. But that day his posture was nothing unusual. He’d been that way for some twenty years, after a High-Altitude Low-Opening, or HALO, parachute drop had gone badly wrong, leaving him with mostly titanium for an upper spine. “Janey, I’m going out. And I’m taking the car,” he called. “OK?”

  “Sure, Dad,” his daughter replied, tearing her eyes from the book she was reading to catch a glimpse of her sixty-five-year-old father as he rotated his whole body to locate the keys — he had no option with the limited articulation in his neck.

  He appeared at the sitting-room door. “You don’t remember where I put those spare Hi-Power mags, do you?”

  “Yes, on the mantelpiece,” she replied. “In Mr. Clowny.”

  “Thanks,” her father said, and she watched him go over to the garishly colored ceramic clown and lift up its bowler-hatted head. Dipping his hand in, he took out two magazines for his handgun. He paused before replacing the lid, then also retrieved the long dagger he’d hidden in the clown.

  “The Sykes-Fairbairn, too? You will take care out there, won’t you, Dad?” Janey said, concern on her face.

  “I’m not about to let a few idiots kicking in shop windows spoil my day,” Harry replied defiantly.

  “What’s going on is a bit more serious than that,” she replied. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about the riots — I meant the weather. It must be several degrees below zero out there.”

  In a woolly hat and scarf and a thick green jacket, he was dressed in what he usually wore when he went fishing. But he didn’t appear to have his fishing rod or tackle with him. In any case, it certainly wasn’t the time of year for fishing, so she assumed it must be the other activity with which he occupied his days. “You off to the allotment?” she asked as an afterthought as he left the room. The only response was the front door slamming shut.

  Putting the book down, Janey rose from her chair and went to the window, where she lifted the net curtain aside. There had been a couple of showers of new snow at first light, and everything outside was white and crisp with the cold. “He can’t be working on the allotment? Not in this?” she wondered out loud. As she continued to watch, former lieutenant Harry “Hoss” Handscombe energetically cleared the snow and ice from the car windshield with a scraper. “So where’s the silly old stick off to?” Janey asked affectionately to herself. She shrugged, then went over to the television to try a few channels. They were all still off air, so she settled back in her chair, immersing herself in her book again.