‘We’re just passing Chancery Lane Underground station,’ Culver said close to Dealey’s ear. ‘Everyone seems to be taking shelter down there. Everyone that’s left, that is. I think we ought to do the same.’
‘No!’ Dealey’s expression was grim. ‘It will be too crowded to get through. We’ve more chance if you do as I say.’
‘Then where is this place? We haven’t got much more time!’
‘Not far, not far.’
‘Tell me what the hell we’re looking for.’
‘An alleyway. A wide, covered alleyway that leads to a courtyard and offices. There’s a big open iron gate at the entrance. It should be just a few hundred yards ahead.’
‘I just hope to God you know what you’re doing.’
‘Trust me. We’ll get there.’
Culver took a last wistful look at the opening leading to the Underground tunnels, then shook his head once. ‘Okay, we’ll do it your way.’
The nightmare continued, a dream far worse than any Culver had ever experienced. Destruction to a degree he had never imagined possible. A mad, stumbling journey that tore at his mind and made him weep inwardly. Havoc. Madness. Hell exposed.
A woman – no, girl: even in her dishevelled state he could see she was just a girl – rushed at them, tugging at Culver’s jacket, pointing and pulling him towards an overturned car.
Dealey held Culver back. ‘We’ve got to get under cover,’ he said grimly. ‘We can’t stay out in the open much longer. Even now it might be too late.’
Culver jerked his arm away. ‘We can’t just leave her. She needs help.’
The blind man snatched at the air, trying to grab hold of him. ‘You can’t help any of them, you fool. Don’t you see that? There are too many!’
But Culver had allowed the girl to drag him away. As they approached the overturned car, the girl crying hysterically and refusing to let go of his arm, he saw the body lying half beneath it. One arm lay across the man’s chest, the other was flung outwards, his hand clawed, already stiffening. Culver knelt beside him and fought back the sickness. The body was that of a young man, perhaps the girl’s boyfriend; his eyes stared sightlessly towards the blackened sky and his tongue protruded from his open mouth as if trying to escape. His stomach had split and his intestines lay exposed and steaming.
‘Help him,’ the girl pleaded through her sobs. ‘Please help me get him out.’
He held her shoulders. ‘It’s no use,’ he said gently. ‘He’s dead. Can’t you see that?’
‘No, no, it’s not true! He’ll be all right if we can get that thing off him. Please help me push it off!’ She threw herself at the overturned car and strained against it. ‘Please help me!’ she cried.
Culver tried to pull her away. ‘He’s dead, don’t you understand? There’s nothing you can do for him.’
A hand lashed out at him. ‘You bastard, why won’t you help me?’
Dealey crawled towards them, their voices his only guide. ‘Leave her. She’ll never listen to you. We’ve got to save ourselves.’
Culver tried to hold on to the distraught girl. ‘Come with us, we can find somewhere safe.’
‘Leave me alone!’ she cried.
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ came Dealey’s anxious voice once again.
The girl thrust Culver away and sank down beside the dead man. She threw herself across his chest and her small shoulders heaved with her sobs.
He knelt. ‘If you won’t come with us, get down into the Underground. The air will be contaminated with radioactivity soon, so you’ve got to get under cover.’
There was no indication that she understood.
Culver stood and wiped an arm across his eyes. He caught sight of Dealey on his hands and knees; he stepped towards him and helped him up. ‘How much further?’ he shouted, irrationally beginning to hate the man.
‘Not far. We should be nearly there. Cross a small side-street, go on a bit more, and we’re there.’
Culver yanked him around and led the way, Dealey’s grip on his arm hard, as if he would never again let go.
After a short distance, Culver said, ‘There’s a break in the kerb here. This must be the side-street, only now it’s just piled with rubble. The buildings on one side have collapsed into it!’
‘Just ahead, then. Not far.’ A look of hope was on the blind man’s face.
They had to move out into the vehicle-littered roadway to skirt debris and Culver suddenly caught sight of the alleyway’s entrance. ‘I can see it. It looks as though it’s still intact.’
Their pace quickened, both men desperate for refuge. They plunged into the darkness of the entrance and tripped on rubble lying there. Culver pushed himself onto hands and knees, then moaned aloud. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ, no.’
Dealey looked towards the sound of his voice, eyes closed tight against their pain. ‘What is it? For God’s sake, what is it now?’
Culver slumped against one wall and closed his own eyes. He drew his legs up, resting his hands over his knees. ‘It’s no good,’ he said wearily. ‘The other end’s blocked, piled high with debris. There’s no way we’re going to get through.’
3
They were running again. Frightened, exhausted, wanting to wake up, to see the sun streaming through parted curtains, wanting the nightmare to end. But they were running. And around them the fires raged, the dead lay still, the injured writhed their agony. The nightmare refused to end.
The steps leading down to the Underground station were heaped with rubble; the round metal handrails were wet with blood. It wasn’t as crowded below as Culver imagined it would be; he guessed that most of those who had reached the station had gone further down, away from the ticket area, into the tunnels. As far away from the crazy world above as possible. Even so, there were still many people scattered around the gloomy circular hall with its ticket kiosk, machines and few shops.
‘We may need light,’ Dealey told him, the irony not lost on him. If only his eyes did not hurt so much. If the stinging sensation would just go away. He forced his mind to concentrate. ‘We have to get into the eastbound tunnel.’
‘We should have tried this other entrance in the first place,’ Culver said, quickly looking around. Other figures were still staggering into the Underground station.
‘No, only under extreme circumstances are secondary access points to be used.’
‘Extreme circumstances? You’ve got to be kidding!’
Dealey shook his head. ‘Only in an emergency. I knew the station – the tunnels – would be filled with people. It would have been too dangerous to use; now we have no choice.’
‘Are you saying this . . . “shelter” . . . is only available to certain people?’
‘It’s a government shelter. There isn’t room for the public.’
‘That figures.’
‘The government has to be practical. And so do we.’ Dealey’s voice became tight, as though he were fighting to keep control. ‘I’m giving you a chance to live through this; it’s up to you whether or not you take it.’
‘You can’t make it without me.’
‘Possibly not. It’s your choice.’
For a few long, sightless moments, Dealey thought that the other man had walked away from him. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he heard him speak.
‘I doubt there’s going to be much left to survive for after this, but okay, we’ll find the shelter. I’d still like to know how you know about this place, though. I take it you work for the government.’
‘Yes, I do, but that’s not important right now. We must get into the tunnels.’
‘There are some doors on the other side of the hall. I can just about make it out in the darkness; one could be the stationmaster’s office, so we’re bound to find a torch or a lamp of some kind.’
‘There’s no light down here?’
‘Nothing. Just daylight – what there is of it.’
‘The emergency lighting may still be working in the tun
nels, but a torch might come in useful.’
‘Right.’
Dealey felt a hand on his arm and allowed himself to be led across the hall. The cries of the injured had died down, but a low coalescent moaning had taken its place. Something clutched at his trouser leg and a voice begged for help. He felt his guide hesitate and Dealey quickly pulled the other man to him. ‘You haven’t told me your name yet,’ he said to distract him, walking on, keeping the other man going.
‘Culver,’ came the reply.
‘Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time, Mr Culver: first, let’s find a torch; second, let’s get to the tunnels; third, let’s get into the shelter. Nothing else must sidetrack us, not if we want to live.’
Culver knew the blind man was right, yet it was difficult to disregard his own misgivings; would it really be worthwhile to survive? Just what was left up there? Had most of the northern hemisphere been wiped out, or had the strikes concentrated only on major cities and strategic military bases? There was no way of knowing for the moment so he closed the questions from his mind, just as he kept further, more emotional, thoughts at bay. Only the mind-numbing shock would see him through, so long as it did not affect his actions; for now, nothing else but finding a torch mattered.
The ground trembled briefly and screaming broke out once more.
The two men stopped in their tracks. ‘Another bomb?’ Culver asked.
Dealey shook his head. ‘I doubt it. An explosion not too far away, I think. It could be just a fractured gas main.’
They reached the first door and Culver twisted the handle. Locked. ‘Shit!’ He took a pace back and kicked out. Once more, and it gave. Another, and it was open.
Culver went in, Dealey following close behind, a hand on his guide’s shoulder. A voice came from the darkness. ‘What d’you want? This is London Transport property, you’re not allowed in here.’
Culver was not surprised at the irrationality. ‘Take it easy, we only want a torch,’ he reassured the man whom he could just see crouching behind a chair in one corner of the tiny room.
‘I can’t let you . . .’ his voice broke. ‘What’s happened out there? Is it all over?’
‘It’s done,’ Culver said, ‘but it’s not over. Is there a torch in here?’
‘There’s a flashlight on the shelf, to your right, by the door.’
Culver saw it. Reached for it.
The crouching man raised an arm to protect his eyes when Culver flicked the switch and shone the beam in his direction.
‘My advice to you is to get into the tunnels,’ Dealey said. ‘You’ll be safer there.’
‘I’m all right where I am. There’s no need for me to leave here.’
‘Very well, it’s up to you. Are you the stationmaster?’
‘Mr Franklin is dead. He tried to control the crowds. They were panicking. He tried to hold them back, tried to make them form queues. Instead, they trampled him. None of us could help. Just too many!’
‘Calm yourself. The crowds have gone, most are below in the tunnels. And the nuclear attack is over.’
‘The attack? Then it really happened, they really did it? They dropped the Bomb?’
‘Several, I should think.’
Culver decided not to mention the five separate cloud stems he had seen; he would tell Dealey later, when they were alone.
‘Then we’re all finished.’
‘No, not if everyone stays under cover for now. The worst damage from radiation should be over within two to four weeks, and by then the authorities should have everything under control.’
Culver almost laughed aloud, but the effort would have been too much. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he suggested instead.
‘I can only repeat: you’ll be safer in the tunnels,’ Dealey told the crouching man, who gave no reply.
Culver turned the beam away, switching it off as he did so. The flashlight would be useful: its casing was made of heavy-duty rubber and the lamp reflector was wider than normal. ‘We’re wasting time,’ he said quietly.
If Dealey was surprised at his guide’s sudden resoluteness he did not show it. ‘Of course, you’re right. Let’s hurry.’
They made their way through the ticket barrier towards the escalators. There were three and none was working. Culver noticed that the ticket hall had filled with more people, most of whom appeared to be totally disorientated, their movements uncertain, their eyes blankly staring. He told Dealey of what he saw.
‘Is there nothing we can do for them?’ he whispered harshly.
‘I’m afraid not. I only hope we can help ourselves.’
Concentrate. The stairs. Have to ease our way over to them. Ignore the old woman sitting on the floor rocking her blood-covered head backwards and forwards. Forget about the kid clinging to his mother, yelling for her to take out the horrible pieces of glass from his hands. Don’t look at the man leaning against the wall vomiting black blood. Help one and you had to help another. Help another and you had to help everybody. Help everybody and you were finished. Just help yourself. And this man Alex Dealey, who seemed to know so much.
They were soon at the top of the centre escalator. Bodies were sprawled all the way down, sitting, lying, some just slumped against the handrails. He could just make out dim emergency lights below.
‘We’ll have to be careful going down,’ he said. ‘The stairs are packed with people and we’ll have to work our way through them.’ He released the blind man’s arm and clamped Dealey’s hand around his own. ‘Hold tight and stick close.’ He pushed his way through to the stairs.
Men and women looked at them, but no one objected. Some even tried to move aside when they realized Dealey was blind. It was slow progress and Culver was careful not to trip, allowing his companion to lean on him, to use his strength for support; one slip and they would never stop rolling.
They were halfway down when people below came pouring from the platform entrances.
They clawed at those on the escalators, trying to get on to the stairways, calling out, screaming something that Culver and Dealey could make no sense of. The renewed panic was infectious: the confused mass on the stairs rose as one and began to beat their way back up, punching out at those who blocked their path, pushing their way over those who lay injured.
‘What now?’ Dealey asked in frustration as they were shoved aside by the group just below them. ‘What’s happening down there, Culver?’
‘I don’t know, but maybe it’s not such a good idea after all.’
‘We have to get into the tunnel, don’t you understand? We can’t go back up there.’
‘You know it and I know it; try telling them!’ A fist struck him in the chest as a man struggled to get by. He staggered back, but resisted the urge to retaliate. Instead, he shouted above the din, ‘There’s only one way down, and it’s going to be dangerous for you!’
‘It can’t be more dangerous than what’s behind us!’
Culver pushed him against the rubber handrail and lifted his legs onto the centre section, jumping up himself, holding on to the rail with one hand, his arm crooked under Dealey’s, the flashlight still grasped tightly. ‘Use your feet to control your slide and I’ll try to keep hold of the rail!’
The descent began and both men soon found it impossible to maintain a regulated speed. The arm-lock Culver had on Dealey became too difficult to maintain; his other hand slipped from the handrail and they plunged downwards, feet striking the climbers on the stairs, so that their bodies twisted, their descent becoming completely uncontrolled. It was a frightening, helter-skelter ride towards another, unknown terror, a heart-churning rush into fresh danger.
Their fall was cushioned by the desperate figures massing around the bottom of the escalators. They landed in a flurry of arms and legs, wind knocked from them, but striking nothing hard which could cause serious damage. Culver was only slightly dazed and the flashlight was still gripped firmly in his hand.
‘Dealey, where the Christ are you?’ he shou
ted. He pulled at a hand rising from the bodies beneath him and released it when he realised it wasn’t the blind man. ‘Dealey!’
‘Here. I’m here. Help me.’
Culver used the flashlight to pinpoint the voice’s source; the emergency lighting was very limited. He found Dealey and tugged him free.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘I’ll find out later,’ came the reply. ‘So long as we can both walk, that’s all that matters for the moment. We must find the eastbound tunnel.’
‘It’s over there.’ Culver pointed the beam in that direction as though the other man could see. ‘Westbound is on a lower level than this.’ The flashlight was almost knocked from his hand as someone hurtled by. The congestion at the foot of the escalators was growing worse and both men fought to resist the human tide. Culver helped up one of the men who had cushioned his fall moments earlier.
He pulled the man’s face close to his. ‘Why is everyone running from the tunnels? It’s the only safe place!’
The man tried to get away from him, but Culver held on. ‘What is it? What’s in there?’
‘Something . . . something in the tunnel. I couldn’t see, but others did! They were cut, bleeding. They said they’d been attacked in there. Please, let me go!’
‘Attacked by what?’
‘I don’t know!’ the man screamed. ‘Just let me go!’ He tore himself free and was instantly swallowed up by the crowd.
Culver turned to Dealey. ‘Did you hear that? Something else is in that tunnel.’
‘It’s mass hysteria, that’s all, and it’s understandable under the circumstances. Everyone’s still in a state of shock.’
‘He said they were bleeding.’
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