Spiral

by Roderick Gordon

  The fires were more numerous as they came closer to the end of the floor. They were using the extinguishers and kicking pieces of burning timber out of the way, when Drake yelled a warning and they all hastily retreated.

  There was a crash as a whole section of the ceiling not ten feet in front of them simply dropped to the floor.

  They waited, but as the rest of the ceiling seemed to be holding in place, Drake waved them on again.

  They came to where the rooms packed with explosive had been. As they stepped around a large hole in the concrete floor, through which the level below was visible, they were all far too preoccupied to notice what lay ahead.

  But Drake had sped up. As he led the group, he’d been the first to spot the jagged breach in the Complex’s outer wall.

  Then they all saw it, and clambered through behind him.

  There were shouts of joy when, within a short distance, their feet ground not on shattered concrete but on the rocky ledge they’d seen in the cross-section plans on Drake’s laptop. They were high up on the side of the mountain, experiencing something that they hadn’t known for weeks.

  There was a huge open space above them.

  The night sky.

  “Stars!” Will yelled. “We bloody did it!”

  The Colonel was jumping up and down with Sergeant Finch still on his back, and they were both cheering.

  “Oh, yes! Fresh air!” Stephanie cried. “And snow!” she added as she held out her hand to catch the flakes.

  Everyone was hugging everyone else. Will grabbed his mother and squeezed her hard. It had been a long time since he’d done that and it felt a little strange. But he was quite unprepared for what happened next as Stephanie suddenly appeared before him and gave him a kiss on the lips.

  “Oi!” Will laughed.

  As Colly scampered madly around, Will saw that Drake and Parry were already at the end of the ledge, where they were pointing at the tiny points of light from a distant village.

  Chester hadn’t moved very far from the jagged opening in the mountain. He tried to say something to Will, but a sudden gust of wind snatched his breath away.

  “What was that?” Will shouted, but Chester averted his face as a flurry of snow fell in his eyes. He began to shake uncontrollably, although it wasn’t from the cold. Now that they’d escaped from their airless tomb in the mountain and were out of immediate danger, the stark reality of his parents’ death was finally coming home to him.

  He was gibbering to himself as his legs buckled. Elliott had already begun to move toward him and was able to catch him before he hit the ground. Mrs. Burrows was also at the boy’s side, helping to support him.

  Parry had been watching as Chester collapsed. “That snake Danforth is going to pay very dearly for his actions,” he promised in a growl.

  “First things first. We need some transport,” Drake said. “If it’s true that we haven’t yet neutralized the Phase, we’ve lost valuable time. The key thing now is that we cover all the bases.”

  Parry was looking at his son, waiting for him to continue.

  “We’ll split into two groups, one to conduct a search up here on the surface,” Drake suggested.

  “I’ll coordinate that,” Parry said. “I’ll call on the Old Guard again.”

  “And I’ll lead the second group to the inner world. We can’t take the risk that Danforth was spinning us a line about the Phase resuming there.” Drake abruptly wheeled to his father as he thought of something. “Those TNDs,” he said. “How many did you say there were?”

  “I didn’t,” Parry replied. “There are twenty in total, starting with a couple at one kiloton up to the largest, which used to be known in intelligence circles as the Party Stopper — a single fifty-megaton device.”

  “That’s way too much — a pair of the one-kilotons will be sufficient for what I have in mind. But I need a fast way to get them down to the Colony. From there I can take them on to your world, Colonel.”

  Colonel Bismarck had come over to listen, and his distress was evident as he nearly let Sergeant Finch slide from his back. “You intend to destroy it?” he asked.

  “Nothing that extreme,” Drake told him. “I just want to seal the two ways in that we know about.”

  “Gott sei Dank!” the Colonel exclaimed, looking at the ground.

  “Unless I’m left with no alternative,” Drake said, which made the Colonel’s head jerk up. “But time’s short and I need a really quick route down,” Drake continued, directing the request at Eddie.

  The former Limiter shrugged. “There are any number of ways down to the Colony. You can take your pick.”

  “We’ve got all the muscle we need,” Drake said, glancing briefly at Sweeney before he addressed Eddie again. “But I really don’t fancy lugging a pair of even the mini nukes down your usual convoluted routes. And, of course, the Norfolk river route is out of the question — there are just too many of us with too much equipment to risk shooting the rapids. No, something with an elevator would be perfect,” he joked.

  Will’s ears perked up. “I think I might be able to help there,” he said.

  “HELLO," THE YOUNG woman said, as she answered the door.

  “Mornin’,” Drake replied. He took a laminated card from the chest pocket of his blue overalls and passed it to her. “I’m afraid there’s a major gas leak in your house. We’re the instant response team sent to locate it.”

  “A gas leak . . . I haven’t reported one,” she said, shaking her head. She pushed the laminated card back at Drake. “There’s no leak here, I can assure you. I’m surprised you people are still working — everybody seems to be on strike these days.” Her brow suddenly creased with annoyance. “Look, this isn’t a convenient time for me right now — I have to leave shortly to collect my son from my mother’s. Can’t you come back anoth —”

  “Madam, I don’t want to appear impolite, but our grid sensors flagged this problem overnight. And they’re rarely wrong about these things.” Drake planted his toolbox on the ground by his feet as if he hadn’t the slightest intention of leaving. “If you don’t allow us in to make our report, then we’ll have to close down the supply to this whole street and several others on the same grid. Then I’ll be back in an hour with a court order forcing you to allow us access.” He hugged himself, shivering a little. “You won’t be popular with the neighbors if there’s no gas for their central heating, particularly with this cold weather.”

  The woman immediately took a step back as if she’d decided to let Drake in, then looked curiously at Mrs. Burrows beside him, who was sniffing the air. “Do you both need to come in? Only I’m not comfortable w —”

  “We do, I’m afraid,” Drake replied. “I have my electronic sniffer in here,” he said, nudging the toolbox, “but there’s nothing like the human touch. My assistant, Celia here, is what we in the gas trade call a Nose. She’s a trained detector.”

  “Really?” The young woman inclined her head as if she was about to question this, then seemed to accept it and pulled the door fully open.

  “OK, Celia, tell me what we’re looking at here,” Drake said as they entered the hallway.

  Celia stuck her nose in the air. “The kitchen’s there,” she said, turning toward the closed door on her left. “But it’s clean.”

  “Clean?” the young woman said, sounding slightly offended.

  “What Celia means is that the boiler’s functioning properly and the problem’s not in there,” Drake explained.

  “The sitting room is to the right,” Celia continued. “There’s a gas fire in the hearth, but it hasn’t been used for at least a year. It’s one of the older models with a ceramic grille, and faux wood panels at either end.”

  “That’s right!” the young woman burst out. “My husband says it’s too expensive to use it, and we�
��ve got to get a replacement. But how do you know what it looks like?”

  “She’s one of the best Noses in the country,” Drake said. “You see — she’s only just getting into her stride.”

  Celia flicked her shifting eyes to the top of the staircase. “Airing cupboard at the back of the landing, with a lagged cylinder,” she went on. “Three bedrooms — the main with two radiators, and two smaller bedrooms each with a single radiator.”

  “Right again,” the young woman gasped.

  “And . . . ,” Celia began, then stopped. Drake moved aside as she went to a narrow set of drawers up against the wall, on top of which were several pairs of gloves and a child’s hat. Celia got down on one knee and felt underneath. She pulled something out, barely glancing at it as she passed it to the young woman, who took it gingerly. “. . . the remains of a rusk,” Mrs. Burrows finished. “Nothing to worry about — the bread dried out a long time ago, when your son threw it there, but it smells of mouse. One came in from the garden and had a nibble, and you don’t want to encourage that.”

  “No, I don’t,” the woman said emphatically, as she held the rock-hard piece of rusk between her thumb and forefinger to examine it. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. There are small nibbles here at the end.” She looked at Mrs. Burrows with renewed fascination. “You’re like a circus act or something!” The young woman straightaway realized that this might have been rather insulting to Mrs. Burrows, and began to apologize.

  Drake held up his hand. “Don’t worry — we get it all the time. A lot of people react the same way you have,” he assured her.

  Mrs. Burrows’s brows formed a deep V. “The real problem is in the cellar,” she said, pointing at the door. “And it’s a Category One. It’s critical.”

  “What’s a Category One?” the young lady asked.

  “Not good news, I’m afraid,” Drake said. “Major fracture of the supply line — probably due to ground freeze. It’s likely to have been spewing gas down there for some time, and into” — Drake swallowed as if he could barely bring himself to utter the next words — “into an enclosed space.”

  “Yes, I’d say the fault’s been active for thirty . . . no . . . thirty-five hours,” Mrs. Burrows informed him, sniffing randomly.

  Drake whistled. “Blooming heck! That long?” He whirled around to the woman. “Look, madam, you have to leave the property right now. Our insurance doesn’t cover us for customer fatalities. Please just gather your coat and what you need, and get away from here — well away. And don’t operate anything electrical — even a cell phone could set off the gas down there and blow us all into the next century.” He looked at Mrs. Burrows. “We’ll have to make the cellar a containment area and flush it out before we can even start to think about digging down to the fault.” Then he turned back to the young lady again. “I need a set of house keys and a number where I can reach you. I’ll let you know the moment it’s safe to return.”

  “Of course. Anything you say,” the woman replied. “I’ll be at my mother’s. And thank you for coming so quickly.”

  As Will and Elliott watched the proceedings through the back window of the van, the woman hurriedly left the house, pausing only to scribble down a telephone number for Drake. Then she tore down the street, throwing the odd glance over her shoulder as if it might be the last time she’d ever see the place.

  As Will’s breath left condensation on the glass, he wiped it away with his sleeve so he could see his old home clearly. “Number 16 Broadlands Avenue. I used to live there,” he said distantly, as if trying to convince himself. He pressed his finger against the window and pointed, directing Elliott’s attention to the upper floor. “So weird . . . that’s the Rebeccas’ bedroom. The vile little snakes slept there, under the same roof as me,” he said, then swiveled around and slumped down against the door. “This place was all I knew for so long . . . and now I can hardly remember it.”

  Elliott hummed but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m not going to ask what you lot are up to.” The bald man behind the steering wheel suddenly spoke up. It was Drake’s mechanic from the under-the-arches garage in West London, who had been brought in to supply them with the mock British Gas van, the overalls Drake and Mrs. Burrows were wearing, and also their identity cards. It was apparently one of the many services his “clientele” expected from him, in addition to unregistered vehicles.

  The mechanic had met them in a motorway services parking lot, where Will, Elliott, Mrs. Burrows, and Drake had transferred from the Bedford to the van for the final leg of the journey to Highfield. “But whatever your caper is, it’s not strictly legit, is it?” the bald mechanic now added.

  “Do you really want to know?” Will challenged him.

  The mechanic rubbed his chin but didn’t reply.

  “If I said that we’re trying to save the human race, would you believe me? And if we don’t succeed, every single person on the surface will die,” Will said, completely straight-faced.

  Elliott drew in a breath in surprise.

  The mechanic grinned, showing his golden tooth. “You’re right, mate, I shouldn’t go sticking my nose in your beeswax. The less I know, the better.” He patted his breast pocket, then chuckled. “Anyway, the sparklies your Mr. Jones gave me are all the answer I need.”

  “Mr. Smith,” Will corrected him, grinning. “Mr. Smith gave you the diamonds.”

  At that moment, Mr. Smith, who was actually Drake, rapped on the back of the van and then opened the door a few inches. “The owner’s out of the way. I called Sparks and the others — they’ll be along when we’ve prepped the place. But in the meantime, we should” — noticing the mechanic was listening, he checked himself — “get the Christmas decorations inside.”

  The Christmas decorations were in fact enough explosive to blast through many yards of rock. As Will entered the house, carrying two heavy bags laden with them, he stopped dead. He looked at Mrs. Burrows. “It’s all different, Mum,” he gasped. “The wallpaper’s new.” He scuffed his boot on the floor — it was no longer covered with the stained carpet he’d known all his life. “And this, too. They’ve completely redone the place.”

  Drake came up behind him. “We need the gear downstairs, Will. OK?”

  “Sure,” Will replied, ambling toward the cellar door. “This is where my dad disappeared every night,” he told Elliott, who was following behind him with a kit bag full of tools. “Until he disappeared altogether, down to the Colony.”

  The cellar was also very different now — very tidy and organized — with peg boards on the walls, holding carefully arranged power tools. And a partially disassembled vintage Triumph motorcycle sat on an oily sheet in the center of the room.

  “Sweet,” Drake said, running a finger over the gleaming chrome of the handlebars. “But we need to shift all this out of the way so we can get at those.” He looked at the shelves, on which there were pots of paint and decorating equipment.

  Will and Drake worked quickly while Mrs. Burrows and Elliott dragged between them a mattress down from one of the upstairs bedrooms. This was secured against the back door of the cellar leading to the garden, to help deaden any noise they might make while working.

  Taking a pickax from one of the bags, Drake used the tip to lever the shelves from the wall. As he heaved the unit aside, the others gathered around to see. Behind it, there was what appeared to be a stretch of perfectly ordinary wall painted white.

  “Right here,” Will said, going over and tapping the spot where he remembered the tunnel mouth had been. “It was right here.”

  Drake nodded. “We’ll do it the hard way to begin with, using good old elbow grease to knock a hole through. It’ll make less noise,” he said. “Everyone back,” he warned, then swung the pickax. Within a matter of minutes, he’d loosened enough bricks that a chunk of the wall dropped onto the cellar floor. A r
aft of hardcore and gravel slid from the small opening.

  “Very clever,” Drake said. “Precisely what you might expect to find.” He continued until he’d increased the size of the opening. “That’s enough. Over to you, Will.” Breathing heavily, Drake turned to the boy. “We need the spoil cleared away so we can see what we’re up against. And you used to enjoy a spot of digging, didn’t you?”

  Will smiled. “Sure, but this is going to take ages, isn’t it?” He was remembering how many days he and Chester had toiled to reexcavate the tunnel the first time around.

  “Not if I can help it,” Drake said. “Just do your stuff, Will.”

  “OK,” Will replied. He chose a shovel from the bag and expertly tested its weight in his hands. Then he spat on his palms. “Watch out! I’m back!” he announced, and began to dig.

  He worked like a whirlwind, only stopping to lift aside the larger pieces of rubble that he encountered. Elliott, Drake, and Mrs. Burrows had formed a chain and were passing the filled buckets to the end of the cellar, where they emptied them out.

  With a jarring clang, Will swore and straightened up. “Bad news — I’ve hit solid rock. It’s a bloody monster of a piece.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “There was nothing like this when I dug the tunnel out.”

  Drake didn’t seem to be at all disheartened by this news, but before he could respond to Will, his walkie-talkie crackled into life. “Your Christmas turkeys have flown in,” the mechanic’s voice announced, using Drake’s code. A few moments later, there were footsteps on the wooden stairs, and Eddie descended into the cellar.

  “Where are Sweeney and the Colonel?” Mrs. Burrows asked. “And Colly?”

  “They’re staying with the truck until we need them,” Eddie replied.

  “Hope they’re keeping their eyes peeled,” Drake said. “With that payload, we can’t afford to take risks — any number of terrorists or rogue states would give their eyeteeth for fissionable material in full weapon configuration. Besides that, Parry would go postal on me if I lost them!” He grinned. “And while I’m on the subject of explosives” — he went over to one of the large bags that Will had carried into the house and zipped it open — “it’s time to use the charges. We’ll just keep blasting until we’re through.”