by Chris Ryan
Ben and Annie listened to him in edgy silence. There was something fragile about him too.
'The world of nature can be cruel, but not as cruel as the world of men,' the old man said. 'And I meant what I said, about Spadeadam. This is not a place for you to be wandering around. You should leave now.'
'He's right, Ben,' Annie piped up. 'Come on, we had an agreement. Let's get out of here.'
Ben nodded. He felt suddenly exhausted after everything that had just happened, and not in the mood to argue. 'Are you going to come with us, Joseph?' he asked.
Joseph shook his head. 'They'll come for me soon enough,' he said obscurely.
'Come for you? Who'll come for you?'
Joseph's head seemed to shake of its own accord, and for a moment Ben thought he saw a hint of the old craziness in his eyes. 'It's not important. But there are things I have to do before then. Things I have to see.'
'And this is one of them, right?'
The old man stared directly at Ben. His piercing green eyes seemed an alarming contrast to the crimson of the blood on his cheek. 'Right,' he said.
And then, as if they were no longer in the room, Joseph bent down and tried to lift up the trap door. It was heavy – too heavy for the old man – and the wooden square slipped from his hands, sending an echoing bang around the concrete walls.
Ben and Annie exchanged a long look as Joseph tried again, without success.
Ben sighed. He wanted to get out of there, but he couldn't bear to see the old man struggling. 'Here,' he said. 'I'll help you.'
Joseph turned round. 'You should leave,' he repeated, but he didn't decline the offer of help as Ben stepped forward. Together they heaved the trap door up onto its edge, then stepped back.
A musty, damp smell wafted up from the cellar below. It was the smell of darkness, disuse and age. A flight of steps, chipped and dusty, descended into the gloom – Ben could not see the bottom, nor indeed more than a couple of metres down, and he had the impression that nobody had opened up this cellar for a very, very long time.
As if in a trance, Joseph took a step down.
'Wait!' Ben said, and the old man looked sharply at him. 'You can't go down there in the pitch-dark.' He pulled his rucksack from his back, rummaged around and took out his torch. 'Here,' he said, handing it to Joseph.
The old man nodded gratefully; then, shining the torch downwards into the darkness, he descended.
Ben watched him disappear. He seemed so confident, considering the fact that minutes ago he had appeared to be barely on the edges of sanity. What was down there? What was he so sure he was going to find? Why was he prepared to take such risks to locate this place? Half of Ben wanted to follow him, to find out what was going on; the other half just wanted to get out of there.
'Ben!' Annie's voice disturbed his thoughts. 'Ben, we can't stay here.' But then her voice changed. 'Ben – what's that noise?'
He blinked. Sure enough, the familiar drone had started up in the distance.
It was getting louder.
And louder.
'Ben!' Annie screamed. 'They're back!' And as she spoke, their ears filled with thunder, followed by the most spectacular crash they had yet heard. The walls of the hut seemed to shake – it was obvious that a bomb had just landed very near to them. And as though they had come out of nowhere, the air outside seemed suddenly to be filled yet again with the roar of jet engines.
Ben and Annie spun round to the open door in unison, just as it rattled on its hinges and debris flew into the hut. 'We can't go out there!' Annie shouted, and Ben knew she was right. But if one of those bombs hit the hut, it would be the end.
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the trap door. 'Come on!' he shouted. 'Down here!'
Hurriedly they started descending the steps.
As soon as they were below the level of the floor, Ben became aware of a chill. He shuddered. Below them he could see the torch, its beam moving around whatever was down there like a firefly, and faintly illuminating the figure of the strange old man holding it. The smell was even stronger down here, and in addition to the musty aroma of age there was something else. Something foul, as if things had been living and dying down here. What it was, Ben didn't even want to think. Under ordinary circumstances that smell would have made him turn round without a moment's thought. But this was not an ordinary situation. Planes were still flying overhead, and they could be victim to one of their devastating bombs any second. Whether they were safer down here, he couldn't say; but it surely couldn't be more dangerous.
The steps went a good way down – maybe five metres, maybe ten, Ben couldn't really tell in the darkness and in the hurry. At the bottom there seemed to be a kind of corridor. The felt their way along it, moving blindly and with care as they were unable to see where they were stepping. All they could do was make for the silhouetted figure of Joseph up ahead.
As he walked, Ben felt an irritating, tickling sensation against his face. It made him want to sneeze, but for some reason he felt he didn't want to make any sudden noises down here. The further they walked, the worse it got. Cobwebs, he thought to himself, as he brushed the silky strands away from his skin. He tried not to think of the spiders that had spun them. 'You all right?' he asked Annie.
'Not really,' Annie replied in a small voice. 'I don't like it down here.'
'It'll be OK,' he reassured her, though in truth he had to agree with her. His hand brushed against the wall – it felt cold to the touch, and damp. He wondered how long it had been since anybody else had touched that wall, and he tried not to think of the smell, which was getting worse and worse.
After several paces Ben sensed that the corridor was opening out a little, until finally they stood side by side with Joseph in a low-ceilinged room. The stench was even stronger here – a gagging stink – and Ben found himself breathing through his mouth so that he didn't get too much of that putrid smell.
The old man held the torch above his shoulder and slowly scanned the beam of light around the room, meaning that Ben was only able to piece his surroundings together gradually. The walls were hung with what looked like metal medicine cabinets. Mostly they were closed, but a few of them had their doors hanging off where the hinges had rusted away, and these ones seemed to be empty. A bare wire hung from the ceiling. There was a metal trolley – it was difficult to see in the darkness, but it appeared to be thick with cobwebs and discoloured by rust – and next to the trolley was a chair. When Joseph's light fell upon it, he did not seem inclined to move the torch, deciding instead to stare at that chair. It seemed to be bolted firmly to the ground, and it too was made of metal: metal feet, metal arms, a metal back. Whoever had designed that chair had not intended it to be comfortable. It had some other purpose.
What that purpose was, though, Ben did not give much thought, because there was something else on his mind. A scurrying, scratching sound of something surprised by the light and the sudden company.
'Can you hear what I can hear, Ben?' Annie whispered.
'Yeah,' he replied. He didn't want to think about what it was that they had disturbed in the darkness, but he knew it was better to try and find out. 'Joseph,' he said. 'I think you'd better give me that torch.'
But the old man was still pointing the beam of light at the metal chair. 'This is it,' he said quietly, his voice strangely devoid of any emotion. 'This is it. I've been wanting to find this place for fifty years.'
'Honestly, Joseph. Give me the torch.'
'They've been telling me I imagined it. For fifty years they've been telling me I imagined it.' His voice betrayed a tremor now. 'I knew they were wrong. I always knew they were wrong.'
The scurrying grew more pronounced. With a shock that made him jolt his whole body, Ben felt something brush against his leg. Almost without thinking he shot his arm out and grabbed the torch from Joseph's hand. He took a deep breath and shone it down on the floor.
And the floor seemed to move as he did so.
Ben clo
sed his eyes. If there was one thing he couldn't bear, it was these. 'Rats,' he whispered.
There were hundreds of them – at least that was what it looked like. He tried not to look at the tails – long, thick, glossy whips at least the same length as the rats' bodies, the very thought of which made him shiver. As he shone the torch down onto the floor, they parted like the Red Sea, but they soon grew used to the new sensation of the light, and started to swarm around the trio. Annie clutched onto Ben's arm so tightly it hurt. 'I think we should get out of here,' she said, her voice tight.
'Yeah,' Ben replied tensely. 'And fast. Come on, Joseph.'
But as he turned, Annie started screaming. Loudly. Hysterically. 'Get it off !' she yelled. 'It's on me. Get it off!'
Ben spun round and shone the torch in her direction. Annie was looking, aghast, down at her legs, where a large black rat, its thick greasy tail writhing behind it, had attached itself by its claws to the material of her combat trousers. Several other rodents were gathered around by her boots. 'Get it off me!' she screamed again.
Every inch of Ben's body was repelled by the sight of the rat, but he knew he had to do something. The torch was still in his hand, and it felt like a good weight, so he struck the rat a solid blow on the side of its body. The rodent squealed, and fell with a heavy thump to the floor, where its sudden arrival dispersed its companions.
But not for long.
Ben felt the unmistakable scratching of tiny claws up his legs and the horrible heaviness of something on his trousers. He knocked the rat down: as he did so, he felt his skin brush against the fur of the rodent that was scampering up him, and once more he found himself unable to restrain a shudder. Horrific memories of the rats he had encountered during the London floods came to his mind. He hated these creatures – why did they always seem to like him so much?
From somewhere deep inside his horror he became aware that Annie was screaming again; and even Joseph now appeared to be moving. 'The rats are more frightened than us,' he heard himself saying tersely, more to calm himself down than anything else. It wasn't much comfort, and the three of them started hurrying back towards the stairs, their feet occasionally knocking against a squeaking rat and the skin on their faces brushing against the cobwebs.
Ben couldn't tell whose feet it was he tripped over, but somewhere along the corridor he fell. He shouted out hoarsely, and tried to ignore the fact that the floor seemed to be undulating with shuffling furry bodies. There was a sudden troubled squeaking, and he pulled his hand quickly up off the ground when he realized it was resting on a strong, thick rat's tail. He shouted out again, his head suddenly swimming with panic as he tried to stumble to his feet. All strength seemed to have left him, however, and as the rats continued to swarm round his body, the walls started closing in on him. Claustrophobic. Surrounded by a sea of whip-like tails and stinking fur.
And then there was a hand on his arm. It was Joseph, pulling him up. 'On your feet, lad,' he said sternly, and that was all the instruction Ben needed. He pushed the panic from his mind and thrust himself up.
'Let's go,' he said with determination.
It was with unspeakable relief that Ben saw the dim light from the trap door illuminate the steps; and with even more relief that he heard no planes overhead. He stepped to one side to let the terrified Annie pass. Once she was on the steps, it was Joseph's turn. 'You go first, lad,' he said breathlessly, and Ben nodded, emerging back into the concrete hut with an explosive breath of air.
Annie's whole body was shuddering, and she was breathing in short, sudden gasps that would have been cries if there had been tears in her eyes. 'I – I don't care what's happening out there,' she stammered. 'There's no way I'm going back down those stairs.'
Ben's teeth were chattering as he nodded his head. He started drawing deep breaths to calm himself down, and for a few seconds the three of them stood by the trap door in silence.
It was Annie who spoke first. 'Er, do you mind if we close that thing? I'm sure I can still hear those horrible rats.'
Ben nodded curtly, stepped round to the side of the opening and slammed the door shut. It echoed round the hut like a gunshot, and again the trio fell silent.
'So,' Ben said finally, more for the sake of putting the thought of the rats from his mind, 'fifty years, eh, Joseph? Can't think why you didn't go back there sooner.'
The old man turned to look at him. His grizzled face was serious, and he ignored Ben's ill-judged attempt at humour – an attempt that he instantly regretted the moment he caught that glance.
'Rattus norvegicus,' he said. 'The brown rat. Coarse hair, average body weight of three hundred and fifty grams. Acute hearing, sensitive to ultrasound. Selectively bred as laboratory rats for medical experimentation, which means that their presence down there is more apt than you could ever imagine.' Joseph's lip curled into a frown. 'You don't understand, lad,' he continued in a low voice. 'It's OK – there's no reason why you should. But what happened down there fifty years ago was far worse than anything you've seen today.' His green eyes fixed themselves on Ben, who found that he was unable to look away, so commanding was that gaze.
Ben heard his own heart beating as the two of them stared intently at each other.
'I'm sorry,' Ben said finally. 'I didn't mean to—'
'Just go,' Joseph interrupted. 'Get out. Get away.' He turned, releasing Ben from his fearsome gaze.
Ben nodded, then looked towards Annie. 'Come on,' he said. 'I think we should go home.'
'That's the most sensible thing you've said all day,' she replied. They turned their back on Joseph and walked towards the door. Ben gave the old man one last glance over his shoulder. He was looking around the hut again, that same inscrutable expression on his face.
Ben's eyes, unused to the brightness of the outside, smarted slightly as he walked into the daylight, so he covered them briefly with his hand. So it was that Annie saw them first – Ben heard her gasp even before he noticed them, and he felt her grasp his arm. But when he removed his hands from over his eyes, he stopped dead in his tracks.
There must have been five or six of them, grim-faced RAF men in combat fatigues and military berets, surrounding the hut. They were all heavily armed with ugly, black service rifles, and each of the guns was pointed directly at Ben and Annie.
'Hit the floor!' one of the soldiers barked. 'Lie on the floor with your hands on your head! Get down! Get down or we shoot!'
Chapter Ten
Ben hit the dirt. Next to him, he sensed Annie doing the same.
'Get your hands on your head!' he heard the soldier shout, and he did as he was told. He felt his rucksack being grabbed from him, then his wrists being roughly seized and pulled down behind his back, where one of their captors clunked a pair of metal handcuffs on him.
'Who else was in there with you?' a voice barked.
'Only one person,' Ben replied through gritted teeth. The gravel-strewn ground scratched against his cheek as he spoke. 'He's an old man. His name's Joseph and he's pretty frail. Go easy on him.' He watched as three sets of heavy-booted feet rushed past his field of vision. 'He's not armed,' Ben shouted. 'He's harmless—'
But the soldiers were already shouting, 'Get to the floor! Get to the floor!'
From inside the hut, Ben heard Joseph's distinctive voice. 'I'm an old man,' he said calmly. 'You are three heavily armed soldiers. It's unlikely I'm going to overcome you with my bare hands, don't you think?'
Instantly there was a sickening thump, like the butt of a rifle against skin and bone, and then the unmistakable sound of Joseph groaning and falling to the floor. 'Leave him alone!' Ben shouted, before being unceremoniously pulled to his feet, as was Annie. They watched as the old man, a large welt already visible on the side of his face, was dragged out of the hut. One of the soldiers struck him harshly in the pit of his stomach. He fell to his knees before his arms were grabbed behind his back and he too was restrained with cuffs.
Nearby there was a military vehicle – a la
rge, canvas-covered four by four. Wordlessly they were pushed towards the truck and bundled into the back, while three soldiers, their weapons still firmly in their fists, joined them to keep guard. The back of the truck was pulled closed, and it started moving slowly along the rough dirt track.
The atmosphere was tense. The bruise on Joseph's face seemed to be getting darker by the minute; Annie kept looking at it, and then furiously back at the soldiers. Ben could tell that she was fuming that an RAF soldier should have inflicted such a wound on an unarmed old man. Finally one of the soldiers – a burly man with a nose that looked like it had been broken at some stage in the past – spoke. 'Pretty stupid place for a couple of kids to be hanging out,' he told them. He directed his attention towards Joseph. 'But I might have expected something a bit more sensible from an old boy like you.'
Joseph's face remained stony. 'Stupidity isn't just for young people,' he said quietly, touching his fingers to his bruised face as if to illustrate his point.
The soldier sneered.
'Where are you taking us?' Annie demanded.
'Same place we take everyone caught interfering in military operations,' he replied dismissively. 'To a holding cell, while we evaluate whether or not you're a threat to national security.'
'National security!' Annie blustered. 'That's ridiculous.'
The soldier stretched out his arm and grabbed Annie firmly by the face, pinching her cheeks. 'I'll tell you what,' he said in a low growl. 'How about you shut up, and I'll see to it that you don't end up like your old friend there.'
The other two soldiers sniggered at his comment.
Annie's lips thinned; Ben prayed that she would just keep quiet, but he knew how likely that was. 'You should be ashamed of yourself,' she spat at the soldier. 'You're a disgrace to the uniform, and when I next speak to my father—'
'Annie, no!' Ben interrupted her.
'Shut up, Ben. When I next speak to my father, he's going to hear about this.'
The soldier grinned at his colleagues. 'Any particular reason why we should be running scared from your daddy?'