Naming the Bones

by Mauro, Laura

  "Back in the 40s, there was all this talk about extending the Bakerloo line out to Camberwell and beyond." Casey's own torch beam joined her own, revealing nondescript brick walls stained pale and mottled; tiny stalactites hung from an arched ceiling, dripping a slow, steady stream of water which seemed to originate from above. Behind them, the door they’d entered through, coated with rust so dark it looked like old blood. Ahead, a set of stairs spiralled down into complete darkness. Alessa swallowed. Her throat felt tight. "They never actually got round to doing it,” Casey continued. “It wasn't economical, supposedly. So the project was abandoned. But this..." She spun in a slow circle, arms extended, inviting Alessa to take it all in. "See, they started the actual work on the tunnel pretty early on. Camberwell Station even popped up on tube maps, that's how sure they were that it was gonna happen. They started extending beyond the tunnel at Elephant and Castle. Nobody knows how far they got before the call came to abandon ship. Most people you ask will tell you they never even started. But that’s not true. Those stairs you see right over there - this leads down into the tunnels which would have been the Camberwell extension."

  "Seriously?"

  "No bullshit." She held her free hand up. "Do you have any idea just how many unused tunnels there are on the Tube? I have no idea how far this tunnel even goes. I think it runs under the Heygate and heads towards the Walworth Road. I haven't exactly been wandering around with a GPS stuck to my forehead so I don't have a clue how accurate that is. All I know is, there's a tunnel down here and that's where they've gone to ground."

  "Why didn’t they just fill the tunnel in? Why’s it still here?"

  "Insurance policy, probably. It was the 40s. No better air raid shelter than a deep-level tunnel." She placed a sympathetic hand on Alessa's arm. "Christ, I bet you think you're still hallucinating, don’t you?" A contrite bow of the head. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to do that to you. To mess with you like that. I really didn’t.”

  "But you did it for both of us," Alessa muttered.

  "Exactly," Casey said, a little too brightly. Alessa sensed she had registered the sarcasm and was merely ignoring it. "Come on. It’s a long way down."

  The thought that Casey had scouted all of this out by herself astounded her. Alessa didn't know exactly where bravery crossed over into insanity, but she was certain Casey had both feet planted either side of the dividing line. She let Casey take point as they approached the staircase. She would not be afraid, she told herself, staring a little helplessly into the darkness, spiralling downwards as if into the gullet of some enormous subterranean creature. She would not be afraid because if they smelled it on her, they would come, and then whatever precarious cover they had would be blown. She would not be afraid because Casey was not afraid, and she might be crazy but she was also in total control. And control was something Alessa desperately wanted for herself.

  She had not been able to help the Shades entering her life, but she could make them go away. She attempted to focus her mind on this outcome as they headed downwards, her hand trembling a little as she held onto the banister jutting from the wall.

  "Is there another way out? A plan B?" Alessa asked, and even though she spoke quietly she still cringed at the sound, her voice echoing somewhere far below. A shiver ran the length of her, sending her limbs into brief spasm. Might be the fever, she thought, though the air down here was noticeably colder and her damp jeans clung uncomfortably to her thighs.

  "The tunnel's blocked off by a brick wall, so you can't access the rest of the Bakerloo line." Casey's voice floated up, almost disembodied as she strode ahead. Walking headlong into darkness as thick and profound as an oceanic abyss without so much as hesitating. She really wasn't afraid, Alessa thought, and in spite of herself she felt a kind of distant awe. "So unless there are other super-secret tunnels down here, that door back there is all we've got."

  Alessa stopped walking, pressing her palm to her forehead; a dizzying wave of pressure built up in the space behind her eyes until it felt as if the front of her skull might blow clean open. The constant spiralling of their descent and the stubborn dregs of ill-suppressed fear conspired to turn her brain inside-out. She sat abruptly, one hand wrapped around the railings for balance. Her forehead pressed against her knees. "Jesus, Casey, what are we doing here? They're going to tear us to pieces. They’ll trap us both down here and I don't even think I can make it back up these stupid fucking stairs." Her eyes were hot, threatening to spill over. "And you're just...strolling, like we're off to the park and not Christ knows how deep underground in a tunnel nobody fucking knows about."

  "Hey." The sound of boots on concrete grew louder until she felt a presence beside her, felt a spider-thin arm wind around her back, drawing her upright. She sagged against Casey, resting her aching skull on one bony shoulder. She could quite easily just curl up and sleep, she thought. Down here, where the silence was so heavy it seemed almost physical. She could go to sleep and nobody would find her for decades. Maybe someone might come through that door, many years from now, and find her here – dust-thick bones curled tight, withered skin like old brown paper, an artefact from a past time.

  "They’re not going to hurt you,” Casey whispered. “I will never let them hurt you. But you have to be strong, okay? You can't be afraid. We can do this without them ever knowing we were here, but you can't be afraid. They'll smell us coming if you don't calm down."

  Alessa drew a shuddering breath. "That's just a theory."

  Casey paused for a long moment, as if thinking something over. Finally, she drew Alessa closer, tugging her slumped body up so that her mouth was level with Alessa's ear. When she spoke, her voice was low and rasping. "Tom wasn't afraid," she whispered. "Don't you remember? He was excited. He wanted to see them up close. And he almost did. I've never seen that before, Alessa, not in all the time I've been watching them. I didn't even think it was possible. The little bastard didn't even notice him until he was almost on it, and even then it was perfectly docile right up until the flash went off. But it didn't attack. Not until he showed fear. Can you tell me honestly that you think it's a coincidence? It was focused on you, Alessa. Because you were terrified." She drew away. Her mouth was turned upwards, a faint, elated smile. "Everything that happened confirmed practically every theory I've ever had about them. That they're drawn to fear and trauma. That they’re threatened by light. The only thing I didn't predict was what they did to Tom, but shit, how could I have guessed that? They seemed so passive the whole time. And the fire...What happened to Tom was awful, but if he hadn't done what he did I'd never have known about the fire..."

  "You’re happy," Alessa said flatly. She pulled away from Casey's grip, scrubbing furiously at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "You're actually pleased about what happened."

  "It's all knowledge, Alessa. You can't win a battle unless you know..."

  Alessa got up, limbs puppet-stiff, moving rigid as she sought to put distance between them. Suddenly, the dark was welcome, if only to hide Casey's hurt expression. "Did he know? When you dragged us out there. Did he know what you were using him for?"

  "He wanted to see them." She was a silhouette a few steps above, seated and still. "He didn't understand why he'd only seen them once. He came along willingly. I didn't make him do anything."

  "You used Tom. You used us both, and now he's dead because you just had to indulge your curiosity."

  "I didn’t know..."

  "Aren't you even a little bit sorry?" Alessa took a deep breath. She was shaking uncontrollably now, and a fat bead of sweat traced a path from the nape of her neck. She knelt low, pressing her forehead against the railing; the chill of old metal was pleasant against her hot skin.

  She heard Casey get to her feet. "You're angry with me," she said quietly, evenly. "That's good. Anger is better than fear."

  "Oh piss off."

  "Just listen..."

  "I’ve listened enough."

  "Alessa, will you shut up for a minute?" />
  Alessa stopped dead, clutching the railing tight in both hands. Casey's voice seemed to echo all the way down, growing fainter and fainter until it petered out somewhere near the bottom.

  "Be angry with me," Casey said. "God knows you have a right to be. I've not been honest with you. But you have to believe me when I tell you I never set out to hurt you or Tom. I just didn’t know how to handle it when things went mental. That’s all. If you don't believe anything else, believe that, okay?” She inhaled sharply. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done because I’m afraid. They've haunted me for too long. Longer than I know how to deal with. And…I'm just so tired, Alessa." She sounded exhausted, then, and utterly lost, small and diminished on the stair; she looked like a frightened child, all fragile bones and paper skull and bird-nest hair. Despite the rage boiling inside of her, Alessa couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. "After this is over, you can do what you like. If you never want to speak to me again, I'll understand. But please, let's get this done. Because if I have to spend the rest of my life checking over my shoulder every time I go outside...I think I'd rather throw myself under a train, to tell you the truth."

  Alessa wanted to tell her that maybe she should just go do that anyway, but the words wouldn't come. And when Casey walked into the path of her torch she no longer looked like a child; she looked older than she'd ever looked. Old, and tired, and teetering on the very precipice of losing it entirely. The thought of living a life spent in constant fear of something nobody else could even see seemed unbearable, and she knew that she could not keep on doing this any more than Casey could.

  "All right," Alessa said finally. She indicated the stairs with her torch, painting a brief figure-of-eight in light on the far wall. "Enough is enough, Casey. Let's get this over with."

  NINE

  T he stairs led out into a cavernous tunnel. The roof and walls were conjoined in one wide, perfect arch, ringed with old iron girders like the ribs of an ancient whale. If there had ever been tracks lain here, they were long gone now; the floor was a flat, narrow expanse of grimy concrete stretching out as far as Alessa’s torch beam would allow. It smelled like an old church, of limestone and sour dust and cold air. The sheer sense of space down here was almost overwhelming; the last time she’d stood inside a Tube tunnel, Alessa had been surrounded by other people, by the sounds and motion of them, and the bright glare of train headlights still miraculously functioning. Here, though, there was only her, and Casey, and the quiet scuff of deliberately light footsteps echoing in the blue-tinted dark.

  Slowly, they headed into the depths of the tunnel.

  Alessa kept her eyes trained on the distance ahead. A maddening paranoia crawled in the space between skin and bone, firing off synapses without provocation. She felt a chill on her neck and told herself it was her imagination. It had to be. There was no breeze stirring down here, not even from the way they’d come. A terrible stillness filled the tunnel, as if it had been suspended in time since the last workers had shut the door behind them. As if something huge and monstrous were holding its breath.

  Had this been what he had felt, walking alone without so much as a torch to that singular point of light? Had he felt the oppressive weight of an entire city above his head, recycled the same stale air through his lungs? Had he walked into the darkness and known, as sure as Alessa knew now, that something watched him from the darkest corners?

  “You’re shaking,” Casey whispered. Her mouth was grim.

  “It's cold.” The torch slid in her sweaty hands. Stop thinking about this, she told herself, but everything was coming apart now, and when she reached to name the bones nothing would come; she was back in that tunnel, the acrid stench of fried electrics thick in her throat, the obscene sweetness of charred human flesh about her nostrils. Anguished sobs ringing in her skull. She pressed frantic hands to her ears, willing the sound to stop. The torch clattered to the floor, lost in the shadows. She was dimly aware of Casey swinging round to face her, of her mouth moving as if to form words, but there was only that desperate sobbing; she stumbled forward, trying in vain to outrun the sound, to get away from whoever was making it. It seemed to be coming from inside her own head, as though there was someone trapped in there, beating useless fists against the slick arch of her skull. She fell to her knees a few yards away, palms flat on the dusty ground. Somewhere far away, Casey was calling her name.

  She looked up.

  There, in the distance, was a light; bright and small, a single cat's eye in the dark. And just beyond, barely visible but instantly recognisable: a silhouette, hazy in the headlights of the ruined train. There was no mistaking his purposeful stride, the proud set of his shoulders as he set off in search of rescue. She tried to call out, to warn him, but her throat was closed tight...

  "Alessa!"

  The sensation of a warm hand on the back of her neck pulled her sharply back into reality. One arm flew up, catching Casey's forearm in a desperate vicegrip.

  "Jesus!"

  Alessa let go. "Somebody was crying," she said, though as soon as the words emerged she realised how stupid they sounded. There was no bombed-out train, no light save for Casey's torch. The only sound was the rapid, concussive thud of her own heartbeat. None of it had been real. "I'm sorry," she said, tongue thick in her mouth. "I thought I heard..."

  "Nothing." Casey's voice was a harsh whisper. "You heard nothing. It was just a flashback. They get inside your head, remember? It's okay. We're okay..." She trailed off, rising slowly to her feet. Her eyes fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance, mouth slowly slackening.

  "Casey?"

  “There.” She raised a trembling hand, pointing at something Alessa could not see. Her torch beam swung up, illuminating something slumped against the tunnel wall. It looked like a discarded sack, something left down here and forgotten a long time ago. Side by side, uncertain, they approached. She was acutely aware of just how still it was down here, of her own gathering panic, the fear suddenly radiating from Casey like a fever.

  Something skittered in the darkness behind them. She marched forward, eyes fixed ahead. I won't be afraid, she told herself, though the cold weight in her stomach told her it was too late. When Casey stopped, only inches from the object, hands pressed tight against her mouth Alessa knew she should stop too, but she kept going. Slowly, the bundle came into focus. Grey hoodie. Khaki chinos stained dark with blood. And inside them, inert but somehow breathing, the rise and fall of his chest apparent even in this low light, was Tom.

  "Christ," Alessa whispered. "Oh no, no, Tom..." She took a step back, almost stumbling over her own feet. And all around her the air seemed to shift, a ball of pressure welling outwards like a bead of blood; the sensation of a storm gathering just out of sight. She stared down at Tom, unable to speak, and when Casey ran to him she was powerless to tell her to stay back. Casey pulled frantically at Tom's limbs, his face, trying desperately to wake him up. A strange keening noise emanated from her open mouth as her hands found the great glistening cavity at his centre, white bone gleaming in the beam of her torch. Sternum, she thought reflexively, staring in mute horror. Xiphoid process. Ribs.

  That skittering sound again, louder now, closer. Alessa turned, facing the way they’d come. The darkness was a thick clot, a physical entity pulsating to some obscene rhythm. She remembered Waterloo station, the way the tunnel mouth had congealed and warped, Shades spilling out like spiderlings bursting from an egg sac. And she knew, then. They'd smelled her fear and now Casey's terror, hot and rich as blood. Alessa grabbed Casey's shoulder. "They know we're here," she said. Casey’s eyes brimmed with tears. Her torch clattered to the ground. Alessa snatched it up, dragging Casey upright with the other hand. "Come on."

  "But he..."

  Tom's limp-hanging head turned to face them. His eyes were open, staring vacantly up at her, and Alessa knew this was not really Tom but empty flesh. His body seized, arching violently upwards, mouth wide and slack. Her fingers tightened on Casey's sleeve
, pulling her away but she stood firm, staring raptly at Tom's boneless, convulsing form. From between his blood-crusted lips oozed a thick black tendril; his throat rippled and bulged, a terrible peristalsis, and he was choking but utterly unaware, gagging reflexively as it squeezed his oesophagus. The thick, wet sound was unbearably loud in the quiet.

  "It's a fucking Shade," Casey said, sounding more reverent than horrified. "Christ almighty."

  It spilled out onto the dusty stone, liquid at first but quickly attaining form; pale eyes blinked into life. Alessa yanked hard on the straps of Casey's rucksack, but her limbs went suddenly slack; Alessa stumbled back, clutching the bag. She realised then that for all of her sorrow, for all of the tears shed, Casey was enthralled. This was the endgame for her, unintended though it might have been; sacrificing Tom to the Shades in return for knowledge, for intimate insight into the very creatures she had set out to destroy.

  Another Shade pushed its way out of Tom’s open mouth, wet and glistening as a newborn. How many were in there, greedily feeding off the last dregs of his terror? Still clutching Casey's rucksack, she broke into a run, away from Tom and the darkness swelling behind them, threatening to burst apart, releasing Shades in a great black torrent. She ran without knowing where she was going, or what she'd do once she got there. All that mattered was putting distance between her and them.

  She didn't get far.

  Up ahead, a light blinked into being. She lurched to a halt, ankle twisting awkwardly beneath her; pain lanced up into her hip and she cried out, a brittle sound echoing off the curve of the ceiling. Bathed in the yellowish glow of this new light, a second body came into view a short distance ahead. It was a sad remnant of a human being, crumpled and empty. The clothes were coated in pale dust, ragged at the edges, but she recognised them as well as she’d recognised Tom’s. She’d seen them in her dreams a hundred times, always cast in the headlights of the train as he disappeared alone into the tunnel, deaf to her pleas for him to stop. So here you are, she thought dully, staring at the gleam of the cheap watch loose around his desiccated wrist. All this time, and here you are. What a sad, pointless end.