Mutant 59

by Kit Pedler

  Gerrard turned angrily: ‘God damn fool, put it out! Gas!’

  But he need not have spoken. As the two men watched, the flame of a match abruptly flickered and snuffed out.

  ‘Can’t stay here – probably carbon dioxide.’

  By now their breathing was heavy and laboured. Gerrard felt light-headed and dizzy and recognized the early symptoms of carbon dioxide poisoning.

  He started to crawl along towards Holden but the effort was too much. Purvis was swaying on his feet. Gerrard slowly pulled himself up to a standing position. He felt drunk.

  ‘Get out quick – move, for Christ’s sake!’ he gasped, and the two men, swaying like drunks, stumbled along the passage up the incline supporting each other. They reached the others and flopped down.

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Anne, alarmed.

  ‘Gas,’ said Gerrard, his speech slurred. Slayter was sitting up flask in hand almost himself again. ‘What about Holden?’ he asked.

  Gerrard wearily shook his head: ‘Couldn’t get to him. There’s no chance. He must be dead.’

  No one answered, then Purvis spoke: ‘Where’s the gas coming from?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Gerrard shook his head. ‘All I know is that we’d better shift and fast!’

  ‘Why aren’t we affected here?’ Hardy’s voice had a slight quaver in it.

  ‘Because,’ said Gerrard, ‘being heavier than air, the carbon dioxide has settled down in the dip. It could be gradually expanding – up towards us!’

  From the other side the fire was thrusting long feathery tongues of smoke towards them. ‘Now where?’ said Slayter.

  ‘I think I saw an interconnecting tunnel,’ said Purvis, ‘about fifty yards back along here.’

  ‘We don’t know where it leads,’ said Slayter. They looked round at the station master who was breathing more regularly, his eyes still closed. ‘We’ve got to find out, wake him up!’

  Purvis went over to the station master and shook him. ‘Hey!’ he said loudly, ‘hey!’

  Gerrard gripped his arm and pushed him aside. ‘Give me the brandy.’ Slayter handed him the flask and Gerrard poured a little on the man’s lips. The station master’s eyes fluttered slowly and opened. Gerrard leant closer holding the torch so that he could see his face. ‘Can you hear me?’ The station master nodded slowly.

  ‘We’ve got to find another way out. There’s a bolt hole back there, where does it lead?’ The station master gasped for breath and tried to speak. Gerrard gave him a little more brandy.

  ‘There’s a ladder.’ He spoke in short gasps. ‘It goes … down to … Western line below!’

  ‘And up to the surface?’ said Gerrard.

  ‘No … down.’

  ‘We’re not going deeper,’ said Purvis.

  Gerrard straightened irritably. ‘What else do you suggest? We’ve had it here.’ The smoke was getting thicker.

  He turned to Slayter: ‘Can you walk?’ Slayter stretched his legs out and felt them cautiously. ‘I think so, I’ll be all right.’

  Gerrard looked at the two women. Both nodded. He handed the torch to Slayter. ‘Lead the way,’ he said. He nodded to Purvis and they bent down and pulled the station master to his feet.

  As they reached the bolt hole, the others were already inside. Half dragging, half pushing, they manhandled the station master through. Inside, to their relief, the air was free from smoke and Gerrard felt a cool fresh draught blowing from a new direction.

  They rested for a few moments and then dragged the station master through to a small square opening at the far side. It led into a larger chamber. The others were huddled around an opening in the floor at their feet where an old rusting iron ladder led downwards into the darkness.

  Hardy was shining his torch down. The air blowing up felt fresh and clean. Gerrard decided to risk an experiment.

  ‘Got another match?’ He turned to Purvis.

  Purvis brought out a box of matches and struck one. It flared brightly; be protected it with his hand and it continued to burn. ‘No gas,’ said Gerrard. ‘We’ll take a chance.’

  ‘What about him?’ Purvis pointed at the station master reclining unconscious against the wall. ‘We won’t get him down the ladder.’

  ‘We’ll have to get out and then come back for him,’ said Gerrard. ‘He’ll be safe here from the fire and, as long as there’s a supply of fresh air coming up, the smoke shouldn’t get to him.’

  ‘You can’t leave him,’ said Anne.

  ‘Nothing else we can do,’ said Gerrard. He looked down. ‘He’s far too heavy to take down that ladder without a rope.’

  ‘I’ve got a belt,’ said Anne, ‘so have you.’ She looked across at the station master. ‘He’s got one too. Can’t we tie them together?’

  ‘He’s about two hundred pounds,’ said Gerrard. ‘It would never take the weight.’ Wendy turned away and started to cry and Anne, to Gerrard’s relief, gave up the argument and put her arm around her.

  ‘We need that other flashlight,’ said Gerrard.

  ‘What?’ Purvis turned round. ‘Where is it?’

  Slayter shrugged his shoulders. ‘Holden had it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you bring it back?’ Purvis snapped angrily.

  ‘I was trying to save the man, not the torch,’ said Slayter.

  Purvis looked at him furiously for a moment and then turned away towards the ladder. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said, and swung over and started climbing down.

  He stopped with his head level with the top of the hatchway. ‘Give me the torch,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll need it up here.’ Gerrard turned away from the station master.

  Purvis’s calm was beginning to disappear. ‘I’m not going down there without a bloody light. Give it to me!’ He held his hand out aggressively.

  ‘I’ll light the way down,’ said Gerrard. The two men glared at each other.

  Anne, remembering, opened her handbag: ‘I’ve got something here. It’s only a keyhole light but it may be useful.’ She brought out a small keylight attached to a ring of keys and snapped it on. It gave off a dim yellow beam, she gave it to Purvis who took it without a word and started down.

  Gerrard looked round at the others. He nodded to Hardy. ‘You go next.’ Hardy clambered over and followed Purvis. ‘Now you two.’ The two women and then Slayter followed.

  Gerrard turned and took a last look at the station master. He took off his raincoat and bundled it around the unconscious man.

  ‘Can you hear me,’ he said. There was a slight flicker of the eyelids. ‘Now listen.’ He spoke almost into the man’s ear. ‘We’re going to get help. Do you understand?’

  There was a faint nod.

  ‘We’ll get back as soon as we can. You’ll be quite safe here for the time being.’ There was no answering nod this time, just a flicker of the eyelids. Gerrard turned round, flashed the torch down the hole, swung over onto the ladder and started climbing down. The walls were clammy and damp and there were white limestone excrescences on the ageing, flaking brickwork. It was like the interior of a chimney. He heard a cry from Purvis far below which echoed up towards him.

  ‘I’m down!’ There was a pause. ‘Looks quite clear down here,’ he said. The others climbed down to join him, Gerrard following, their feet grating on the ancient rungs, flakes of rust falling into their eyes.

  At the bottom, Gerrard swung the heavy torch into the darkness. They were in a low brick-lined chamber with an arched roof. Purvis was trying the massive steel levers on a heavy steel door at the far end. In the middle of the room there were some planks on trestles.

  On the planks there were some heavy tools and pieces of threaded piping. Against another wall, there was a complete oxyacetylene welding set, two picks, a crowbar and some other levers. There was a kettle and two mugs and a packet of tea on the floor. Slayter was examining the tools. Anne picked up the kettle.

  ‘It’s warm,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Thank God,’ said Slayter. ‘That me
ans whoever was here left in the last few minutes. The point is, which way?’

  Gerrard turned round and flung the light of the torch along the other end of the chamber then back towards the steel door.

  ‘Quite,’ said Slayter, voicing the thought that was uppermost in the minds of both men. ‘They must have gone through that door and … locked it behind them. Probably standing regulations in case of fire.’

  Purvis turned on them angrily: ‘We won’t find out waiting here, let’s try the other way.’ He turned and led the way back to the bottom of the ladder and then started down the other side of the tunnel. It was on an incline and they could feel a steady current of air blowing against their faces.

  Anne whispered to Gerrard, ‘It’s warm air!’ Gerrard nodded grimly.

  ‘That doesn’t mean a way out,’ said Anne. ‘It suggests …’

  Gerrard nodded. ‘Could come from a deeper level, could be the fire – can’t tell.’ He swung his powerful light into the space ahead.

  They had arrived at a short narrow bolt hole. On the far side, the beam of the torch picked out a square metal exit.

  Purvis was shining his torch downwards. It reflected off a pool on the floor. ‘We’ll have to go through here,’ he said.

  ‘Hold on!’ snapped Gerrard. Purvis didn’t move. ‘Get out of the way.’

  Purvis reluctantly moved aside and Gerrard edged closer to the entrance of the bolt hole and shone the light along the side wall. A thick mass of cables had sagged away from their supports. In one place they almost reached the surface of the water. There was hardly room to pass underneath and get out to the far side.

  ‘Well,’ said Purvis impatiently. ‘Let’s get on.’

  ‘Just hold your horses,’ said Gerrard. ‘Wait.’ He slowly and carefully shone his torch back along the tunnel again. ‘What do you think?’ He turned to Slayter.

  ‘It’s a hell of a risk.’

  ‘Why?’ said Purvis.

  ‘If there’s juice in those wires and anybody touches them while they’re in the water – they’ll go for the chop,’ said Slayter.

  ‘How can there be any current,’ said Purvis. ‘We passed a dozen lights, they were all out.’

  ‘They may’ve been turned off,’ said Gerrard. ‘The switches are probably on the other side of that door.’

  ‘I’m going through,’ said Purvis irritably. He started to bend down to get inside the narrow opening.

  ‘I wouldn’t.’ Slayter’s voice was calm in contrast to the other’s blustering urgency. ‘You’ll never get through without touching the wires.’

  Now that their eyes had adapted to the darkness they realized that the bolt hole was illuminated faintly from the other end.

  ‘There’s some light on through there,’ said Purvis.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Slayter dryly. ‘That’s why I wouldn’t advise it.’

  ‘Well, what the hell else can we do?’ said Purvis. ‘You’re very good with negative suggestions.’

  Slayter’s voice dropped another couple of tones and grew even more silky and cool. ‘I do have a more positive suggestion if you’re prepared to listen.’

  Purvis stared sullenly at him.

  ‘Come back and I’ll show you,’ said Slayter.

  He led the way back to the chamber and shone the torch on the welding equipment. ‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the whole works.’ He looked round at the door. ‘I reckon we can burn off these locks and bars.’ He shone the torch up and towards the door and gave an exclamation.

  The others followed the beam of the torch and saw a small metal switchbox.

  ‘That’s a bit of luck,’ said Slayter. He went over, opened the case and pulled down the switch lever. Instantly the chamber flooded with light and they all instinctively put their hands up to cover their eyes.

  ‘Now I think we’ve got the lot,’ said Slayter. ‘We’ve the means of cutting through that door. We know it leads out otherwise the workmen would still be here. They certainly couldn’t have gone the other way. He looked around. ‘And, I think … ah’ – he bent down – ‘there is even food!’

  ‘Food,’ said Anne. ‘Where?’

  Slayter pointed to a small wooden box: ‘A lunch box.’ Anne opened it and brought out some cheese, dried milk, sugar and a tin which, when she opened it, contained biscuits.

  Purvis was over by the door examining it, tapping the side of the lock. ‘There’s about half an inch of steel sheet, we’ll never get through.’

  Slayter whipped round in sudden fury, and pushed him back against the wall. ‘For Christ’s sake shut up,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a gutful of you.’ Purvis hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowed and he started forward, hands raised.

  Gerrard stepped between them: ‘Don’t you think we’ve got enough problems without wasting energy on a slugging match? Now can it!’

  For a moment the two men seemed about to push Gerrard out of the way and fight. Then finally the tension drained out of them and they separated. Purvis went sullenly away and sat on the planks by Wendy. Slayter started to check the oxyacetylene equipment.

  After a few moments, Purvis took out his brandy flask, shook it to see how much was left, picked up the kettle and filled it up with warm water. He put the cap back on and shook it to mix the contents.

  ‘Not much, but it’ll help,’ he said, passing it to Anne.

  Anne took a gulp and passed it around. Finally it got to Slayter who gratefully upended the flask, emptying it.

  For about fifteen minutes, they just sat, waiting for the glow of the drink to spread out into their tired limbs. By now they were black with grime. Purvis’s immaculate City dress was crumpled and torn. Gradually, they relaxed and began to talk.

  Gerrard found himself talking to Hardy who also turned out to be an expatriate Canadian; his accent flattened out and anglicized after some ten years in Britain. He had a degree in sociology and was a specialist in market research working for Purvis’s company. It was no surprise for Gerrard to learn that Purvis made bulldozing equipment.

  Slayter was the first to get up. He glanced at his watch. ‘Time we got started, give me a hand, will you?’ He looked across at Gerrard. Together they dragged the heavy cylinders over to the door.

  Slayter turned on the main cylinder keys and adjusted the pressure regulators. ‘How long do you think it’ll take?’ said Gerrard, nodding towards the door.

  ‘Can’t say,’ said Slayter. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve handled these but, at a rough guess, two or three hours depending on what I find on the other side of the metal of course – hope to God there’s enough gas in the bottles.’

  They were both breathing more stertorously and there were beads of sweat on Slayter’s brow. ‘You’ve noticed,’ began Gerrard.

  Slayter nodded. ‘Yes, it’s getting hotter all the time and the oxygen content in the air is decreasing.’

  ‘Right,’ said Gerrard, ‘don’t tell the others.’ He tapped the cylinder of gas. ‘This isn’t going to help much either.’

  ‘We’re wasting time,’ said Slayter abruptly. ‘Look, can you get everybody to move down the tunnel a bit farther. It’s not unknown for a blowback to happen on these things and if that happens they go up like a bomb. No point in anyone else being around if that happens.’ Slayter pulled the goggles down and lit the flame of the torch, adjusting the oxygen flow until there was a hard hissing blue flame.

  Anne had already gone up the ladder to the station master.

  Gerrard walked back to the others: ‘We’ll have to move back a bit,’ he said, ‘just in case.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Purvis suspiciously.

  Gerrard nodded back towards the flaring oxyacetylene cutter. ‘Sometimes they strike back. Let’s move.’

  They dragged the heavy benches farther along the corridor. It was noticeably warmer and ahead of them was the square metal opening into the bolt hole and the faint gleam of the water beyond.

  Gerrard turned and went towards the ladder
. He took his torch and shone it upwards. Anne was coming down. He caught a glimpse of long elegant legs and a flash of white pants between them as she clambered down towards him.

  Ironic, he thought, fifty-fifty chance of coming out alive and she still raises my adrenalin.

  She stepped down and stood beside him and looked up at him curiously. ‘I was warned about ladders,’ she said. Gerrard shrugged his shoulders and half turned away embarrassed.

  Anne smiled: ‘He’s much better.’

  ‘Well enough to come down?’ asked Gerrard.

  Anne hesitated: ‘Don’t know, you’d better take a look at him.’

  Gerrard nodded and started up the ladder. The air coming down was perceptibly hotter and by the time he’d reached the top he was pouring with sweat. There wasn’t as much smoke but there was an acrid chemical taint in the air which caught at his throat.

  The station master was seated in the light which was now shining at the top of the shaft. He was bent over something and seemed to be writing. As Gerrard tapped him on the shoulder, he gave a start and looked up. To his amusement he was working on a crossword puzzle in a thumbed copy of the Daily Mirror.

  ‘You’re a bit better, then?’ said Gerrard.

  ‘Much better, sir, thank you,’ said the station master. His colour had gone down from its hectic red, and he seemed to be breathing more easily. He had rolled up his uniform jacket and was resting up against it. ‘I’m quite comfortable here. Got my crossword. Don’t you worry about me, Guv.’

  Gerrard bent over and took his pulse, looking at his watch in the light of the one bulb that lit the top of the shaft. Gerrard looked down at him. ‘Think you can manage the climb now?’

  The station master shook his head. ‘Don’t reckon so and if I got down there I’d certainly not get back up again. Besides,’ he said, ‘they’ll soon have that fire under control and then there’ll be a search party coming. I think I’m better off here.’

  Gerrard didn’t feel as optimistic but he nodded his head: ‘You’re the fittest of the lot of us,’ he lied. He turned and looked along the tunnel. ‘I’ll go take a look.’ He started back along the now familiar way back through the musty brick room to the main tube tunnel.