by Perrin Briar
Did it change anything that he knew Jeremiah? That he had spent part of his youth here, under his roof? Eaten his food and played with his son? Working in the property business meant you were supposed to leave your morals at the door, or else you’d find your resume posted to it. You couldn’t afford to make those kinds of decisions when you were in business.
But the world Graham and Jeremiah’s past belonged to was gone, every bit as much as the photos that catalogued them on the walls and in the albums. All those eyes looking down at him, judging him. He felt embarrassed to be in this position. How did he ever end up here? How did he go from a child who came here to play during the evenings and weekends to someone who stole from those who had shown him nothing but kindness?
Was this what he needed to force him into a new line of work? To do something he really wanted to do rather than something that just paid the bills? His shoulders shrank.
“What are you doing?”
Jeremiah stood in the doorway. He’d woken up and stumbled down the corridor without Graham hearing him.
“I… I was just…” Graham said.
“What are you doing in my house?” Jeremiah shouted.
“I was just…” Graham said
Jeremiah leapt forward and gripped Graham by the collar, holding him in a tight fist. Despite the old man’s age, Graham feared for his life, feared suffering the same fate Jeremiah’s wife had. Murdered, with a swift anonymous burial.
“Get out!” Jeremiah said. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
He screamed and bellowed, and his weedy arms seemed very strong. He threw Graham forward, toward the door. Graham tripped on a newspaper tower and hit the floor face first.
The floor shook. Graham felt it beneath his hands. And it continued to shake, long after it should have stopped.
Jeremiah’s eyes were wide with rage. Then they mellowed into confusion. A hanging photo frame shivered and shook, rattling on the wall. He reached out a hand to stay it, but it leapt off and smashed on the floor. Now all the frames were jittering, the model planes bandying to and fro like they had been possessed.
There was a loud crack and the floor gave way beneath them, falling away like crumble. Jeremiah skidded and banged into the wall. The hole spread wider and wider, and the newspapers and cupboards fell into it, consumed. The house shell itself remained intact, only the floor a gaping hole.
Finally, the building stopped shaking. Graham and Jeremiah stood, panting and out of breath, staring at the deep hole before them, each standing on a lonely platform of safety. Their eyes rose and they looked at one another, sharing a moment of relief.
Creeeeaak!
Jeremiah’s eyes widened. He looked at his feet. His platform snapped and he fell into the hole like he was standing on a stage trapdoor. His voice grew distant as he shouted: “Good Gooooooooood!”
All the way to silence.
Graham didn’t move a muscle. He just stared at the empty space Jeremiah had disappeared down. He peered at the door behind him, easily within reach. If he could just stretch…
Creeeeaak!
“Oh no,” Graham said.
His platform snapped. He fell into open space, his guts wrenching, his mind spinning, into the empty darkness beyond.
Chapter Seven
GRAHAM FELL down, down, down, pummeled on every side by clods of dirt, small rocks, and mud. The earth erupted around him, knocking him side to side. Unsure of which direction he was falling in, he stuck his legs out to either side, dragging a torrent of soil down in his wake.
Tree roots snapped beneath his weight. Stones, large and small, fell on his head, making loud jarring crunching sounds. The tunnel was narrow, and despite his best efforts he couldn’t slow himself down. Earth filled his mouth as he descended deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth, and that’s what it smelt like – bowels, like the sewers had opened out into the narrow tunnel.
Below him he saw a small hole that glowed orange with light. It grew larger and larger. Graham dug his heels into the tunnel to slow his descent, but the hole was still approaching. He gritted his teeth, and sensed passing through the hole was not going to be a pleasant experience.
He grunted through his teeth and forced his feet out further. He felt himself begin to slow. He stopped, not more than a few inches from the circle. Graham panted, his body exhausted. He angled himself to look down through the hole, but his body was in the way. He could only make out small yellow-orange lights. He looked up and couldn’t make out anything more than a couple of feet away. The darkness stole his vision.
He shook his head. What was he going to do to get out of this?
“Stop whining,” he said to himself. “You know what you have to do.”
He dug his hands into the dirt wall on either side and lifted one foot. He did the same on the other side and scaled a few inches. He raised his hands again, digging in his fingers and lifting each foot.
Sweat dripped down his face. He tasted the dirt in it. But it was the only water available, so he sipped. The muscles tensed all over his body. He paused, taking a break. The fall had taken it out of him. He didn’t know how much farther he had to climb, but he swore he would make it. Every inch of the way.
There was a deep rumbling. His feet juddered down a couple of inches, wiping away all his hard work. His legs pulled to the sides, growing wider, into the splits.
“Please no,” he said.
The earth gave way and he fell, through the hole, toward the opening and yellow dots below.
Chapter Eight
HE’D SEEN a similar sight before, when coming down to land in an airport. Of course, then he’d had the benefit of riding in an airplane. He was tumbling through the air now, out of control.
But there might be a body of water below. If he wanted a chance of surviving the fall he would need to hit it with his feet first. He threw his arms and legs out, catching resistance. His spinning slowed and he straightened, pulling his body up with his hands by his sides and his feet pointing down.
The moment he did, his soles struck something. It wasn’t water, but something hard. It broke under his weight. He was falling again, this time at a slower speed. He struck another surface, and another, each time slowing, but never stopping until…
Thud.
He stopped.
Dust tickled his nose. His eyes were clenched tight, breath rasping through his teeth, shoulders bunched up. He daren’t move for fear he was going to start falling again. He muttered a prayer under his breath for it all to be over. And still, his eyes were clenched shut.
Only a minute after having stopped did he begin to think he was safe. He swore at himself for jinxing himself, and clenched his eyes even tighter, as if safety depended on him not seeing where he was. Then, ever so slowly, he began to open his eyes.
He peered around. He stretched his eyes open wide, uncertain if he had opened them or not. It was pitch dark. He concentrated on his breathing, focusing on each breath in, each breath out. He calmed down.
Above him were two holes. They mirrored the holes in the roof above them, and those above that, and above that, echoing into eternity.
He reached out with his hand. His fingers touched something hard. He flinched away from it. He touched it again, this time pressing his palm against it. It was metal. Then he reached back, behind himself, and felt another flat wall. He reached left, and felt the same sheet of material. I’m in a stinking box, he thought. What is this? Some sort of elaborate trap? Then he reached out with his right hand, expecting to feel another wall.
Someone grunted, shouted, and flew back, striking what Graham assumed was the fourth wall. The sudden sound, unexpected, drove Graham back too. He yelled and pressed himself against it, and then into the corner, as far from whatever was in there with him as possible.
Graham was not alone.
Chapter Nine
SOMETHING TOUCHED Graham’s foot. He flinched back, shouting. The other guy shouted. They both shouted. And finally, when
neither of them had any oxygen left, they both stopped.
“Jeremiah?” Graham said.
“Yeah,” Jeremiah said. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Graham.”
“Who?” Jeremiah said.
“The one who was in your house before the floor fell through,” Graham said.
“You fell too?” the old man said.
“Evidently,” Graham said.
“What are we doing here?” Jeremiah said.
“It was an accident,” Graham said. “We aren’t meant to be here. Someone will come looking for us. Someone must come by your place sometimes, right? A cleaner or a helper or a nurse or something? They’ll see the hole, think it suspicious, and call the fire brigade or the police or whoever handles these things.”
“A stripper comes by once every so often,” Jeremiah said.
“Really?” Graham said.
“Of course not you fool!” Jeremiah said. “No one comes. And when they do, I’m quick to get them to leave.”
“I’m the fool?” Graham said. “You’re the one whose floor just fell out from under him. Why don’t you take proper care of your property?”
“Everything was fine before you came snooping around,” Jeremiah said. “It was probably you that caused it.”
“Yeah, right,” Graham said. “Because I’ve got nothing better to do with my time than to get myself stuck down here with an old fart.”
“That’s the problem with your generation,” Jeremiah said. “Always quick to blame your misfortune on someone else.”
“I don’t think now is the right time to be discussing generation gaps,” Graham said. “Hang on. I think I feel something. I think it’s a door knob.”
“A what?” Jeremiah said.
“A door knob,” Graham said. “Clean your ears out. It’s strange. It’s really low, like it’s a child’s door or something.”
“Turn it then,” Jeremiah said.
“We don’t know what’s on the other side,” Graham said.
“We know what’s on this side,” Jeremiah said. “Open it.”
Chapter Ten
THE DOOR creaked open. The room it opened onto was large and appeared empty. Graham ducked his head down to fit through, shuffling forward.
“Watch your head,” Graham said. “The doorway’s a bit low.”
“I can see it,” Jeremiah said.
He got through and then cast around.
“Looks like a church,” he said.
“Built for children,” Graham said.
All the pews were low. Even the pulpit was half its usual height. They walked down the aisle and came to the door at the end. They looked back at the room they had emerged from. It was a non-descript cupboard. On the floor were a bunch of religious artefacts, including a cross encrusted with jewels. It’d snapped under their feet.
“What do you want to do?” Graham said.
“Get the hell out of this place, for a start,” Jeremiah said. “I haven’t been in church for years and I’m not about to start now.”
They moved to the front of the church and pushed the front door open. They peered out at a quiet dark dirt road, hard-packed by use. Buildings ran along either side of it, like a regular street, if a little worn around the edges. The streetlamps glowed with soft golden light, candles burned down to nubs. The town was silent as the grave. Jeremiah instantly regretted using the word ‘grave’.
“Am I dreaming?” Jeremiah said.
“If you are, I am too,” Graham said. “And my dreams don’t usually feature old geezers.”
Neither of them stepped outside. Instead, they just peered out at this new world. Jeremiah wasn’t scared to admit he was afraid. By the expression on Graham’s face he could tell he felt the same.
Graham cleared his throat.
“What?” Jeremiah said.
“You said you wanted to leave here,” Graham said. “You should step through first.”
“And you don’t?” Jeremiah said. “What happened to the impetuousness of youth? Taking risks is meant to be your forte.”
“I gave up taking risks in high school,” Graham said. “You’re old. You’ve got less to lose.”
“Don’t get all heroic on me,” Jeremiah said. “Where are you going to run even if there was someone out there?”
“Are you going or not?” Graham said.
Jeremiah sighed. He ducked his head down and stepped outside. Nothing happened to him. Graham stepped out behind him. The globes of light held up on tall poles lit little, but enough to illuminate the road. As they walked through the puddles of light Jeremiah felt like he was in a fairy tale. Not a child’s one, but one of those with a modern twist, with all the childish bits cut out and scary scenes enhanced with gore, the type aimed at adults with an eighteen certificate, and banned in a handful of countries to boot.
A snort.
To their left. They spun to face it. But it was just a closed door on a non-descript shack. The snort came again, and this time Jeremiah recognized it for what it was: a snore.
“It’s okay,” Jeremiah said. “Whoever it is is fast asleep.”
“Fast asleep?” Graham said. “People live down here?”
“You didn’t think the houses formed themselves, did you?” Jeremiah said.
The road wound like a snake through the town. The houses were nothing more than shacks, cobbled together with pieces of whatever they found lying around.
“We don’t even know where we’re going,” Graham said, keeping his voice down.
“We’re heading away from this place,” Jeremiah said. “Preferably back toward the surface.”
“But where are we?” Graham said.
“My guess?” Jeremiah said. “Underground.”
“Considering we fell through a sinkhole I think we can take that as read,” Graham said. “But where are we?”
“In the asshole of nowhere’s my bet,” Jeremiah said.
“You know, you swear a lot for an old guy,” Graham said.
“For an old guy I’ve got a lot to swear about,” Jeremiah said.
“Stop,” Graham said. “I think I heard something.”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Jeremiah said.
“With ears like yours you should be able to pick up a fly’s wings beating, but you can’t,” Graham said. “You’re half deaf.”
“Halt! Who goes there?” a voice from the shadows said.
The voice was deep and resonant, like an angry principal.
Graham and Jeremiah froze, standing stock still. “See?” Graham’s expression seemed to say.
“All villagers should be in their homes,” the voice said. “Return to your homes immediately.”
“Believe me,” Graham said. “I’d like nothing more.”
There was a sigh, and then heavy footsteps as the owner of the voice trudged toward them.
“What should we do?” Graham whispered to Jeremiah.
“We get him to help us,” Jeremiah said. “I know if I lived down here, I wouldn’t want you with me.”
The footsteps crunched on the dirt, growing louder and louder.
The figure emerged from the darkness. First the steel toe-capped boots came into the light, and then the blood-red uniform with a gold medallion stitched on the front. Finally came the tall helmet, and a spear clutched in the man’s hand.
The guard dropped his spear, staring at Jeremiah and Graham, eyes going from one man to the other, as if he couldn’t quite take in what he was seeing.
Graham felt like saying the same thing to the guard. Staring at the figure, they were just as enrapt. The man before them was a perfectly scaled-down human. Without his boots and hat he wouldn’t have reached up to their ribcages.
“Surfacers!” the figure said, finally finding his voice. Then louder: “Surfacers! Surfacers!”
“No,” Graham said, waving his hands to stop the little man. “Don’t. It’s okay. We mean you no harm.”
Lights came on in the windows of th
e houses around them. Fellow little men and women poked their heads out of their homes, staring down at what, to them, appeared to be giants.
“Well,” Graham said to Jeremiah. “It’s been nice knowing you.”
He took off at a sprint, knocking the uniformed guard aside.
“Wait!” Jeremiah said. “You can’t leave me here!”
“When I get to the surface I’ll send help,” Graham said.
“You coward!” Jeremiah said.
“And proud of it,” Graham said.
Jeremiah turned to face the deluge of little men and women that surrounded him.
“Uh, hi,” he said.
Chapter Eleven
IT DIDN’T SORE Graham at all to see the little figures surrounding Jeremiah. The old geezer might even be able to fight them off, running through their town like King Kong.
Graham had never been much of a stay-and-fight type. He was much more into the self-preservation flight response. He ran into the darkness at a speed none of the little men could hope to match. But he was at a disadvantage: he didn’t know where he was going, or indeed if there was even somewhere he should have been going to.
The road split off in two directions. With no idea where he was heading, he turned left and hoped for the best.
Movement in the darkness.
Graham skidded to a halt. Uniformed guards ran at him, slings clutched in their hands. He turned back the way he had come, taking the right-hand road. He heard something whizz overhead, but didn’t look back. Another of the weapons sailed over his head: a pair of stones attached to a thin cord. He’d seen them before on history documentaries. They were designed to snap around a prey’s limbs and trip them up. Graham picked up his knees and made his strides as long as possible to offset their effectiveness.
He was drawing close to a tunnel. A series of tunnels, one next to the other. Good. They felt like the right way to go. He ran at the closest one. Then he felt a tug on his shirt.