“To the bathroom.” He nodded to Spence. “There’s a bottle of brandy in the kitchen cupboard. I know it’s early, but I think we could all do with a drop.”
Spence nodded and headed for the kitchen.
The morning sunshine had not yet penetrated the frosted glass of the bathroom window. Johan switched on the light and dashed inside, straight to the sink. Using a strip of toilet paper, he covered the hot tap and turned it. Wiping the light switch and then depositing the paper in the toilet, he returned to the sink and plunged his hands under the already steaming water and rubbed them hard.
Dirt and filth, oh fuck me, all that dirt and filth…
From a bottle between the taps, he squirted creamy white soap into his hands and continued to scrub them. Back under the hot jet, Johan cried out, the water burning his hands. He sucked in a breath and scoured his hands, nearly scratching in the suds.
He whimpered and stepped back. He removed his leather jacket and flung it in the corner. It fell in a crumpled heap, the streaks of dirt clear on the glossy black sleeves.
He cried out at the sight and plunged his hands back under the tap.
Steam filled the small bathroom. Johan looked in the mirror above the sink, his image misty and distorted. After another squirt of liquid soap, he washed his hands again.
He kicked off his boots, and these joined the pile in the corner. His socks, sodden with stinking water, were hooked off. He threw them with a yell, like the sewer water was a concentrated acid that would eat away at his fingers.
He washed his hands after touching them.
Jeans down, they flew across the room, followed by his wet boxer shorts. Naked, he splashed the scalding water onto his body and face and rubbed. Long red streaks formed on the skin across his chest and stomach.
A knock on the door made him jump.
“Johan?”
Simon.
“Johan? Are you okay in there?”
The door opened an inch.
Johan leapt over and slammed it shut, pressing his body against the wood. He turned the lock next to the handle.
“I’m… I’m fine! Just cleaning up, you know?”
“We thought we heard you scream,” Simon called through the door.
“Yeah,” Johan replied, his voice low and steady. “The water was hot, took me by surprise.”
“You need anything?”
“No,” said Johan and swallowed. He stared at the bundle of soiled clothes in the corner. “I’m good.”
He listened to Simon move away from the door, probably to tend back to Richie. Sobbing, he slid down the door. On the cold linoleum, Johan curled up and wrapped his arms around his knees.
Look what they have done to me. All that filth.
The memory of the baby clutched in his hand—touching his bare skin—reared up and he shivered.
He sprung to his feet, eyes feverishly darting around in his sockets. Bottles around the sink fell over and spun into the basin as he swept up several and headed for the shower.
In the living room, Richie had propped his newly bandaged arm up with a pile of cushions.
It hasn’t leaked, thought Johan, watching them from his bedroom, a towel around his waist. That’s good. I don’t think it will give us any more problems.
Spence and Kev sat with Richie on the sofa. Simon gazed out of the window from the armchair, sipping dark amber liquid from a bottle.
“Glad to see you have time to shower,” he called, his tone flat. “They could be doing anything to her right now.”
“Walking around covered in sewer juice won’t help,” Johan replied. “We’re going out soon and we don’t want to draw undue attention to ourselves. I suggest you all take the time to freshen up. I should have clothes to fit you all, even you, Kev.”
“Why?” Spence called. “Where are we going?”
Johan pulled a fresh pair of boxer shorts from a drawer. He dropped the towel, stepped into them and pulled them up. They slid up along his legs, the skin raw and scratched. He held his breath until they were in place and comfortable.
“I told you, we won’t be caught out again. We’re going to see a friend of mine on the other side of the city. He’ll help us out.” He repeated the painful process with a pair of black jeans. “Which is why you lot can’t go around stinking like the sewers.”
A figure stepped into the doorway, and Johan spun away to hide his scalded chest.
Fighting the urge to return to the bathroom for another shower, Johan approached the wardrobe and unhooked a t-shirt.
“You think this is the best way forwards?” said Simon from the doorway. “Go in alone? Again? Don’t you think we should tell someone about this, seeing as we know what’s down there?”
Johan pulled the red top over his head and down to his waist. Happy his scrubbed body was completely covered, he faced Simon.
“You think the police would believe us? A group like us, telling tales of monsters and kidnap and killer babies that live underwater? They’d laugh us out of the station. Besides, the authorities are soft. They protect the weak…” He walked to the mirror and studied his face. “They’d probably label us murderers for what we did down there.”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t care. This is too risky, too dangerous for us to deal with.”
“We handled them fine, didn’t we? And this time, we’re going in prepared. Don’t you want revenge?”
Frowning, Simon said, “Revenge for them taking Nat?”
Revenge for killing her.
Johan closed his mouth before the words could spill out.
Need to keep him onside. He has to believe she’s still alive.
“Yes. We’ll make them pay. For taking her and what that fucking baby did to Rich and Kev.” He returned to the drawers. “I’ll pick you something out. Go and get a wash.”
Simon took a mouthful from the bottle, swallowed and winced from the burn. “You know,” he said, a little slurred, “women, eh? Fucking women.” He shook his head. “More trouble than they’re worth, but then we always knew that, didn’t we, right mate?”
Johan paused in his pursuit of extra clothing. “Nice to have you back to our way of thinking.”
Simon huffed and took another drink. “What a night. Mutant freaks and my woman in the middle of it. At least she wasn’t screwing around.”
24.
Nat’s feet, despite the clumps of bird mess that clung tenaciously to the soles, stayed on the rungs of the ladder and refused to slip. Through her hands, the ladder gently vibrated, throbbing with the pulse of the machines. The vertical shaft echoed with the erratic sound of feet on metal. Below, Max stepped off the ladder and through the hatch, quickly followed by Alcazar. Nat hurried. The eager sound of Jacob rang out from above.
The smell of excrement and mould assaulted her once again. Every breath created images of a thick brown sludge coating the inside of her lungs, lining her passages, infecting her taste buds that shrivelled away at the back of her throat. She gagged and, with the space below her unoccupied, spat a glob of phlegm into the darkness.
From her vantage, and with light streaming in from the open hatch about ten feet below, Nat glimpsed something at the bottom of the shaft. She slowed her decline and stared downwards.
Again, a sliver of light illuminated a ripple of movement far below.
It doesn’t just go on forever, deeper and deeper. There’s water at the bottom.
She expected the knowledge to reassure her. A fall at this height would not leave her plummeting down to the centre of the earth, nor would it splatter her across a grating or concrete floor. Nat shivered, thinking of hitting the water and rising to the surface, only to find that the ladder started several feet above.
I’d tread water in the dark until my energy ran out. My body would glide under the water and rot for years at the bottom of this shaft.
She returned her concentration to the ladder and quickened her pace.
Maybe it would be better to find an unfor
giving concrete floor. Crunch! All over.
Nat eased her left foot from the ladder and with a controlled swing of her body, stepped onto the edge of the hatch. Max, standing on the other side, helped her through.
“How far behind is Jacob?” he asked. The skin of his face had paled and, with the glare of the yellow halogens, it appeared jaundiced, the colour of bad teeth.
“He’s right behind me,” she said, and looked back at the hatch.
The machines pounded beyond. The air seemed to throb.
The dark rectangle of the hatch instantly filled as Jacob dropped down. He pounced forwards and landed on the floor.
“Move!” he said.
Nat backed away a few steps.
His chest rose and fell heavily. Fists, the size of bowling balls, squeezed tight at his sides.
“Move…” he growled again and ran on ahead.
Nat followed the others into the next room.
The slow beat of the machines filled her head the moment her feet crossed the threshold. The pistons continued to rise out of the large tanks and ease back inside. Red lights glowed in the shadows like the eyes of demons.
Nat, almost at a run, followed the flapping coat of Alcazar across the room. She moved around another machine covered in black and yellow warning stickers. A metal safety rail surrounded it.
Beyond this machine, two other routes ran away from the main path. In front, Max and Alcazar ran straight on.
Nat pushed her legs harder to catch up to them.
A man, dressed in a blue boiler suit and hard hat, emerged from the left walkway. He looked up from a clipboard.
“What the…?” He glanced at Max and Alcazar on one side, then at Nat on the other. “You… you people shouldn’t be down here!”
Nat stopped and stared at the man, her heart racing.
“What are you doing?” he continued. From the grey hair that peeked out from under his hard hat and the weathered lines of his face, Nat guessed he was at least in his fifties. He looked between her and the others again, eyes wide.
Max and Alcazar had stopped their retreat and faced the man. Alcazar held up his hands, like the man had a gun aimed at him.
“We don’t want any trouble,” said Nat, feeling that someone had to say something. “We’re just… passing through.”
“This is private property,” replied the man. He shook his head. “It’s dangerous, too. You shouldn’t be down here!”
The two brothers on the other side of the room appeared locked in fear. They stared at the worker with their mouths hanging open. Jenkins barked twice.
Nat chanced a step forwards and held out a hand. “Please,” she said. “Just let us through.”
An immense shadow separated from the darkness behind the man and loomed up behind him.
Jacob roared and slammed his hands on either side of the worker’s head. The hardhat flipped backwards and fell. The clipboard dropped from his hand.
“Jacob!” Nat screamed. “No!”
Jacob’s arms tensed and ripped the man’s head around.
Nat covered her mouth.
It looked like the man had dressed backwards. Only his feet, which pointed in the wrong direction, revealed the grim reality. The body dropped to its knees.
Gritting his irregular teeth, Jacob once again grabbed the man’s head and pulled. The neck showed resistance for a moment, but then gave way with a wet creak. The head tore free, and Jacob lifted the trophy high. Inches of vertebrae dangled underneath, the anchor for twisted blue and purple strands. It all hung from the head like red seaweed.
The body fell forwards and flopped on the floor before Jacob’s feet. Blood gushed from the ragged cavity in a scarlet ejaculation.
“Oh… shit,” groaned Nat. Her legs buckled and she leaned against the safety rail.
Jacob threw the head across the room. It spiralled through the air in a cartwheel of dripping blood. It struck a machine and bounced off, resting face down.
Crouching, Nat clamped a hand over her mouth and took in a deep breath through her nose. Bile burned the back of her throat.
Max crossed over to her and hooked a hand under her arm. He gently pulled her upwards.
“We have to go,” he said. “There might be others nearby.” He glanced at Jacob. “Get rid of the body.”
“He just… I can’t believe…” Nat wailed. “He just…”
“Greater good,” said Jacob. He bent down and grabbed the body by the ankle.
“He’s right,” said Max, his tones hushed and smooth. “We can’t let anyone know we’re here. Others will come looking.” He snaked an arm around her back and guided her forwards.
With the body dragging along the floor at his side, Jacob strode towards the head on the far side of the room. The corpse slid past Nat.
“Oh God—” She turned and vomited. It slapped the concrete walkway and spread, like a pale orange Rorschach test. To Nat, it looked like a severed head. She’d be seeing that head for a long, long time.
“Come on,” said Max. “Let’s keep moving. Put it out of your head.”
Head?
Nat groaned and staggered along.
“He… he…”
“I know,” said Max. “Let’s keep going.”
She allowed herself to be ushered along through the loud, pulsing machines, to the doorway on the far side. Alcazar moved on. He entered the corridor and peered around the corner. After a nod, he motioned them forwards.
Jenkins, snug inside Max’s coat, stuck his head out, panting.
Nat recognised the corridor from their journey here. The light bulbs still swayed with the beat of the machines.
Alcazar ran ahead. With just enough room in the narrow corridor, Nat and Max followed, side by side. They paused at the next junction. Voices drifted from the next section.
“Wait here,” said Alcazar. “Watch her.”
“No!” Nat whined as he slipped away around the corner. Her trembling increased. “Max! You can’t let this happen. There must be another way through…”
He bowed his head. “There isn’t. I wish there was.” He placed a gloved hand on top of her head and massaged his fingers through her hair. “I know it’s wrong, but this is what it takes to survive, Nat. We’ve lived down her for decades. I know enough about the world above to see what would happen if our presence was known. They’d be placed in freak shows, or worse, labs where scientists will cut them up to see what went wrong…”
He lowered his hand to her shoulder.
“I think of my family,” he whispered. “Protecting my family is the only thing that justifies these… these atrocities.”
Ahead, the voices abruptly stopped.
“No!” Nat cried again.
Max gripped her harder. “Shhh. Don’t think about it. Picture Edgar and Herman, the twins too. We have to do this so they can live.”
At what cost? Nat thought bitterly through her tears. How many people have to die to keep the family a secret? What makes their lives worth more?
Alcazar appeared around the corner.
“Lucky,” he said. “It was only a radio. After this room we’re back in the true sewers. Max, you’ll have to lead the way. I get lost down there.”
“Okay.” Max started forwards.
“What about Jacob?” said Alcazar.
“He’ll be right behind us. He knows the way better than me. Come on.”
Nat wiped the tears from her cheeks and trailed behind Max.
Clothes soaking wet again after wading through the deep water, Nat stepped into the tunnel leading to the lair. Alcazar stood in front. The walk through the filthy water had actually cleaned his coat, the dark brown fabric now clear of white smears.
Max grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop.
“Alcazar!” he hissed. “Stop!”
Alcazar turned and frowned.
“Look!”
The entrance to the chamber lay at the end of the tunnel: a wide circular hole in the mouldy brick. Water sl
oshed over its lips and formed a small waterfall. This created a fast stream which flowed towards them.
“What does that mean?” asked Alcazar.
“Something must have happened,” said Max. “It was something we built but never used. There’s a lever that… that fills the chamber with water. This is the overflow.”
“Why would you want to flood it?” asked Nat.
Max turned to her, his face ashen. “In case of intruders.” He stared down the tunnel. “It’s supposed to make them panic and leave before they find anything… anyone…”
Alcazar nodded to Nat and proceeded down the tunnel.
“Herman,” Max cried. “Herman! Are you all right?”
Only the gentle sound of lapping water answered his call.
They splashed through the shallow stream and reached the lair entrance. Max paused, shouted Herman’s name again, and climbed inside the round aperture. He splashed in the knee deep water on the other side. Alcazar quickly followed.
“What’s happened?” asked Nat. She kneeled up on the edge of the hole and eased her body through. From within the dark circle, she peered inside.
The lair had been partially flooded, but already the waters had begun to recede. Smaller pieces of furniture floated around. A table top drifted lazily like a raft. A few ragged clothes hung suspended in the murky pool, weeds of cotton and wool.
Nat lowered her feet into the water.
The horizontal bars of the cell dripped, showing how high the water had reached. Inside, the collection of rags and other debris had formed a scummy island.
In the corner, the old pram lay overturned, wheels motionless.
“Herman?”
Max waded over, kicking up waves of froth. The water rocked the pram slightly.
“Herman?”
He reached down and grabbed the edge of the metal frame. With a grunt, he pulled and flipped it back.
Underneath, Herman’s eyes, orbs of black glass, stared up at the ceiling. His head was tilted back, and his mouth hung floppy as a limp hose. A thick metal bar stuck out of his throat.
“Herman?” said Max, and touched his face.
His brother’s body had lost its gleam and appeared dry. A map of shallow cracks ran across the withered hide around various cuts and bruises.
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