“Shit…”
Two things happen. First I discover that I still have a voice. My profanity echoes back at me, mocking me from the darkness that quickly swallows me up again.
Secondly, I drop the match box.
Luckily, after a moment’s furtive scrambling, I quickly relocate it and pull it tight against my chest.
I open the box up and count the matches. There are about twenty three. Quite a few, but maybe not enough to last long enough for me to find a way out of here.
Right now, they’re my most valuable resource and could mean the difference between life and death. Dying a slow death down here in the tunnels beneath London in the pitch black is not the fate I would have chosen - or wish to choose. I have to use them carefully. I mustn’t squander them.
Resting both hands on my knees, and resisting the urge to pee, which seems to be growing more urgent with every passing second, I try to make a plan. I need to think carefully.
I suddenly remember the tissue papers in my pocket, and quickly retrieve them, pulling them apart and putting them into three small piles before me. I reach again into the rucksack, and carefully start to retrieve its contents, spreading them out in front of me. I find the book, and pick it up, ripping the first ten pages from inside the cover and crumpling each into a separate ball.
I check the contents of two pockets I find on the outside of the rucksack: one contains what feels and smells like a banana in a plastic bag.
I also discover a torch!
Eureka!!!!!!
But when I fumble along its edges, find the button and press it, there is no light. Either the batteries are dead, or it’s empty.
Before I allow myself to get too disheartened, I line up the first balls of tissue paper, bend down close to them and try to strike a match.
I try twice, unsuccessfully, then it snaps and breaks and the tip falls to the ground.
I pull another one out, close the box, and then try it again.
Bingo.
The spark flares to life, and I quickly introduce the flame to the first ball of tissue paper.
It bursts into fire, and over the next few minutes I feed it in succession with the other balls of tissue, and then the pages of my book as I scan the tunnel around me, devouring as much detail as possible. I then turn my attention to the contents of the rucksack, now laid out before me in a row.
It’s at this point that I strike gold, and my situation turns from potentially catastrophic to one with hope.
Occupying the third and fourth position in the line-up are the ‘two long and pointy things’ I had felt earlier on.
Candles!
The word ‘Yes!’ jumps from my lips, almost surprising me by its utterance. Quickly, feeding another page of the book into the little ball of flame on the platform, I pick up the candle and point it at the fire I have made in my cave.
It lights.
I laugh aloud, doing a small fist pump in the air.
In an instant my world has become less threatening and - quite literally - a much brighter place.
Chapter Three
?
.
I begin to gather all my apparent belongings together into my rucksack, and am about to stand up when I turn slightly and see that beside me on the ground are an empty whisky bottle and a pile of wax.
Until I had moved I had not noticed them, but now I do, I draw some comfort from their existence. Not from the fact that it might appear that I am a down-and-out alcoholic, but the presence of the burnt-down candle implies that I was seemingly prepared for the darkness, before,… when… When what?
Why would I be down here? And who am I? Am I still James Quinn?
There are many questions. One thing is for sure, though. Until I find a way out from here, I won’t be finding any answers.
Lifting my rucksack, I stamp on the remnants of my little fire -why, I’m not sure - probably a kick-back to my days as a Boy Scout, and I start to walk slowly along the platform, shielding the flame of my candle as I go.
The first thing I need to do is find out what station I’m at, so I head towards the first sign I see on the tunnel-walls. As I draw nearer, the darkness around its edges fades away and I see its name.
I suppose it should not surprise me. But it does.
Lewisham North.
My heart sinks, and for a moment I stand stock still, rooted to the spot before the sign, just staring at it.
Lewisham North has never existed in my own world. The first I heard of it was when I made the jump to the new world, which means that my attempt to cross over from the world I’ve been living in for the past year back into my real world, has, basically, failed.
Which means that I’m still in the land of my dreams. My nightmares. And Sarah, Nicole and Keira must still be out there somewhere, waiting for me to return home.
But if I am in Lewisham North, and I haven’t crossed over back to the real world… what went wrong? And why are all the lights off, and why is the station closed? Where are the tube-trains?
For the first time since I opened my eyes into the blackness that had swallowed me up, I look at my watch to see what time it actually is.
By the light of the candle, I get another surprise, although by now, such little surprises are having less effect on me. The whole past year of my life has been full of such little occurrences and this one isn’t much different: the watch that’s on my wrist now, isn’t the same watch I put on my wrist this morning. I’ve never seen it before. It’s a weird, futuristic style, nothing like the elegant, classic Rolex that I’ve been lucky enough to own for the past year. In contrast my new watch is plain, simple, and very, very basic. It does one thing, and one thing only: it tells me the time. And according to what it tells me, it’s three forty-three in the afternoon.
Which makes even less sense. Why is the tube station closed in the middle of the day? Also, the last time I can remember looking at my watch was in the minutes leading up to the moment before I stepped through the tube door, and then it had been just after ten past eight in the evening.
So, why’s there a time difference?
If I didn’t manage to do the jump from the new world back to the old one, where have I been for the past sixteen and a half-hours?
I stand in the middle of the tunnel before the name on the wall, and do nothing but stare blankly at the two words. I feel empty. All my hopes, my efforts, my sacrifices… have come to naught. I’m still stuck in the other world.
Then a drop of molten candle wax drips onto my finger from the candle, bringing my attention quickly back to the physical reality of this world.
‘Ouch!’
So, where do I go now? I’ve never really been here before, and I don’t know the layout of the station. I’ve no idea how many hundreds of metres we are buried underneath the ground, or how many escalators there should be to go up, or where they are. With no lights, I’m guessing they don’t work anyway. Which applies to the lift too. If there is a lift.
Galvanised back to life by the burning wax, I walk along the platform following the light of the candle, looking for any sign which might tell me which side-tunnel to take to the exit.
I pass two tunnels leading away into the darkness, neither of which has any signs telling me where they go. Then eventually, almost at the other end of the platform, I see the words “Way Out” emerge from the gloom, and I make a sharp right into the tunnel beyond.
It’s scary. Without the light from the candle, there would be no way I could ever find my way out of here. Even with the candle, I know there are no guarantees… what if I come to a locked iron gate? Or solid metal doors closed to seal the tunnels off from flood waters? But then I quickly remember that from the contents of my rucksack, it would appear that I had somehow voluntarily made my way down here, prepared for the darkness. If I knew the way in, and had come down here deliberately and prepared for what surrounds me now, then I must surely also know the way out. I just have to rediscover it.
About a hundred metres along the tunnel, a sign hanging from the ceiling emerges from obscurity. It proudly displays the welcome words ‘Way Out’ and an arrow pointing to salvation along another tunnel on my left.
I walk into it, noticing that the tunnel starts to incline upwards with a small but easily manageable gradient.
Twenty metres further on, the walls around me seem to vanish and I find myself standing in a larger hall, the ceiling now several metres above me. Just then I feel a draught on my face and almost simultaneously the candle goes out.
“Blast,” I swear to myself.
Kneeling down on the ground, I steady the candle between my knees and reach into my pocket for my box of matches.
“Shit!”
My pocket is empty. The matches are gone. I must have dropped them!
For a moment I stand there in the dark. The pitch black. It has swallowed me up in an instant, and I am consumed by nothingness. Once again I am engulfed by a lack of light.
When all the lights go out, how do you know that you are not dead?
Fear sweeps through me, and I begin to feel clammy perspiration on my forehead.
I know that if I don’t take control immediately, my heart will beat faster and faster and the panic attack which is only milliseconds away, will overpower me.
A deep breath. Then another. Then I hold my breath and listen to my heart beat.
I draw some form of primordial comfort from the feeling of it pounding within my chest. Slowing. Become more even. Returning to normal.
I close my eyes. It makes no difference to what I can see, but it helps me to think. And to picture the last images I had in my mind before my candle blew out.
I try to remember where the tunnel was that I just came through, knowing that the box of matches must be lying on the ground behind me somewhere. My only source of light. If I crawl back along the floor, then maybe I will find it.
For a few moments I try to retrace and recreate the route in my mind along which I just came. But within seconds I realize that I can’t. My mind is too muggy. I’m feeling sick again. And desperate for the toilet.
The need to pee suddenly dominates all other thoughts, and with the danger of electrocution now far behind, I search for my fly and pull out my penis.
With no tree or pole or wall to go against, I simply urinate into the darkness. There is little sound, just a gentle splashing a metre away as the water finds terra firma.
A sense of relief washes over me, but it is quickly swept away with recognition of the predicament I am now in.
Without light, the world does not exist. I could be wandering for the rest of eternity down here in miles upon miles of underground tunnels. A man can live for a long time without food, but only if he has water and can keep hydrated.
I remember the can of beer - is it beer? - in my rucksack. Right now, with the matches gone, that liquid has become the most important possession I have.
Where did I lose the matches? Could they be close? Should I scramble around and see if, by some freak piece of luck, they may just be on the floor close by and easy to find?
Until this moment, I have not really moved. Or turned or twisted. I am still facing the same direction I was when the candle went out. Which means I am facing forward, in the direction of the EXIT.
Part of me tells me to hit the deck, to turn round and crawl slowly backwards, but I know that unless I am very, very lucky, and get it dead right, I will miss the entrance to the tunnel behind me which I just came through, and within seconds I will be disorientated and confused.
Perhaps my best, and only chance, is to continue forward.
As I am standing there, trying to decide what on earth I should do, I feel another draught of air on my face.
Suddenly the senses on my face become alive. What was before almost unnoticeable, instantaneously becomes a hurricane of major significance. Like a sailor on a life-raft who sees a bird flying in the sky and realizes he is close to land, I latch onto the hope that the draught of air could possibly lead me to the EXIT. To the surface. To the world outside. Away from starvation, dehydration, and a long, slow death.
Then, as abruptly as I first noticed it, the draught stops.
It’s then that Plan B kicks into action.
I start to scream. Loudly.
Very loudly indeed.
Chapter Four
.
For a few good solid seconds I let it rip. At the top of my lungs. Using up all the oxygen inside me and burning as much adrenaline as possible. By the time I stop, I feel better. Not so scared.
I’m also aware that the screaming helped to build another ‘sonar’ picture in my mind’s eye about my surroundings. On either side, and behind me, there are walls close by, but in front, where the draught of air came from, there is no echo. There is the long, wide tunnel. Perhaps a way out.
In an instant, I make a plan. I will go forward, and guided by the puffs of air I may feel with the elevated sense I now have on my skin and face, I will follow the direction of the draughts.
I am just about to take my first step away from where I am into the void beyond, when I hesitate. I know that this moment is probably one of the most crucial steps in my life. There is a chance that if I go back and look for the matches, I may find them. And by going forward now, without looking more thoroughly, could sentence me to death…
OR… I could find an exit!
Certainly, staying here is not an option.
Deep down, though, the option of going back scares me the most.
Here I can feel occasional currents of air on my face, but back there, further down in the tunnels, the only sensation I had was hearing the rats running around me, waiting for me to die so that they could eat me.
Maybe they would not even wait. Having found me, would they go away and get their friends and come back in sufficient numbers to eat me alive?
Perhaps it’s a sign from God, or maybe just a coincidence, but whilst I am standing there, worrying about the risk of me becoming the rats’ next meal, I feel another draught of air on my face.
It smells fresh. Clean.
Of hope.
So, without further ado, I take a step forward and from that moment my fate is sealed. There is no going back.
With arms outstretched and flailing wildly in the air in front of me, I take one very cautious step forward after another.
All my senses are alive. Straining for any sound, or feeling, or light, …any sensation whatsoever.
After every few metres I shout aloud twice and listen to the echoes, pausing to see if I can feel any further draughts of air on my face.
Incredibly, within minutes, I start to become better at mapping out the area ahead of me by listening to the echoes I get back. And every few minutes I feel a draught of air caress my face from ahead of me.
Both signs are telling me to keep going forward. So I do.
After about fifteen minutes of edging forward, step by step, I detect slight echoes coming from in front of me. I pause, standing there, make some loud sounds, listen to the feedback, then continue forward.
I sense that something ahead of me is blocking my way forward.
And then my fingers touch it.
Blast!
My heart almost explodes. A moment of intense fear. Almost blind panic.
Am I entombed now? Have I come to a complete dead end?
I take a deep breath, then shout loudly again.
A wall of echoes hits me from the front, and from the right side of my head, but...
I turn my head to my left and shout again. This time I sense that there is no echo from the darkness directly ahead. I change the pitch of my voice, and hum a few notes. As I do so, I feel a waft of air slip past my eyes and cheeks, coming from the same direction where the echoes seem weakest.
Turning my whole body to my left and maintaining contact with the wall that was in front of me with my right hand, I start moving in a new direction. At right angles to my previous path.
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br /> “Ummm,” I hum aloud, welcoming the echoes from what must also be a wall somewhere on my left, running parallel to the wall which I am continuing to touch on my right.
With mixed feelings, I sense that I have entered a new tunnel.
But now committed, I move forward.
The draught on my face grows stronger.
The air smells fresher. Cleaner.
I pick up my pace, moving faster, suppressing a myriad of thoughts which try to force their way into my mind.
“Hummm,” I repeat at regular intervals, switching pitch, and loudness. Desperate for any extra information that the change can elicit from my surroundings.
Am I Dead? Page 2