James Herbert - ‘48

As if to reinforce the message, a muffled explosion came from somewhere close by.

‘Oh, good Gawd,’ he said, more to himself than us. He stepped over our legs, making his way towards the concrete stairs, but pausing when he reached me. He bent closer, squinting his eyes, then nodded as if confirming something he already knew.

‘Always reckoned you’d be trouble one day,’ he murmured before moving on to the steps. He scooped up the lamp and turned in our direction again. ‘Listen, I can see you’re all done in, but you can’t stay ‘ere. You’re still in danger, see? Somethin you set off in the tunnel has ruptured gas mains that feed into this bunker, an’ that’s caused fires that’re spreadin right through the place. We’re safe where we are for the minute, but that won’t be for much longer. So unless we get movin right now, we’ll be stuck. Understand? Get me? Stuck.’

He was talking to us as if we were sapheads, but I guess we were all wearing dumb expressions, relief and exhaustion taking its toll. I was still wondering why I’d been given the double-take. The little guy was getting impatient. ‘When somethin blows under the streets, it can cause an upset somewheres else. Then that starts a nuisance in another place, a fire or explosion or somethin. Chain reaction, y’see. Build-up of gas, pipe gas or sewer gas, all bleedin lethal. It’s a wonder the whole city’s not in ruins by now.’

‘It was a gas pocket in the tunnel.’ The words hurt my throat.

‘What’s‘at?’ His beady eyes set on mine again.

‘Burning rats ran past us in the tunnel. I think they reached some trapped gas further along the line.’

He sniffed and brought out a grubby spotted red handkerchief from his overalls pocket to mop his face and plump neck. ‘Yeah, that was probably it, not that it bleedin matters right now.’ He nodded his head a couple of times, considering me. ‘So you are a Yank then? Thought you was from the Yank flying jacket you always wear.’

‘You know me?’ My brain was beginning to function again.

‘I’ve seen you about, son. And this mornin I saw yer bein chased by them Blackshirts, you and these others ‘ere. Yer didn’t see me though, none of yers did, I made sure of that. I watched you duck into the Tube station and reckoned on where yer’d be headin if yer got the chance.’

I struggled to my feet and gaped at him, one elbow resting against the wall, every muscle in my body stiff. The German and the two girls were beginning to stir themselves, but I wasn’t sure if they’d been following the conversation.

‘How did you know which tunnel to find us in?’ I asked the warden, curiosity overriding the tiredness.

‘Like I says, I thought I knew where yer was headed. It was a chance, but yer struck lucky, son. Now then, yer got the strength to help your friends?’

I barely had the strength to stand upright, but I nodded anyway.

‘Right, follow me.’ He began climbing the stairs, boots noisy on the concrete.

‘Who is he?’ Cissie asked in a hushed voice as she used my arm to drag herself up.

‘No idea,’ I replied, giving her some help. ‘But I could kiss his little fat head.’

The German helped Muriel to her feet and she caught my anxious look.

‘I’ll be okay,’ she said quickly, her voice strained. ‘Once I get into better air I’ll be fine.’

‘You lot comin?’

We could only see the glow of the lamp shining down the stairs, the corridor we were in now darkened, full of our own shadows, and without another word we set off after the warden, the girls behind me, Stern following at the rear. The old guy was waiting for us by another door at the top of the stairs, this one also made of iron.

‘What is this place?’ I asked when I reached him.

‘Civil Defence shelter. There’s a whole complex of plannin rooms on the other side of this door, all underground, too deep for any bombs to reach. They never counted on the poison though, never thought anythin could touch ‘em down ‘ere. All very hush-hush and all bloody useless.’

‘If it was so secret how did you find it?’

‘It was on my beat, son. As a warden it was my job to make sure none of the street entrances was blocked.’

He peered over my shoulder to make sure we were all together, then twisted the handle and pushed open the door. It was heavy, judging by the effort he put into it.

I touched his arm, moving closer. ‘You said you knew where I was making for. I’d like to know how.’

My hand stayed on his arm and he looked down at it, then up at me. ‘I know where your base is, so it stood to reason you’d use the Tube line going back to the Aldwych, which is near the hotel you’ve been usin. I’ve watched yer goin in and out of the place plenny a’ times. Sometimes yer disappear for a while, but yer always come back to it. Yer like yer bit of luxury, don’t yer?’ He even gave a little chortle.

‘You’ve watched me?’

Any humour vanished from his broad, ruddy face. Yeah, I’ve watched yer, son. And I know what yer do.’ He turned away, but not before I’d caught the unease in his eyes.

Hoke?’ Cissie was pressing against me, her breathing shaky. coming in gasps. ‘What are you two -?’

‘Forget it. Let’s just concentrate on getting outta here.’ I took her hand and surprisingly – I thought she was still mad at me – she allowed me to guide her.

Once through the door we found ourselves inside another corridor, this one wider though, with openings along each side. Water covered its concrete floor and at the far end a carbide lamp burned, its white glare harsher than the warden’s paraffin lamp but more effective. On the wall outside one of the open doorways was a yellowing poster, an upper corner drooping over, and as I passed by I saw there were two pictures of Adolf Hitler on it, front and profile, WANTED writ large at the top, smaller headline type explaining why. FOR MURDER…it Said. FOR KIDNAPPING…FOR THEFT AND ARSON. It should’ve added FOR WORLD GENOCIDE. Our breeze caused the opposite corner to curl over so that the paper folded and the mad Führer was out of sight The floor shook beneath our feet and Cissie’s grip tightened in mine.

I took a peek through a doorway and saw a plain square room inside, pipes running round the walls close to the ceiling. One of the smaller pipes was leaking in a couple of places, thin jets of water arcing onto the bare floor. The only furniture was an iron table with four straight-backed chairs around ita black telephone sat on the tabletop. It was a relief to see there were no human remains in there.

Other rooms were similar but with more furniture; two or three tables, green filing cabinets and cupboards. The pipes ran through every room, and there were more leaks, some pretty bad. There was another stairway at the end of the corridor, broader than the last and turning back on itself as it rose to the next levels. We used its iron handrail to drag ourselves upwards, the warden urging us on and getting mighty agitated with the ladies for holding us back. We’d just reached the next level when an explosion beyond a set of doors to our left shook the walls.

The warden clung to the stair rail until the world had settled down a little. ‘It’s the gas cylinders!’ he shouted at me accusingly, as if it were my fault, I’d arranged the whole thing. ‘They’re kept ‘ere for emergency power and now your bloody fire’s got to them!’

My bloody fire? Yeah, sure. But you had to wonder what kind of genius built an underground bunker vulnerable to explosions beneath the city streets. We were both distracted by smoke curling through the gap beneath the heavy double doors.

‘Which way do we go?’ I asked as Cissie sank down next to me. Muriel stood with her back resting against the wall, the German supporting her, his impatience to get moving plain in his quick-shifting eyes.