James Herbert - ‘48

‘Upwards!’ the warden shouted back at me. ‘There’s sleepin quarters and plannin rooms on the next floor, and we can get out through there.’

‘Doesn’t this stairway lead to the street?’

‘It does, yeah, but the buildin over the exit collapsed and blocked it a long while ago. Thank Gawd there’re others.’

‘No point in hanging ‘round then, right?’ I kept my voice calm – shouting would have only hurt my throat even more anyway.

‘You’re not. wrong there, son.’ He’d calmed down a little himself, but he still looked scared. Letting go of the rail he bustled round to the next flight of stairs.

‘Hey,’ I called after him, the stab to my throat making me wince. ‘What’s your name?’ I finished more quietly.

‘Potter. Albert Potter, ARP warden for the Kingsway and Strand area.’ He seemed proud of the title and I almost expected a smart salute. He started climbing again, but I just caught his added remark. ‘Can’t say I’m pleased t’meet you at last.’

My limp was getting worse as I followed him, but I knew I’d only bruised the ankle – anything more severe and I wouldn’t have been walking at all by this time. But tiredness was slowing us all down, I guess only our last reserves of adrenaline keeping us going. I’d learned a lot about that during the war, because flying a Hurricane at more than 300 miles an hour with a couple of superior Me 109s on your tail, it’s the old energy-juice that takes over, overrides the fatigue that comes with too many sorties and not enough sleep, keeps your brain razor-sharp, until maybe a Spitfire can get to you and cover your back. Even if you got shot up, it was the adrenaline pumping that got you through the shock, helped you function until you’d baled out. Yeah, I’d learned a lot about what adrenaline could do for you in times of crisis, and I also knew that eventually it dried up, it could only take you so far…

The German surprised me by drawing level and taking me by the elbow. ‘Do you need help?’ he asked. His face was black with dirt – hell, all our faces were black. ‘Cept the warden’s – his was just getting redder by the second.

I paused just long enough to pull my arm away. ‘Take care of the girl,’ I told him, my voice low and full of warning. I climbed on, leaving him there, but he was close to me again, this time with an arm around Muriel’s waist, her own arm over his shoulder. I let them go on past and then it was Cissie who was by my side.

‘You’re slowing down, Yank.’

‘It’s been a busy morning,’ I managed.

Her teeth flashed through the dirt, and I appreciated the smile.

‘If you need a shoulder to lean on…’

‘You’re not sore at me any more?’

‘Anyone can make a mistake. Besides, if those Blackshirts are as nasty as you say-’

‘You had a taste of ‘em.’

‘Trying to roast us alive wasn’t very civilized. As for wanting our blood, well, we only have your word for that. I mean, for all we know you could be a criminal of some kind and they could be the only law and order left.’

‘You got a point. When you see ‘em next, march right up and introduce yourself. Tell ‘em about your blood type. They’ll be pleased to get acquainted, wait and see.’

She gave me a long look, then grinned again. ‘I’ll take my chances with you – for the moment. Not that I have any other choice.’

The banter might have continued – we were both dog-weary and this was a way of keeping each other going – but the next explosion that ripped through the underground bunker was the fiercest yet.

Although the blast was somewhere deep within the complex, the walls around us shuddered violently and debris began to fall through the stairwell from above. Brickwork caught the rail and shattered, throwing out pieces like shrapnel. Cissie yelped as she was struck on the forehead and she fell back against the wall. I grabbed her when she staggered down a step, and pinned her there while rubble and dust rained down.

‘It’s the ceiling at the top!’ I heard Potter shout back at us. ‘The whole lot’s gonna break loose in a minute!’

With Stern and Muriel just ahead of us, we clambered up to the next landing, spitting dust and blinking grit from our eyes.

‘This way – quick!’ The warden was holding one side of a double door open and we scooted through, the deluge behind us increasing, becoming a cascade of bricks, masonry, timber and powder. Once inside the door we could barely see, even though there was another carbide lamp on the floor – the warden must have placed these lamps in strategic places along our escape route – because it was like running into one of those famous London fogs the guide-books told you about, ‘peasoupers’ I think they called them in those days. The fog was smoke, and it swirled everywhere, thicker in some parts than others.

Potter hurried past us, his tin helmet knocked askew, and we followed after him like lost souls, afraid of losing sight of his broad back. Luckily, the smoke soon thinned out and we were able to see our way more clearly, although every so often we had to wipe our blurred eyes with sleeves or knuckles. We found ourselves in a huge open room filled with desks and large tables with street maps set on them, the maps marking out various divisions of the city and outlying areas. There were more maps around the walls, coloured pins indicating what could only have been other Civil Defence centres and contact points; metal lightshades, disturbed by the eruptions, swung low over the desks and map tables. As well as a phalanx of telephones, still in neat formation along the desktops, I glimpsed a whole battery of radio transmitters against a side wall. Only one thing was missing, but now wasn’t the time to ask the warden.

We reached another set of doors on the far side of the room and beyond them was a broad hallway. But even as we staggered through, yet another blast rocked the floor, sending us stumbling forward. On my knees, I watched great cracks snake across the long expanse of concrete before us.

I had no idea what had gone up on the floor below this one – more ruptured gas pipes, drums of fuel stored there for emergencies, chemicals, who the hell could guess what was stored away in places like this? – but I realized this whole complex was now on self-destruct. Potter had been right about chain reactions. German bombs had inflicted the initial damage, but the demolition had continued long after the war had ended, a fault causing a fire in one building, which spread to the next, one explosion kicking off another, then another, a collapsing building bringing down its neighbour, that one in turn wrecking or weakening the building next to it. And so it went on, with no one left to contain the damage, or repair the faults. Like the man said, it was a wonder the whole city wasn’t in ruins by now.

I had a nasty feeling about that floor ahead of us, and I guess that was what made me hesitate while the others picked themselves up and sped on. I saw a whole section shift, kind of tilt, and I knew what was going to happen next. So I moved, I moved so goddamn fast I could have been shot from a cannon. But it wasn’t fast enough.

Even as I gained on the others, who by now were almost at the far door, I felt the ground beneath me start to give. For a second or two it was almost like racing downhill as the floor inclined, and I picked up speed, despite the limp. It was a curious sensation, the world falling away from me in slow motion, and I think I may have screamed or yelled or whined to showcase my terror as I began to slide. Then came a massive and sudden lurch and the section of floor I was on dropped away from me.

Instinct rather than calculation made me throw myself to one side, towards the nearest wall and the sturdy old iron radiator fixed to it. My hand caught the valve pipe at its base and my fingers wrapped around it. The pipe loosened in the wall, jerking out at least an inch, and for a moment I thought the whole thing was gonna dislodge itself; but it held and I hung there as the broad section of floor crashed down to the level below, sending up a huge cloud of smoke and dust and a sound like thunder.