Roderick Gordon: Deeper

As he was doing this, Will observed that the car in front had higher sides to it than theirs — indeed, than any of the other cars he'd clambered over on his earlier expedition when he'd found Chester. Imago, whether by luck or design, had dropped them into a relatively sheltered spot where they had a degree of protection from the smoke and soot flung out by the engine up ahead.

Will hefted the last crate into place and stood back to admire his handiwork, his mind already moving on to their next priority: water. They could get by on the fruit, but they would really need something to drink before long, and it would also be good to have the provisions he and Cal had bought Topsoil. That meant someone was going to have to venture forward to retrieve their rucksacks from the cars up ahead where Imago had dropped them. And Will knew that someone would be him.

Balancing himself with his arms outstretched, as if he were on the deck of a ship in choppy water, he stared at the wall of iron he was going to have to climb. He raised his eyes to the very top of it, which was clearly silhouetted by the orange glow from the little pieces of burning ash racing overhead. He estimated it was about fifteen feet high — almost twice the height of the end sections he'd clambered over before.

"Come on, you wimp, just do it," he said, and then ran at full speed, hopping up onto the panel of the car he was in and catching hold of the higher wall of the next.

For a moment he thought he'd misjudged it and was going to slip off. With his hands gripping the car in front for all they were worth, he shuffled his feet until they were better positioned.

He allowed himself a split second of self-congratulation; it wasn't the safest of places to hang around for long. Both cars were rocking violently and jostling him about, threatening to dislodge him from his precarious position. And he didn't dare look down at the rails zipping beneath him, in case he lost his nerve altogether.

"Here goes nothing!" he shouted and, drawing on all the strength in his legs and arms, he hoisted himself over the edge. He slid down the inside of the car and landed in a crumpled heap. He'd done it.

Taking out a light orb for a proper look around, he was disappointed to find that the car appeared to be empty except for small heaps of coal. He continued farther along, and offered up silent thanks when he spied the two backpacks lying at the opposite end. He picked up the rucksacks and carried them back. Then, with as much precision as he could muster, he hurled each of them over into the car behind.

As he returned to Chester and Cal, he found they were still soundly asleep. They hadn't even noticed the two backpacks that had miraculously appeared just outside their enclave. Knowing how weak Chester had become, Will wasted no time in organizing a sandwich for him.

When, after much shaking, Will managed to rouse Chester sufficiently to take in what was being offered to him, he fell upon the sandwich. He grinned at Will between mouthfuls, wolfing it down with some water from one of the canteens, then promptly went back to sleep.

And in the ensuing hours, that was how they occupied themselves — sleeping and eating. They put together bizarre sandwiches of chunky white bread with dried strips of rat jerky and coleslaw as filler. They even helped themselves to the rather unappetizing slabs of mushroom (the Colonists' staple diet — giant fungi known as "pennybuns"), which they stacked atop heavily buttered waffles. And to finish off each meal, they ate so much fruit that they'd very soon plundered everything from the shattered crates and were forced to pry open some new ones.

All the time the train roared along, sinking them deeper into the earth's mantle. Will realized that trying to communicate with the others was futile and instead lay back and studied the tunnel. It was a constant source of fascination for him as the train penetrated through the strata. He peered at the various layers of metamorphic rock they were passing through, studiously documenting his observations in his notebook in wobbly handwriting. This would be a geography report to end all geography reports. It certainly dwarfed his own excavations back in his Topsoil hometown of Highfield, where he'd barely scratched the surface of the earth's crust.

He also noted that the gradient of the tunnel itself varied considerably — there were stretches several miles long that were clearly man-made, where the train would descend more gently. Then, every so often, the track would level out and they would pass through naturally formed caverns, where they could see towering palisades of flowstone. The sheer scale of these structures took Will's breath away — he couldn’t get over how much they resembled melted cathedrals. Sometimes these were surrounded by moats of dark water, which lapped over the railway track itself. Then there came the roller-coaster sections of tunnel that were so sheer that the boys, if sleeping, were rolled violently against each other and shaken awake.

Suddenly, as if the train had dropped off a ledge, there was a jarring crash. The boys all sat up and were looking around with startled faces when showers of water gushed from above. It was warm, flooding the car and drenching them as effectively as if they had been thrust under a waterfall. They waved their arms and laughed at each other through the torrents until, as abruptly as it had begun, the deluge ended, and they fell silent.

A light steam rose from the freight bed, then was immediately whisked away in the slipstream. Will had noticed how it was growing appreciably warmer as the train rocketed on its way. This was barely perceptible at first, but more recently the temperature had soared alarmingly.

After a while all three of them loosened their shirts and took off their boots and socks. The air was so fierce and dry that they took turns clambering onto the tops of the undamaged fruit crates in an effort to catch a little more of the breeze. Will wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on. Would the Deeps be unbearably hot, like blasts from an open furnace door? It was as though they were on the main line to hell itself.

His thoughts were soon interrupted as the brakes squealed with such intensity that the boys were forced to cover their ears. The train slowed, then jerked to a complete halt. Several minutes later, from somewhere up ahead, they heard a clanking, and then the resounding crash of metal upon rock. Will quickly pulled himself up to peek over the top and see what was going on.

It was useless — farther down the tunnel there was a dull red glow, but everything else was masked by lazy shrouds of smoke. Chester and Cal joined Will, craning their necks to see over the tops of the cars. With the engine ticking over, the noise level had now fallen off to almost nothing, and every sound they made, every cough or shuffle of a boot, seemed so remote and tiny. Although it was an opportunity for them to talk, they just glanced at each other, none of them really knowing what to say. In the end, Chester was the first to speak up.

"See anything?" he asked

"You look better!" Will said to him. His friend was moving with more confidence and had hoisted himself up next to Will without any difficulty at all.

"I was just hungry," Chester muttered dismissively, pressing the palm of his hand against an ear as if he was trying to relieve the pressure in it from the unfamiliar quietness.

There was a shout, a man's deep voice booming from somewhere ahead, and they all froze. It was a salient reminder that they weren't alone on the train. There was, of course, a conductor — possibly accompanied by an assistant driver, as Imago had warned them — and a further Colonist in the guard's car at the rear. These men knew Chester was on board and it would be their job to send him on his way when they arrived at the Miners' Station, but Cal and Will were stowaways and most probably had prices on their heads. They couldn't be discovered, not at any cost.