Breakdown, page 10
The march of feet.
Oh God.
Tarquin presses Lenny behind him, motions me to keep back. The steps halt somewhere near, out of sight. Please don’t let them decide to check down the stairwell. Someone says, ‘He was hanging around here.’
‘When?’ says the other.
‘Before. ’Bout a half-hour ago. Killa seen him.’
‘Why?’
The first one snorts. ‘You don’t know?’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘You for real? Roguing shafts. Moron.’ That’s the first voice.
‘Here?’
‘Yeah. Right here.’
‘You a roguer, then?’
There’s quiet.
‘I ain’t no roguer. Moron. Nobody survives them tunnels. If I was a bootlegger, I’d be doing it some other way.’
‘Yeah,’ says the other. Someone laughs like that’s the funniest thing they ever heard.
‘If he went down there, he’s a moron. Careem ain’t got no worries.’
I feel Lenny’s hand slip into mine. My heart thuds. I hear another set of steps. Someone running. They’re out of breath. The footsteps echo down the corridor we just came by. Panting. Some coughing. Someone starts clanging tin pans. Soon pans clang everywhere again.
‘Get to the main exits.’ Shouting. Excited. Pans drown everything.
Footsteps set off fast.
We stay there, pressed against the wall – damp concrete, flaking plaster. My blood thumps in my neck right below my jaw. Footsteps still echoing. Pans still beating. My knees tingle at the back. I don’t trust them to hold me.
We step out of the shadows, turn back onto the corridor.
And there he is.
A huge ganger.
Pan in one hand, steel bar in the other.
Blocking our way.
21
‘Thinking of going somewhere, was ya, moron?’ The ganger twirls the iron bar with a sudden dangerous speed.
Tarquin steps forward. ‘Aw, c’mon, man,’ he says.
The big guy laughs, flicks his eyebrows up, licks his lips.
‘You know me,’ says Tarquin. ‘You know what my li’l bro means to me.’
‘So?’
‘So you know, if you let us past, let us into them tunnels, I’m gonna owe you big time.’
‘And?’
‘If you don’t, I’m gonna kill you.’
The big guy thinks about that. Shakes his head. ‘Nah, moron, I don’t think so.’
Tarquin shrugs. ‘Well, OK, you’re a big guy, I might not kill you, but I’ll go for your eyes. Blind men ain’t no use to Careem.’
The ganger thinks about that too. He shakes his head again. ‘Nah, you ain’t.’
Tarquin bends, scoops something up. ‘Here.’ He passes me a lump of loose concrete. ‘I’ll get him to the floor. You smack him with this, low on the back of the head ’bout there.’ He pats the top of his neck.
‘Hang on a minute,’ says the big guy.
‘D’ya want to lose one or both eyes?’ asks Tarquin. ‘Permanent? Or jus’ a few months? She ain’t no expert, so you better say. I’ll try an’ tell her where.’
The big ganger is slow to respond. Tarquin isn’t. Like a flash he dives low, tackles the guy at his knees. There’s a thump as they hit the floor. Lenny squeals.
‘Kick the pan out of his hand,’ hisses Tarquin.
I jump forward, kick the pan away. It rattles across the corridor. The ganger twists and lashes out. They roll. I can’t get close enough. Fists and feet flying. I jump towards them, bring the rock down anyway.
By sheer luck it hits the ganger on the head. The rock rolls aside. I pick it back up.
Tarquin has him in an arm lock, pressed to the floor. ‘Choose,’ says Tarquin. ‘One or both?’
‘OK,’ the big guy says. He lets his body go slack, lifts his head up. ‘You can go through.’
In one movement, Tarquin leaps up, crouches beside the ganger, then punches him in the side of the head right on his temple.
The ganger slumps to the floor. Out cold.
‘Who’s the moron now?’ says Tarquin.
‘Wow,’ I say.
‘Works every time,’ says Tarquin. ‘Snap his head to the side, bounce his brain off his skull.’
‘Is he gonna die?’ asks Lenny.
‘Nah,’ says Tarquin. ‘He’ll live, but he’ll have one helluva headache.’ He gets his arms under the guy. ‘No need to blind him. Give me a hand.’
I grab the guy’s feet and together we drag him back down the corridor into the shadows.
‘Do you really know how to blind someone?’ I ask.
‘Yup.’
We leave the ganger sprawled against the wall, race back down the corridor. Tarquin picks up the pan and steel bar, hides them. ‘C’mon. We’re going into the old roguing shafts.’
The rusty iron door near the bottom of the stairwell squeals as we open it. We step through and down a short flight of stairs. We head off into the darkness. The noise of pans dies away.
‘We’re going to be OK, ain’t we?’ says Lenny. I can tell by the quaver in his voice he’s trying not to let the fear out.
‘C’mon,’ says Tarquin. ‘We ain’t got long – we need to get clear before night catch and we can’t see nothing. Stay as quiet as you can.’
I don’t know how Tarquin can see where he’s going. It’s pitch black. I grope around. Crumbling walls. Smell of damp everywhere.
‘Hang on.’ Tarquin strikes something and there’s a light, a rag soaked in what smells like animal fat. It’s smoky. I choke. Lenny starts coughing. I feel like coughing too. I hold it tight inside.
‘Shush.’ I pat Lenny gently on the back.
The rag sputters, crackles. At least we can see where we are. We’re in an opening. Concrete floor. Concrete walls. Ridges where the old decking has left patterns of sawn wood in cement. Everywhere’s covered in dirt. Water dripping from a high place. In front of us another metal door with a round handle, long broken and not shut tight. It makes a terrible squeaking as Tarquin yanks it open. Beyond it is a tunnel.
‘Ain’t gonna be as “massive” as you thought,’ says Tarquin.
I don’t answer. Maybe when Nan read that they were ‘massive’, it meant massively long. This one’s barely a metre high. ‘But there is a tunnel,’ I say.
‘More’n one,’ says Tarquin.
‘But we’re gonna be OK, ain’t we?’ says Lenny.
‘They spread out in every direction.’
‘But you know the way?’ Lenny’s voice quavers.
‘Not exactly.’ Tarquin holds up the light, examines the cables. ‘I ain’t no roguer. I don’t like underground places.’
‘So how’re we going to find our way out?’ I say.
‘I been down here before, though.’ Tarquin runs his hand along a cable, seems to be scraping at its sides, feeling it. ‘You start here an’ you got to chose a cable, follow it and don’t lose it. It’ll eventually take you out. That’s what they say.’
‘But it might go miles,’ I say, ‘and come out anywhere.’
‘It might,’ says Tarquin, ‘but as long as it takes us out and we don’t meet up with any roguers, and we avoid the chambers, you got a problem?’
‘We’re gonna make it out, ain’t we, Quinny?’
‘Yep. No dumb old roguer trying to smuggle stuff past Careem is going to stop us.’
There’s something in Tarquin’s voice that soothes. I want to believe him. Though I know he’s only saying it to cheer Lenny up. Roguers are mean. They’re lawless bandits, only interested in their own haul. They’ll cut our throats if they catch us.
‘We’ll be OK. You’ll see.’
I shake my head.
None of this is ever going to be OK.
Three metal cables lie inside the tunnel. Huge. Twisted. Like long dark snakes slithering in a hole. They run together, half sheathed in bits of piping. Old plastic. Where the plastic is broken, the metal cables twist out, warped, tangled. In places even the cable itself is broken, and a vast forest of wires poke through. I touch up against one. Cut myself. Oh hell.
Cuts are dangerous. Nan told me, ‘If you get a cut from anything in the garden, anything that’s been buried for a long time out of sunlight, let it bleed, wash it clean.’
I squeeze my finger, suck at the blood and squeeze it again.
‘Stay away from the wires,’ I tell Lenny.
‘We gonna have to crawl through the next bit.’ Tarquin waves the lighted rag at the tunnel up ahead. Thick smoke swirls. It’s very low. We can’t walk. He’s right – we’re going to have to crawl.
‘I’m going to put out the light,’ he says. ‘So I can crawl.’
‘I’m scared,’ says Lenny.
‘You’ll be OK,’ says Tarquin. ‘Wrap this around you.’ He passes Lenny his jacket. ‘I’ll go first, you follow – in the middle. She can go last.’
‘Melissa,’ I say.
‘OK. Melissa.’
The light goes out. Only the aftersmell, the stink of oily rag. The darkness swallows everything. Instantly I bump my head. Bang into cables. I think it’s cables. I daren’t stretch out my hand to make sure. A drip of water lands on my face.
Lenny cries out. ‘There’s rats, Quinny. I felt one.’
‘Keep the jacket tight round you.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Gotta be brave,’ I whisper. ‘This is the underworld. But we got the Torch, remember?’ I duck my head, feel for Lenny’s feet. I give one a little friendly tug.
From time to time I keep checking for his feet. I feel how they slowly shift up ahead. The roof gets lower. I get down on all fours. I go like that for a while. I wave my hand above me, out in front. I feel for the ceiling. I feel for Lenny’s feet. A cable underneath me suddenly branches off. A new cable branches in from another tunnel. Waft of stale air.
I feel around underneath. Four cables now. That’s weird. Maybe two cables came in. The roof squeezes down. I get onto my belly. Where the cable is smooth, I slide along. Where it’s broken, and the wires poke through, Nan’s coat catches and rips. I try to pull the cloth out from under me. It tears. The walls are slippery. I reach up and touch the ceiling. Something unpleasant oozes between my fingers.
I lose hold of Lenny’s feet. I start to panic. A darkness worse even than the tunnel gets into my head. I twist, waving my hand from side to side, like a maggot writhing in its casing. I’m gonna be stuck down here, shrivelled up like a mummy in a tomb.
‘Missa?’ I hear Lenny’s voice. Echoey. Shrill. Panicky.
Up ahead? Have I taken a wrong turn? ‘Lenny?’ I start to haul myself towards him.
‘Missa,’ Lenny calls again.
‘I’m here,’ I call.
‘Shush,’ Tarquin hisses. ‘Quiet.’ His voice a long way off.
How far’ve we come? Feels like miles. How far have we got to go?
Without warning we suddenly all end up together, kaleidoscoped into each other. Smell of damp concrete. Acid. Earthy. I can’t figure out anything except that we can’t go any further. We haven’t come out anywhere. We lie there scrunched up in the dark.
‘I need to check the cable,’ says Tarquin.
Somebody fumbles around. An elbow bumps my face. I can smell Tarquin. He must be right there and what I thought was Lenny pressing up against me is him.
‘Lenny?’ I say.
A hand closes over mine. It misses my palm and grips onto my fingers. A face presses up against mine. The hand is too big, too strong to be Lenny’s. I feel lips on my cheek and warm breath. ‘We’ve hit a dead end,’ Tarquin whispers. ‘Don’t say anything.’ His lips move against my skin. ‘Don’t scare Lenny.’
I half turn towards him, whisper back. ‘What is it?’ My lips brush against his.
I draw my breath in. His lips are soft and warm.
He strikes the flint, lights the rag.
He reaches over and examines the cabling.
He looks at me. Light of smoky flame. Eyes, glinting.
Shakes his head.
We’ve lost the cable.
We’ve come the wrong way.
22
‘
We’re going to have to go to the chambers.’
‘What’s the chambers, Quinny?’
‘Not going to talk about it down here.’
‘I don’t believe it. How could you lose the cable?’
He lowers the smoking rag, points. A cable’s been capped off. He didn’t lose it. It never led anywhere.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
‘We go back,’ says Tarquin.
‘All the way?’ I ask.
‘Nah, we’ll take junctions that lead to a chamber.’
‘How will you know?’
‘I’ll know.’
We set out again. The light’s put out. The crawling and the darkness begin again.
‘But how will you know?’ I hiss from the back.
‘Trust me.’
We crawl on, winding back down the tunnel. We branch sometimes into other tunnels. At each junction we take there’s a blast of stale, unGodly air. A musty smell that gets mustier. And there’re rats.
At one point we stop. Tarquin lights the rag. We see them lined up against the walls – huge, eyes flashing in the light, quivering noses. They don’t seem afraid. They snuffle on up the cable shaft, then turn and snuffle back.
‘Some of the boys eat them things,’ says Lenny.
Tarquin puts the rag out again. ‘Let’s try and get out of here,’ he says.
We keep forking into fresh tunnels. I’m hopelessly lost. The stench gets stronger. ‘What’s that smell?’ I say at last.
‘Chambers.’
Suddenly ahead of me Lenny stops, whispers, ‘Quinny says to shush.’
We stay there, quiet. Then I hear them. People.
There’s no pan banging, no shouting, just quiet voices. ‘Who are they?’ I hiss.
‘Shush.’
Lenny slides back a little, until he’s up against my face. He grabs my hand.
‘It’s roguers in one of the chambers,’ says Tarquin very, very quietly. ‘We’re going to have to wait.’
‘What’re they doing there?’ I whisper.
‘Them chambers is under shafts that lead up to the streets.’
‘So we can get out?’
‘Yeah. But the roguers drop things into them too.’
‘Things?’
‘When we go out ganging, some of the crew don’t bring back all the spoil. They drop it down into them chambers and roguers collect it through the shafts.’
I get it.
‘But there’s other things that got dropped down into them chambers too.’
‘What?’ Something drips on my hand.
‘In them long ago times.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Shush. Later.’
We lie with the rats and the cables, and our hearts pound. We lie there a very long time. I want to cough. I want to put my hand over my mouth, but Lenny’s holding on to it. I struggle to suppress the cough. At the same time I’m trying to pay attention. I can hear them in the chamber talking. Voices – two, maybe three. Silence for minutes. Then a voice again.
We lie there listening, waiting. Hours, cold and dark. I think Lenny’s fallen asleep all curled up in my arms. I stroke his head, sadly. When we’re out, I’m going to leave him. For a second my heart cuts. I imagine it different. If there really were a place. Somewhere far away. If we could be together. Me, Tarquin, Lenny. If we could carry on journeying – just the three of us – towards that somewhere.
‘Help others as much as you can,’ said Nan. ‘But don’t take them on. Only the strong survive. And the weak ones know it. They’ll drag you down. Don’t show them your secrets. Starvation makes monsters of us all.’
After a long time with nothing except the shuffle of rats and the drip of something, Tarquin whispers very quietly, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’ I hardly dare breathe it out.
He leans in close. ‘For everything.’
‘It wasn’t your fault.’ I try to shush him, terrified we’ll be heard.
‘Sorry for taking you back to Games City.’
‘You didn’t have a choice,’ I reassure him, hoping he’ll stay quiet.
‘Sorry for switching on you.’
‘Sshh, it got us out.’
‘Sorry I didn’t believe.’ His breath tickles my ear.
I flinch.
‘About the cottage.’
I feel a sudden impulse to tell him I lied. Tell him I didn’t trust him either, that I was just trying to save myself. Just like him. And was that so wrong?
‘Can we be friends?’ he murmurs.
My heart skips suddenly.
‘Properly. Like on the same side?’
So he knows I’m on my own side?
‘We’ll need to be – once we’re out.’ He’s leaning in so close.
If we get out.
‘OK,’ I mouth, staring into the darkness.
‘You know, Careem and that.’
I know.
Pause. Solid blackness. He shuffles slightly, seems to draw his jacket up over his head. I feel his arm go round me. He pulls me in close until the jacket covers us and muffles all sound.
‘I’ll watch your back, try and take care of you if they come,’ he whispers into my hair.
‘OK.’
‘Me and Len ain’t got many friends in Games City. It won’t make no difference to us.’
‘Why?’ Suddenly I want to know about him and Lenny and Games City.
‘My mum come over from France, down the tunnel from Sangatte. We was trying to get far away like everyone.’
Those strange words. A sudden guess. ‘Your mum was French?’
‘Yeah. We was stuck in that tunnel and people was dying. I was so scared. I hate being underground.’
I unlace Lenny’s fingers from mine and pull the jacket tighter around us.
‘The smell.’
‘How old were you?’ I whisper.
‘Maybe eleven. My mum was ill. She was carrying Len.’
‘My parents died too,’ I say in a really low voice. ‘When I was little.’
I find his hand in the dark. We sit there holding onto each other.
