The Enemy (20 page)

He reached the end of the tunnel and peered out. He could now see the ful length of the platform. He saw some signs. He was at Euston. He was fairly sure he was going in the right direction.

And there was the fire. Just by the entrance where the passengers came onto the platform. A pile of trash was smoldering, and a man’s legs were sticking out of it. Sitting on the platform nearby were five or six grown-ups. They were thin and dirty and feeble looking, little more than stick people. They stared at the fire and the man’s burning legs but seemed too tired to move.

Sam swore to himself. If there were grown-ups on the platform, they had probably infested the whole of Euston. He would have to somehow get past them and continue on to the next station.

He figured that if he stayed down on the tracks and kept close to the wal nearest the platform, the grown-ups wouldn’t be able to see him. He was short of breath and tried to fil his lungs with clean air. There wasn’t a lot of oxygen down here. Smoke was drifting from the fire through the passenger entrance, but it was also hanging in the air above the platform.

No wonder the grown-ups looked half dead. If they stayed there long enough, the fumes would kil them.

Good riddance.

Sam ducked down and crawled out of the tunnel, hugging the wal , gasping for breath, praying that one of the stick people wouldn’t get up and peer over the edge. As he passed below the fire he could hear it crackling and popping. A spark jumped through the air and a burning cinder dropped onto the far side of the tracks. Sam ignored it and pressed on.

His stomach rumbled, and he froze. Had they heard it? It had sounded like a bear growling. He was so hungry. When had he last eaten? How long ago had it been? No idea. He had a bottle of water in his backpack, but he’d finished off the stale biscuits and tinned fruit he’d brought from Waitrose while he was hiding in the shaft.

Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about food. If he wasn’t careful he’d wind up as somebody else’s breakfast.

On he went. It must have taken him fifteen minutes of patient crawling to get to the end of the platform, but he made it safely and scurried into the comforting darkness of the next tunnel. He glanced back. The grown-ups were sitting exactly where they had been before. Not one of them had moved.

Maybe they were already dead? He didn’t want to find out.

He turned and pressed on toward the next station.

As he walked, the water on the tracks grew deeper and deeper. At one point it was up to his waist. It wasn’t warm and it wasn’t cold, but it was stil unpleasant. Black as oil with scum floating on the surface. He held his hands and arms up above it, keeping his precious flashlight wel clear. Without light he would be lost and might end up wandering around down here forever.

No. Not forever. Only until he starved to death. His stomach gurgled even more loudly. There were sharp pains in his guts. He had to keep moving, and somehow he had to find something to eat.

The journey to the next station was a repeat of his journey from Camden to Euston, except that at one point he came to a junction with two tunnels leading off it. He chose one at random and kept going, trusting to blind luck.

After a little way, however, he found the tunnel was blocked by a big pile of what he at first thought was sticks. As he passed his flashlight beam over it, he realized that it was bones. Human bones, some stil wrapped in clothing. Not bleached and white like skeletons in films, but a dirty yel owish gray.

There were hands and legs and arms and ribs and skul s, al jumbled up on top of each other, stretching away down the tunnel. Maybe someone had piled dead bodies down here out of the way, or maybe the grown-ups had crawled down here to die. Whatever the reason, he could go no farther in this direction, so he backtracked and went down the other tunnel.

He’d sometimes wondered where al the dead grown-ups had gone. At first the streets of London had stunk. A horrible rotting smel that made you cover your mouth and nose with your shirt; but slowly it had faded away.

He shuddered. What other secrets were buried down here in the tunnels?

He soldiered on, going as fast as he could. Time ticked past, and he got more and more tired and more and more hungry. He took sips of water, which helped. Every time he put his bottle back, though, the level was lower. Soon it would al be gone.

He almost didn’t realize when he got to the next station. He was stumbling along in a daze, and as he shone his flashlight to the side, there was a platform. Pitch-dark like the tunnel he had just emerged from.

Good. If it was dark it meant that there was nobody around. He pul ed himself up off the tracks and sat on one of the metal benches along the wal . He would wait here until he got his strength back.

Where was he?

He flashed his light over a sign.

King’s Cross.

Was that good? Or had he taken the wrong branch after Euston? He wasn’t sure. If he could only get up the stairs and back into sunlight, he could find his way. He was pretty sure that King’s Cross was a normal overground station as wel . That meant there would be maps on the wal .

Yes.

He remembered now. Didn’t the Eurostar to Paris go from here?

Maybe he should go there. Get right out of London. Maybe everything was al right in France. He could go to Disneyland.

He laughed.

Imagine having Disneyland al to yourself.

No. He had to find his sister, and his friends. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with them. Wel , soon he would be. He’d made it this far, hadn’t he?

Cheered by thoughts of sunlight and escape, he stood up and walked along to the foot tunnel. His flashlight beam dimmed with each step, until it died altogether.

He stopped and pumped the handle. He pumped and pumped and pumped until he was sure he had a good charge, then flicked on the beam.

It shone into the white faces of a group of grown-ups. They were packed into the foot tunnel, fil ing its width, standing there, waiting, their broken teeth showing yel ow against their gray papery skin.

Sam was nearly sick with shock. The blood drained out of his head and he swayed on his feet, struggling not to pass out. And then a mother made a move, darting at him, and he turned and bolted. Sprinted along the platform, his flashlight beam dancing madly ahead of him. Leaped down onto the tracks. Fel and hurt his leg. He was up in an instant, and he limped on. Behind him he could hear the grown-ups, jumping and slithering onto the tracks.

He charged into the train tunnel, and something took hold of him from the side. He yel ed and struggled, but a strong arm in a heavy overcoat was holding him stil . A hand clamped over his mouth.

“Don’t move,” said a soft voice.

A kid? Grown-ups couldn’t speak.

But the body connected to the arm felt huge and strong. Too big, surely, to be a kid.

Sam was turned around so that he was facing the way he had come.

“Shine your flashlight back that way,” the voice commanded, and he did as he was told.

The grown-ups were hobbling and capering along the tracks.

The big figure raised its other arm. Sam caught sight of a sawed-off shotgun, just like he’d seen in the movies.

The shotgun blasted once, sending out a bright flash and harsh boom, then a second time.

The front ranks of the grown-ups fel away. The rest turned and fled.

“Come on,” said the voice. “Time we were leaving, kiddo.”

T
he kids woke at first light. Those that had slept. Many had simply lain on the grass or sat huddled together, too scared to sleep. They had spent the night in a fenced-off public garden at the top of Portland Place. It was semicircular and surrounded by roads, like one half of a giant traffic circle. There was grass and shrubs and large trees, but nothing could get close without being seen because of the road. The fence was black iron with a spearhead at the tip of each post. The kids had figured that it would be a safe place to spend the night. They had been too tired and scared and demoralized to go any farther after escaping from the park. Who knew what fresh horrors awaited them in the dark? So they had climbed the fence, lit a fire, and posted guards.

There were smal buildings in the corners, little more than fancy huts but tal enough for the kids to climb on the roofs and keep lookout. It was the best they could do, and thankful y nothing else happened in the night.

Now the sun was rising over London, painting the sky first purple then pink then gray. Soon it would be a vivid blue. It looked like it was going to be another sunny day. The kids stretched and yawned and hugged each other, glad to be alive.

Maxie had taken first watch, then swapped with Ol ie and settled down under a bush in her sleeping bag. Too numb to feel frightened. She had instantly fal en into a deep and dreamless sleep, as if she had been knocked cold.

Now she felt sluggish and heavy, fighting to wake up properly. She hauled herself up into a seated position. Every muscle in her body was stiff. She ran her fingers through her short curly hair to try to untangle some knots, but it was a lost cause. She fil ed her lungs with clean fresh air. That was one smal benefit from the disaster. No more cars pumping out poisonous fumes. No more factories and offices pol uting the atmosphere. London couldn’t have smel ed this pure for at least two hundred years.

She saw Blue talking quietly to Jester by the remains of the fire. She stood up and went over to them, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Hi.”

“Morning,” said Jester. “Did you sleep?”

“Think so,” said Maxie.

“Good. Today should be a lot easier.”

“We need to sort ourselves out,” said Maxie, looking around at the kids sprawled everywhere. In the chaos of the previous evening they had arrived at the enclosure in an unruly rabble. Maxie had no idea how many kids had made it.

“Whitney’s taking our attendance,” said Blue.

“I’l find Josh,” said Maxie. “I expect he’s already done ours. He’s always first up.”

“Maxie . . .”

Maxie looked at Blue. He was trying to tel her something. But she was too tired and dazed to be able to work it out. Her brain wasn’t real y awake yet.

“What?”

“Josh never made it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was helping some little kids when four of them things, them apes, got him cornered. He went down fighting. He was a brave kid. Nothing scared him.”

“No,” said Maxie, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. He’s here somewhere. I know he is.”

“Sorry. He wasn’t the only one.”

Maxie knew it was true. She slumped to the ground.

“And when exactly were you going to tel me?” she said.

“What you saying? I just did tel you.”

“You didn’t think to tel me last night?”

“Hey, cool it, girl,” said Blue. “I was gonna tel you when the time was right.”

“And when was that going to be?”

Blue looked exasperated. He rol ed his eyes, then turned to Maxie with a sadder, more gentle look.

“You was tired last night, Maxie,” he said. “I could see you was cut up over Arran and Joel. You was on your last legs. I thought it might break you if I told you about Josh right then. We lost some people as wel . Okay? I liked Joel. He was a sweet kid. And there were two others from my crew. Both little ones.”

“I’m sorry,” said Maxie.

“Ain’t no problem.”

Ol ie came over with a scrap of paper. He had dark rings around his eyes, and his red hair was al over the place. He looked like he hadn’t slept at al .

“I’ve counted heads,” he said to Maxie, “and made a list. You heard about Josh?”

“Yes,” said Maxie. “Who else?”

“Katey and Louise and Curly Sam.”

“But I saw him rescued.”

“They came back for him. Josh tried to help, but . . .”

Maxie swore.

“They’re not necessarily dead,” said Ol ie. “We left in a hurry. We didn’t have time to check bodies.”

“Then we should go back. We should look for them. We can’t leave them al alone out there.”

“No,” said Jester, standing up. “We’re not going back. We’re lucky to have gotten this far.”

“And who gave you a say in this?” Maxie jumped up and shoved Jester.

“He’s right,” said Blue, pul ing Maxie away. “We’ve discussed it. We go back we could be attacked again, lose more kids.”

“So we just leave them? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah,” said Blue. “It is. We got to assume they’re dead.”

“And what if they’re not? Put yourself in their position— wandering around out there. Lost and alone.”

“Put yourself in the position of the other kids here,” said Jester. “The ones we know for sure are stil alive. The ones sitting al around us. You think they want to go back?”

“You can take a vote on it if you want,” said Blue. “But I guarantee most kids wil want to push on.”

“How can you be so cold?”

“Cuz I want to survive, Maxie. Don’t you?”

“At what cost?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Maxie looked to Ol ie for support.

“Blue’s right,” he said. “It’d be crazy to go back. It’s not that we don’t care, but there’s fifty-three of us in the group now. Those fifty-three are more important than one or two kids we left behind. Who are probably dead anyway.”