crawling weeds.
Sutton leans back out of the building. “This is it, McCoyne. In here.”
22
“ARE YOU SURE THIS is safe?” I ask as I tentatively follow him inside. It’s surprisingly light in here. There’s still some semblance of a roof overhead, but it’s patchy. In places the remains of rotten rafters stretch up into the air, leaving nothing but empty sky above us. Sutton kicks his way through the debris toward a rotten wooden door frame (no door, just a frame) midway along the single remaining interior dividing wall. It’s pitch black on the other side, and I stop, refusing to go any farther.
“Whatever you’ve got in there, just bring it out into the open. This place is about to collapse.”
“It’s a lot stronger than it looks. I used to work in construction and I’ve checked it all out. Anyway, most of the building’s buried.”
His assurances don’t make me feel any better, but I continue to follow him into the darkness. I grab onto the back of his coat with one hand, my knife still held ready in the other.
“Careful here,” he says, dragging his feet along the ground. He inches forward slowly, then seems to suddenly drop down a few inches. I instinctively try to steady him, but he’s okay. “Staircase,” he tells me. “Five steps down.”
I follow blind down the steep and narrow stairs, my shoulders brushing against walls that have suddenly closed in on either side. At the bottom of the steps Sutton stops and I walk into the back of him, unable to see anything. He gently pushes me over to one side, and I stand next to him in a narrow alcove of space.
“What is this place?” I ask, whispering because I’m worried if I speak too loud I’ll cause a cave-in.
“Just give me a second…”
He drags one of his feet along the ground again and makes contact with something heavy. I can’t see anything, but I hear it scrape along the floor. Almost completely blind, I stretch my arms out in front of me and feel my way along a cold, damp wall until the surface under my fingertips changes from brick to metal. I stop and feel back to the point where the change occurs and run my fingers down an uneven edge, eventually reaching something that feels like a hinge. Another door?
Sutton pushes me out of the way again. I’m not expecting it, and I stagger back a couple of paces and tense up, ready for him if he comes for me. My eyes are adjusting to the dark a little and I can just about make out his shape as he bends down to pick something up. Is it some kind of weapon? If he wanted to kill me (and I don’t know why he would) then surely he’d have done it back at the house and spared us both this damn day trip to the farm? Sutton lifts what looks like a length of metal pipe, then bangs it against the door three times. The sound of metal on metal reverberates loudly around this small enclosed space, filling my head.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Shh…”
He leans forward to listen, and the silence when the noise finally fades is all-consuming. Is he crazy? Nothing happens for an age. I’m about to turn and get out when I hear it—a steady thump, thump, thump coming from the other side of the wall. Shit, there’s someone in there. I have a sudden deluge of questions poised on the very tip of my tongue, but I don’t ask anything because Sutton starts banging again. Five times, this time. I stay silent and wait. Then I hear five knocks back in quick reply.
“Sutton, what—”
“Shh,” he hisses at me, resting a hand on my shoulder. He waits, and I eventually hear a single knock coming from the other side. He hits the door once more with the metal pipe, then carefully drops it down and shuffles back out of the way.
“Who is it?” I ask. He doesn’t answer. “Sutton, who’s in there?”
I hear another series of sounds now: metal scraping on metal, bolts and latches being undone. Then, with a groan and the high-pitched squeak of stiff hinges, the door slowly opens inward. There’s light in there. Faint, artificial light, visible only because everything else is so dark.
Before going through, Sutton stops and positions himself directly between me and the door. His face is slightly illuminated now and I can see his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses, searching my face and trying to gauge my reaction. He seems suddenly anxious again, like he was when he arrived at the house first thing this morning. Christ alone knows what he’s got himself mixed up with here. He looks over his shoulder, then back at me again. I try to push past him, but he’s fast and he blocks me.
“Just be calm and be patient,” he whispers ominously. “Like I said, this changes everything.”
“Spare me the bullshit, you overdramatic prick.”
Sick of all the waiting, I push forward again, and this time he stands aside to let me through. I find myself in the middle of a room no more than a couple of yards square, much more solid and secure looking than the rest of this place, whatever this place actually is. There is a load of empty boxes and crates scattered around, and the light comes from a single dull lamp resting on a wooden trestle table on the other side of the room. From the very little I can see, this looks like a bunker of some kind. A remnant from World War II, perhaps? A forgotten relic of the Cold War, from those times when paranoid government departments and local councils drew up pointless plans and contingencies for running the charred remains of the country from numerous ill-equipped underground sites like this one, out in the middle of nowhere. For a moment I’m gone, transfixed by my bizarre surroundings, staring at the pale gray walls mottled with mildew and remembering a time when it was countries and superpowers that fought each other, not individuals …
The door we came through slams shut behind me and I spin around quickly. Then I see him. There’s an Unchanged man holding a rifle, aiming it straight into my face. In spite of everything that’s happened, the unexpected sight of one of them is too much to stand. I draw my knife and run toward him with an instinctive speed and ferocity that surprises even me, knocking the barrel of the gun away and lunging at him, focusing on the thought of smashing his head in and leaving him lying dead at my feet.
“McCoyne, don’t!”
Sutton throws himself at me, slamming me against the side wall. I slide down to the floor and immediately try to scramble back onto my feet. The Unchanged man stands over me, his rifle pointing down into my face, ready to fire.
“Thought you said he was okay,” he says to Sutton, his voice filled with nervous anger.
“He is okay,” Sutton says, helping me up but still keeping me at a distance. I try to lunge for the Unchanged again, but Sutton anticipates my movements and pushes me back against the wall. “Control yourself,” he warns.
“Unchanged, Sutton? What the fuck are you doing?”
Before he can answer, another door opens, opposite to the one we came in through. Another Unchanged man appears. Both of them are desperately thin, their tired faces drawn and hollow, skin pale and covered with sores, eyes black and wide. How long have they been hiding down here?
“Who the hell’s this?” the second Unchanged asks.
“It’s okay, Parker,” Sutton tells him. “He’s with me.”
“Fucker went for me,” the first one sneers, rifle still just inches from my face.
“That was my fault. I didn’t tell him about you. I didn’t want to risk it until I’d got him down here.”
Sutton’s still pushing me back. I start to relax slightly, and I feel him loosen his grip. The initial shock’s fading, and my self-control is beginning to return. Don’t lose your head, I tell myself. I need to stay calm, stay in control, then get the fuck back to Lowestoft and tell Hinchcliffe about this place.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Sutton takes a cautious step away from me, and the first Unchanged man panics again. He pushes me back, jabbing the barrel of the gun hard into my chest. I raise my hands.
“Don’t,” Sutton says, trying to move the Unchanged away. “If he was going to kill you he’d have done it by now, believe me. Like I said, it was just the shock of seeing you. He had no idea.”
“So why is he here?” the one called Parker asks, not taking his eyes off me. The other Unchanged stands his ground, refusing to lower his weapon.
“You know why,” Sutton answers. “I told you I needed help. I can’t do this on my own anymore. McCoyne
