48

darkened space a long time ago to escape the invisible killer thing that was in the air itself.

Cissie must have realized at the same time, because she made a sudden lunge across my shoulders, and only by twisting my body and pinning her to the wall with my back did I prevent her from tearing open the curtain and tumbling out. Her breasts heaved against my shoulder blades and for an uncomfortable few moments I thought she was gonna throw up all over me. She held on though, her panic giving way to a more controlled fear, her breathing slowing down; and soon I felt her tears on my back. Beneath me, Stern began to moan and I quickly eased my weight off him again and held a hand to his lips. Despite the pain he was in, I think maybe he was aware of our situation - or at least, that we were in danger -

because he became quiet and lay still once more. In inky blackness we waited, and I wondered how many other rotted corpses lay about us in this reinforced tomb. Cissie had sensed them when I'd first brought her here, and I admired her willpower now; me, I was used to the decayed remains of the dead -

I even collected them -but she was still learning to accept it all.

Voices tensed us.

'They're not in here,' someone said.

'How d'you know?' came a hushed reply. 'It's too dark to see.'

'They'd have gone up the stairs. There's a way out up there.'

'They didn't have time, we'd have seen 'em. They've ducked in here, or one of those doors opposite.'

Another voice joined in, quiet like the others, as if afraid of disturbing the dead. 'What's behind all them curtains?' it said.

'Looks like some kind of bunker in there. Probably the hotel's own Blitz shelter.'

Shuffling footsteps as they entered.

'Fucking hell, it's creepy.'

So they felt it too. Enough to make them change their minds about searching the place? Somewhere far off there was a muffled crash or explosion, I couldn't tell which.

'This whole place is gonna come down.'

'Sodding Germans.'

'Well let's get out before it does.'

'No, we gotta check. If Hubble found out we hadn't he'd have our guts for garters.'

'Shit, I had a better time in the army.'

'He pulled us together, didn't he? Gave us all a chance. It'd be every man for hisself without Sir Max.'

'Okay, okay, let's get on with it'

I swore under my breath. They were moving further into the room. I shifted my weight, got an elbow beneath me, and Stern gave a soft moan.

'D'you hear that?'

'What?'

'There was a noise, sounded like someone moaning.'

'I never heard it'

'It came from over there.'

I parted the curtain at its centre, just enough for me to peek through. There were three of them, as the voices had indicated, their figures vague and shadowy in the poor light from the hallway. I was surprised, assuming more had chased us down here; then I realized the main group had probably gone straight past the stairway so they could search the private function rooms along the upper hallway, while these three had broken off to investigate the basement. I let go of the curtain and pulled back as the three men drew near.

'It came from behind one of these.'

Through the material of the curtains I could see the lights outside were fluttering again.

'Here, I don't want to be in this bleedin place if the lights go again.'

'All right, let's make it quick then.'

The swish of curtains being drawn back came to us. They'd started at the beginning of the row of bunks we were hiding among and were working their way along.

'Why don't I just put a burst through the lot of 'em?' came one of the voices.

'What, and kill the people we're looking for? We need 'em to survive, you bloody fool.'

'So Hubble says.'

'Yeah, well he's right You saw the American and his friends - they all look healthy enough, none of 'em's touched by the disease. They've got the good blood and we need it. It don't take a genius to work that out'

Another curtain was drawn aside, this one over the next bunk down. I heard Cissie gasp in a sharp breath.

The material in front of me ruffled, then dim light accompanied by a long-bladed knife (the same one that had slit Albert Potter's throat?) came through the parting. There seemed no point in waiting to be discovered.

I pulled back the curtain so smartly that the man on the other side shrieked in surprise. My other hand gripped the fist around the knife and pushed it upwards and back so that its point sank into the startled Blackshirt's throat. His shriek became a choking gurgle and rising air forced splatters of blood from the throat wound and his mouth. I felt its warmness as it sprinkled my face and shoulder, and I leapt out of the bunk, shoving the choking man away from me into the Blackshirt behind him. This second one's pistol went off as he staggered backwards and I ducked instinctively. The bullet hit the ceiling and the man fell to the floor with the weight of his knife-struck pal on top of him.

The thing of it is, and as I keep saying, these poor saps were not the men they used to be. The Slow Death had weakened their muscles and slowed their reactions, otherwise they'd have cornered and captured me way back. I was no superman, no Ubermensch, as Hitler had liked to call his elite, but I was still pretty fit - working on the allotments and lifting bodies on a near-daily basis had taken care of that

- and living with constant danger had kept my wits sharp enough, so I had the edge on these characters.

And knowing I was no good to them dead had always encouraged me to take risks, which was why I'd taken the fight to them at that moment and almost shocked them rigid.

The third man was still gawping at me as I started towards him. His weapon, a Thompson submachine gun, whose round magazine made him look like a hoodlum from one of those gangster movies that were all the rage before the war, was frozen in his hands. No Jimmy Cagney or Edward G. this guy, though, because I was already diving for his legs before he remembered to pull the trigger.

I was under the Thompson's stubby barrel so the bullets only ruined the floor as I struck his knees, unbalancing him and bringing him down on top of me. I kept rolling and came up behind him. Reaching over his hunched shoulders, I grabbed the submachine gun's warm barrel with one hand and its butt with the other, jerking the weapon upwards so that it cracked against his lower jaw, knocking what little sense he had from him. He clung to the gun though, but his grip was slack. I pulled it back against his windpipe, squeezing hard and, I guess, crushing or breaking something inside, because he suddenly went limp, all life gone from him.

I heard a scuffle and looked up to see Cissie's shadowy figure hurl itself at the second Blackshirt, whose pistol was aimed in my direction as he sprawled on the floor. He dismissed her with a backward slap of his hand and pointed the gun at me again. But this time it was Stern he had to contend with.

The German aimed a kick at the gun hand, but missed and struck the Blackshirt's wrist instead, spoiling the shot. I was already scrambling across the floor on all fours and before he got a second chance, I'd smashed my fist into his nose (never fails). The back of his head hit the floor with a sickening smash, but just to make sure he wouldn't be a nuisance any more, I snatched the pistol from his sluggish grip and brought the butt down hard on his forehead. His head slowly lolled to one side as Stern sank down beside him. Aware that the gunfire would have attracted the attention of other Blackshirts who were hunting us, I was on my feet in an instant

'Stern, you okay? Can you get up?'

He swayed on his knees, head lowered, eyes downcast 'With your help,' he managed to murmur.

A stain that could only have been blood was darkening his shirt collar and when I touched his shoulder I felt