'I can tell you this,' she said, the noise beginning to subside. 'It won't be a pleasant death. First you'll feel nauseous, and your skin will turn red, your mouth and throat inflamed. You won't have much strength. Vomiting will follow and you'll suffer pretty excruciating diarrhoea for a few days. You may start to feel a little better after this, but I promise you it won't last.
'All those symptoms are going to return with a vengeance, and you'll sweat, your skin will blister and your hair will fall out.
'You women will find your menstruation cycle will ignore the usual rules - you'll bleed a lot, and badly.
You men will have pain in your genitals. If you do survive - which I doubt - you'll be sterile, or worse: the chances are that any offspring will be abnormal.
'Leukaemia will be a disease you'll know all about - from a personal point of view.
Towards the end your intestines will be blocked. You might find that the worst discomfort of all.
'Finally, and perhaps mercifully, the convulsions will hit you, and after that you won't care very much.
You'll sink into a brief coma, then you'll be dead.'
The eyes behind the large glasses were expressionless.
Jesus, thought Culver, she didn't pull her punches.
There are other milder results of irradiation if you'd like to hear them.' She was coldly relentless, deliberately frightening them into staying. 'Food won't do you any good - you won't be able to extract essential nourishment. All the tissue in your body will age dramatically. There'll be a contraction of the bladder, bone fractures that won't mend, inflammation of the kidneys, liver, spinal cord and heart, bronchopneumonia, thrombosis, cancer and aplastic anaemia which will lead to subcutaneous haemorrhaging - in other words you'll bleed to death under the skin.
'And if that isn't enough, you'll have the pleasure of watching others around you dying in the same way, watching
the agonies of those in the more advanced stages, witnessing what you, yourself, will soon be going through.
'So if you want to leave, if you want to expose yourself to all that, knowing you'll be too ill to help others, I don't see why we should stop you. In fact, I'll plead on your behalf to allow you out, because you'll only cause dissension in this shelter. Any takers?'
She sat when she was sure there wouldn't be.
Thank you, Dr Reynolds,' said Dealey, 'for explaining the reality of the situation.'
She did not look at Dealey, but Culver could see there was no appreciation of his thanks.
'Perhaps now that you've heard everything at its pessimistic worst, we can continue on a more constructive note.' Dealey briefly touched the bandages over his eyes, as though they were causing discomfort. 'I said earlier that we were not isolated here in this shelter. I know our lines of communication have been temporarily cut, but at least we're secure in the knowledge that there are many others who will have survived the blast in shelters such as this. And all these within the central area are connected by either the Post Office tube railway or the London Transport Underground system.'
'It stands to reason that if our radio and telephone connections have been knocked out then these tunnels will have been destroyed too,' someone called out.
True enough. I'm sure a few of the tunnels have been damaged, perhaps even destroyed completely, but there are too many for the whole system to have been wrecked. And also, certain buildings have been constructed to withstand nuclear explosions, buildings such as the Montague House 'Fortress' and the Admiralty blockhouse in The Mall. I won't give details of all the bunkers and what are called
'citadels'
that have been built since the last World War, but I can tell you that there are at least six shelters on the Northern line tunnel system alone, below stations such as Clapham South and Stockwell...'
Culver had the feeling that however candid Dealey was appearing to be as he listed other sites in and around London, he was still holding back, still not telling all. He mentally shrugged; it would be hard to trust any 'government' man from now on.
'... and a National Seat of Government will be set up outside London, and the country divided up into twelve regional seats, with twenty-three sub-regional headquarters ...'
Was anyone in the room really listening to Dealey now?
'... county and district controls ...'
Did any of it make sense?
'... sub-district controls, which will liaise with community posts...'
'Dealey!'
Heads turned to look at Culver. Dealey stopped speaking, and the tell-tale tongue flicked across his lips.
'Have you told anybody about the creatures out there?' Culver's voice was level, but there was a tightness to it. Kate beside him stiffened.
'I hardly think it need wor—'
'It's got to worry us, Dealey, because sooner or later we've got to go out there into those tunnels. The main entrance is blocked, remember? The tunnels are our only way out.'
'I doubt they'll stay underground. They'll scavenge for... food ... on the surface. And in that case, they'll die from radiation poisoning.'
Culver smiled grimly. 'I don't think you've been doing your homework.'
Farraday broke in. 'What's he talking about? What are these creatures?'
This time it was Dr Reynolds who spoke. She removed her glasses and polished them with a small handkerchief. 'Dealey, Culver and Miss Garner were attacked by rats outside this shelter. It appears they were particularly large and, to say the least, unusually ferocious. They had attacked and were devouring survivors who had taken shelter in the tunnels.'
Farraday frowned and looked back at Culver. 'Just how large were they?'
Culver opened his arms like a boastful fisherman. 'Like dogs,' he replied.
More silence, more stunned dismay.
They will be no threat to us,' Dealey insisted. 'By the time we leave this shelter, most of these vermin will be dead.'
Culver shook his head and Dr Reynolds answered. ‘You really should have known this, Mr Dealey. Or perhaps you wanted to forget. You see, certain forms of life are highly resistant to radiation. Insects are, for instance. And so, too, are rats.'
She replaced the spectacles.
'And,' she continued in almost a sigh, 'if these creatures are descendants of the Black rats that terrorized London just a few years ago - and from their size, I'd say they were -then not only will they be resistant to radiation, but they'll thrive on it.'
A noise.
He listened intently.
A scratching sound.
He waited.
Nothing. Gone now.
Klimpton tried to stretch his body, but there wasn't room even to straighten his legs. He flexed the muscles in his back and twisted his neck from side to side, refraining from groaning, not wanting to wake the others.
What time was it?
The digital figures of his watch glowed green on his wrist. 23.40. Night.
There was no other way of telling night from day, not there, not in their small dusty prison.
How long? Dear God, how long had they been down there? Two days? Three? A week? No, it couldn't be that long. Could it? Time didn't count for much when shadows failed to move.
