“But what are you doing down here?” he said, with a degree of venom he just could not control.
“I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you mean,” replied Brenden, unable to avoid being a little stung by the force of the man’s question. “I decided to come down here myself.”
“What! Why?” exclaimed the man in such a way as to even disturb some of the generally unmoving grey bodies that lay nearby. “This place is worse than any hell: its inescapable silence… the loneliness that sets in even though your head may only be inches away from another poor soul, who’s possibly been in a near death-like state longer than most people will ever be alive. And the thought that that’s what lies ahead for you. No, boy. Get out of here! Get out if you can. It’s not just the terrible anguish that’s brought on by that hunger that you can do nothing to sate except to wait for it to pass. It’s the long slow decline, as you feel your body decay into the sorry state of a shell, the likes of which you can see all around you now. Did you not have the option to stay up there? I thought you could stay to make something of a life out there, like Johann or the others. Who convinced you this was a good idea? Why did you come down here?”
Though Brenden anticipated a negative reaction from Peter, the force of what the man said surprised him and shook his conviction that he had made the right choice. However, before the natural heavy silence of the Tunnels returned, Brenden reminded himself of his reasons and became content once more.
“What happened to Mary?” he asked, aware how strange it was to be standing there, asking such normal questions to that man. “Where is she?”
“My wife?” said Peter, with an absence that showed he still had his mind on Brenden’s decision to enter the Tunnels. “She wasn’t as used to what the hunger can do to a person as me. I’d been through the process so many times before. It’s not so much that it gets easier, you just come to know it. You become more aware of what it does. Over the years, while I was hidden away, I tried to train myself to withstand it. I failed out there in the real world, but down here, it seems to have made a difference. I guess I was quite near the end - of being able to get around, I mean – just before you came. But it was because I knew to batten down the hatches, like the others you see strapped down, long enough before the hunger came on to avoid the worst of the drive to hunt even though you know there’s nothing out there. But she didn’t know. I suppose it was a couple of months ago when she became one of them,” he jabbed his thumb in the direction of one of the motionless corpse-like bodies on a chest nearby. “It’s hard to keep track of time down here, maybe it was not that long ago at all. When you’re on your own, time passes slowly.”
Brenden felt he should console the man, and perhaps he did say a few words as he continued to stand before the pitiful figure of the man in front of him. However, when Peter continued on, going over the same old ground of Brenden’s mistake and the horror of the new world he had entered, the boy soon felt that he should leave. He came to see that the small world of the Tunnels, and the tragic personal life within Peter, had become the man’s entire world. Maybe Brenden would also descend into such a condition, one day. For now, he could still remember the sun; the multitude of the sounds of an ordinary day at his school – the hum of chatter in a teacherless classroom, the shrill ring of the bell, the echo in the lunch hall, the squeak of trainers in the gym; he could still remember his family, his home. So, he told Peter that maybe they could meet again, that the man could tell him all he knew about the hunger to help soften its blow. Peter clearly deflated when it became clear to him that Brenden wanted to leave, but he said nothing to make his feelings known and let the boy go without a word of protest. Brenden found his way back to his new home, his utilitarian blue chest. He was happy to find that whoever had owned the chest before him had left a couple of pillows within, meaning he would not have to traipse over to a storeroom to collect one. It was time for him to settle down.
He had the sort of immortality in his hands that many his own age only believed they had. But the years that he could see stretching out before him as he lay there seemed only a burden, holding no prospect of anything really at all. He was glad of one thing though: he turned his mind to Peter and the idea of a barely recognisable Mary sitting next to him. He also brought to mind the life Mary had been willing to allow others to die for. Neither of these images in themselves gave the boy any pleasure. No, it
