They were in a surprisingly long, very narrow arched corridor, sloping downwards into claustrophobia. It was made of rotting, crumbling bricks. He could hear trickling water coming from somewhere.
Matt could visualise the patch of grassland directly above him and realised that this tunnel that he was looking at stretched beyond that. It meant the vaults didn’t just sit under that modest square above, but ran deep beneath at least the street, and maybe under some of the buildings too. Presumably to the council offices, where the children’s home staff utilised every inch of this place.
They started heading down the dusty slope, but slowly. Trying not to slip.
‘It used to be a bomb shelter back in the 40s,’ Keech whispered, flicking on his torch. The beam revealed glistening, black-looking bricks, close enough to scrape each shoulder. ‘The council kept it like that till the early 90s just in case another war kicked off. Anyway, nobody knows what to do with it. Companies have tried to redevelop, but there’s something up with the ground round here. It’s too wet. History groups keep trying to get it listed. For the war part. Them sorry buggers like to list anything as old as they are. Pretty spooky though, eh?’
The corridor started getting even more narrow so Matt kept sliding his elbows against the stone. They passed a green metal door to the side, but when Matt pushed it, it didn’t budge.
‘That’s been locked for decades. Seance must be through the bottom one, in the main vault.’ Keech swung his beam to it and got moving again. Still chatty. ‘Turfed a homeless couple out of here once, and, you know, I almost left them. Least it was out of the rain.’ They trudged through the filthy sloping floor. ‘Almost there.’
It was cold down here. Really, really cold. Enough for Matt to start shivering under the thin blazer jacket he was wearing. He pulled out his phone for a little extra light. He shone it behind him. The corridor must have turned on a curve, because he couldn’t see the candles by the ladder any more.
Unless someone had put them out.
The light of his phone didn’t reach far, which meant that theoretically there could be someone creeping behind them in the blackness back there and they wouldn’t know.
He looked away and saw a mass of rubbish strewn along the floor. Crisp packets and coke cans and what might have been condom packets. There were tiny bits of white too, which at first he thought were cigarette butts but when he kicked some by accident they turned out to be bones from mice. Or maybe birds.
They reached the door, and it looked like something from a World War II submarine. ‘I come down here every couple of months, you know,’ Keech said, as he put his hand on it. ‘To break up parties. Some kids brought a whole sound system—’
He froze.
A murmur came from beyond the door.
They looked at each other.
Keech pushed but it didn’t seem to move much. So he heaved a little harder and Matt pushed too with both hands splayed. It screeched itself open, dragging on gravel into a stone room filled with pitch-darkness.
Matt scanned the room with his phone light while Keech flicked his torch beam.
‘There.’ Matt immediately picked out a metal folding chair sitting near the centre. Two more were nearby but they were tipped on their side.
Keech shrugged. ‘Where are they? Have we missed—’
‘Bob?’ Matt darted to the shape on the floor. ‘Oh shit.’
He was lying on his right side, with an arm stretched out in the dust. There was a reek of metal in the air. Iron. Matt knew that wasn’t the door smell. It was blood.
‘Keech,’ Matt called out. ‘Radio for help. Now.’
‘I doubt there’s any signal …’ The cold room echoed with the squelch of static as he tried to call it in. ‘Bastard,’ he snapped. ‘Nothing.’ He flicked the torch beam at Bob. ‘Oh … oh, that’s not good.’
Bob’s beard was spattered with blood and it glistened in the light. His glasses were misted.
‘Bob? Can you hear me?’
Nothing.
‘Bob. It’s me. It’s Matthew Hunter. Where’s—’
Slam.
Matt jumped. Keech jumped. Bob lay still.
The metal door they’d just pushed through had slammed back into place. Keech raced over to it.
‘Some joker’s locked us in! Dammit.’
‘Bob?’ Matt shook his shoulder. ‘Can you hear me? Where is everyone?’ He quickly tugged Bob’s glasses off. ‘Bob?’
His eyes were blinking slowly.
‘What the hell happ—’
‘Turn …’ Bob groaned, ‘… it … off.’
‘What?’
‘Turn it off … the light.’
‘We need to see. Bob, where are the others?’
‘Took them … white door.’ His voice was like dry leather, twisted. He moved his head a little and wheezed horribly. Matt shifted his phone light down and groaned. A fist-sized chunk of Bob’s thigh was hanging off.
‘Oh, crap,’ Matt said.
‘Turn off the light …’ Bob whispered.
‘Keech, he’s really hurt.’
But Keech was already rushing to the far corner, snapping out a combat stick like he thought he was a ninja, stepping into battle. The torch beam picked out a white door. Keech slammed his foot into it. It swung inward with a horrible metallic wailing.
‘Wait,’ Matt shouted but Keech was already through. He vanished inside.
Seconds. It was literally a handful of seconds before it happened.
First, Matt saw the torchlight vanish. Then he heard Keech scream from the shadows. Loud and panicked. And then – and this was the detail that made Matt stumble back – the scream sounded wet. Matt quickly set his phone on the floor, so its pathetic glow might light up the room.
The dull glow was nothing like the torch had been. It made the place look like a dream.
A black figure came tumbling out of the door.
Matt frantically looked around for a weapon. A brick. A metal bar. There was nothing.
A chair. He grabbed one of the chairs and raised it up high.
‘Keech?’
The figure stumbled into
