When we didn't seem to be getting any closer I realized the light was pulling away, its spread becoming confined and outlining a doorway in the tunnel wall. I realized the door must have been in shadow when we passed it before and we'd been too busy running from those fireballs to notice. Possibly it'd been locked from the inside anyway, so it would have been useless even if we had spotted it. None of that mattered now though: the door was open and this surly guardian angel was inviting us in.
The light retreated along a bare-bricked corridor and we tumbled after it, collapsing inside the doorway in a tangle of bodies, too exhausted and overwhelmed by our escape to move another inch. As we lay there gasping air like decked flounders I felt something, someone, shuffling around us, back towards the entrance. I caught a glimpse of baggy, dark-coloured overalls before the iron door clanged shut behind us.
Although there was still a faint rumbling somewhere off in the distance and a weak vibration running through my hands and knees from the concrete floor, it suddenly became quiet, peaceful, as though the mayhem had been left far behind. I could barely move, and thinking was too much effort; I just wanted to lay there and convalesce. The others were coughing up smoke, their breathing scratchy and difficult, and I wasn't much better off: my throat was raw and my thoughts were disassembled. It took a great effort of will to roll over from my knees and press my back against the wall so that I could look around.
The corridor was long and narrow, and at the end of it was a stone flight of stairs leading upwards. A softer light than the one carried by our guardian angel came from a paraffin lamp set on the second step, and when the flashlight switched off I turned my attention towards the door and the man standing before it.
I guessed him to be in his late fifties, maybe sixty even, a stocky little guy wearing dark blue overalls and a flat, white tin helmet with a large black W painted on it. It was the uniform of an Air Raid Precautions -
ARP - warden, and I wondered why nobody had bothered to tell him the war had ended three years ago, back in '45. His face was kind of flabby and hard at the same time, a working-man's, used to fresh air and tough labour, a network of purple veins colouring his jowly cheeks; bushy eyebrows, stubby nose and small, gimlet eyes completed the picture. He looked us over and didn't appear happy with what he saw. He gave a disapproving shake of his head.
'All right, you lot,' he said, 'on yer feet I don't know what you've gone and bloody well done, but even this place ain't safe any more.'
As if to reinforce the message, a muffled explosion came from somewhere close by.
'Oh, good Gawd,' he said, more to himself than us. He stepped over our legs, making his way towards the concrete stairs, but pausing when he reached me. He bent closer, squinting his eyes, then nodded as if confirming something he already knew.
'Always reckoned you'd be trouble one day,' he murmured before moving on to the steps. He scooped up the lamp and turned in our direction again. 'Listen, I can see you're all done in, but you can't stay 'ere.
You're still in danger, see? Somethin you set off in the tunnel has ruptured gas mains that feed into this bunker, an' that's caused fires that're spreadin right through the place. We're safe where we are for the minute, but that won't be for much longer. So unless we get movin right now, well be stuck. Understand?
Get me? Stuck.'
He was talking to us as if we were sapheads, but I guess we were all wearing dumb expressions, relief and exhaustion taking its toll. I was stiD wondering why I'd been given the double-take. The little guy was getting impatient. 'When somethin blows under the streets, it can cause an upset somewheres else.
Then that starts a nuisance in another place, a fire or explosion or somethin. Chain reaction, y'see.
Build-up of gas, pipe gas or sewer gas, all bleedin lethal. It's a wonder the whole city's not in ruins by now.'
'It was a gas pocket in the tunnel.' The words hurt my throat
'Whaf s'at?' His beady eyes set on mine again.
'Burning rats ran past us in the tunnel. I think they reached some trapped gas further along the line.'
He sniffed and brought out a grubby spotted red handkerchief from his overalls pocket to mop his face and plump neck. 'Yeah, that was probably it, not that it bleedin matters right now.' He nodded his head a couple of times, considering me. 'So you are a Yank then? Thought you was from the Yank flying jacket you always wear.'
'You know me?' My brain was beginning to function again.
'I've seen you about, son. And this mornin I saw yer bein chased by them Blackshirts, you and these others 'ere. Yer didn't see me though, none of yers did, I made sure of that. I watched you duck into the Tube station and reckoned on where yer'd be headin if yer got the chance.'
I struggled to my feet and gaped at him, one elbow resting against the wall, every muscle in my body stiff. The German and the two girls were beginning to stir themselves, but I wasn't sure if they'd been following the conversation.
'How did you know which tunnel to find us in?' I asked the warden, curiosity overriding the tiredness.
'Like I says, I thought I knew where yer was headed. It was a chance, but yer struck lucky, son. Now then, yer got the strength to help your friends?'
I barely had the strength to stand upright, but I nodded anyway.
'Right, follow me.' He began climbing the stairs, boots noisy on the concrete.
'Who is he?' Cissie asked in a hushed voice as she used my arm to drag herself up.
'No idea,' I replied, giving her some help. 'But I could kiss his little fat head.'
The German helped Muriel to her feet and she caught my anxious look.
'I'll be okay,' she said quickly, her voice strained. 'Once I get into better air I'll be fine.'
'You lot comin?'
We could only see the glow of the lamp shining down the stairs, the corridor we were in now darkened, full of our own shadows, and without another word we set off after the warden, the girls behind me, Stern following at the rear. The old guy was waiting for us by another door at the top of the stairs, this one also made of iron.
'What is this place?' I asked when I reached him.
'Civil Defence shelter. There's a whole complex of plannin rooms on the other side of this door, all underground, too deep for any bombs to reach. They never counted on the poison though, never thought anythin could touch 'em down 'ere. All very hush-hush and all bloody useless.'
'If it was so secret how did you find it?'
'It was on my beat, son. As a warden it was my job to make sure none of the street entrances was blocked.'
He peered over my shoulder to make sure we were all together, then twisted the handle and pushed open the door. It was heavy, judging by the effort he put into it.
I touched his arm, moving closer. 'You said you knew where I was making for. I'd like to know how.'
My hand stayed on his arm and he looked down at it, then up at me. 'I know where your base is, so it stood to reason you'd use the Tube line going back to the Aldwych, which is near the hotel you've been usin. I've watched yer goin in and out of the place plenny a' times. Sometimes yer disappear for a while, but yer always come back to it. Yer like yer bit of luxury, don't yer?' He even gave a little chortle.
'You've watched me?'
Any humour vanished from his broad, ruddy face. 'Yeah, I've watched yer, son. And I know what yer do.' He turned away, but not before I'd caught the unease in his eyes.
Hoke?' Cissie was pressing against me, her breathing shaky, coming in gasps. 'What are you two - ?'