'Vermin,' he answered, keeping his voice calm. 'Rats that must have been breeding underground for years.'
'But their size! How could they get to that size?'
'Mutants,' he told her. 'Monsters that should have been wiped out years ago when they first appeared.
We were told that they had been, but it looks like we were misinformed. Or deceived.'
'How could they survive, how could they breed, how could they go unnoticed?' Her voice was rising and Culver could see she was beginning to lose control again.
'Maybe we'll find the answers later,' he answered soothingly. The main thing is that we're safe now.
Whatever's above, whatever's in the tunnels, can't touch us here.'
He would never forget the haunting shadow that touched her face at that moment. 'Is ... is there anything left ... above?'
He could not answer. To have done so, to have had to think of it, would have broken him. Push it away, Culver, save it for later. It was too much to take right now, too much to envisage. Keep away thoughts of black-charred children, torn bodies, crushed, bewildered children, a devastated, ravaged city, country - world? - contaminated, shrieking, children, children, children!
He had cried out then, not loudly, not frenziedly; a piteous sound that was faint, but nevertheless, an outpouring of anguish. And now it was the girl who comforted him.
The doctor came for them a little later. She stopped for a moment in the doorway of the small sick bay, briefly wishing that she, too, had a pair of arms to fall into, someone who would hold her, tell her things would be all right... if
only she knew if Simon ... mustn't think about it, mustn't even consider her husband's death.
'How are you both feeling?' she asked, professionalism stifling rising emotion.
They looked at her as if she were some weird alien, perhaps the creator of the havoc above; but the man, Culver, recovered quickly.
'How long were we out for?' he asked as they separated.
'About six hours,' Clare Reynolds glanced at her wrist-watch. 'It's now just after seven. Evening.'
She approached them. 'Now tell me how you're feeling. Any aches, pains, you think I should know about? You?' She looked at the girl.
'I'm just numb.'
The doctor now looked even paler to Culver, if that were possible, but she managed a sad smile. We all are mentally. How do you feel physically? Do you hurt anywhere?'
The girl shook her head.
'Good. Do you want to tell us your name?'
The girl sat upright on the edge of the bed and wiped a hand across her eyes. 'Kate,' she said.
'Surname?'
'Garner.'
'Welcome to the survivors' club, Kate Garner.' The icy tone hardly sounded welcoming. 'How does your leg feel, Mr Culver?'
'Like it was bitten by a rat.' Culver raised his knees beneath the single blanket and rested his wrists over them. What's been going on while we were asleep?'
That's why I'm here. A meeting is about to start in the shelter's dining room. You'll find out all you want to know there. Are you fit enough to get dressed?'
Culver nodded and realized that, for the moment at least, he had put something behind him. The pain, the tormenting images, could be kept in cold storage for a while. They would never leave him, of that he was sure, but for the time being they could be suppressed. A cold fury was taking hold inside and he knew it would help sustain him throughout whatever was yet to come. For a while.
The doctor reached up to the bunkbed above, then tossed his clothes into his lap. 'Jacket's a little burnt and your jeans and shirt are somewhat torn, but no need to worry - the meeting won't be formal. Kate, could you come over to another bed? I just want to have another look at you.'
Culver quickly dressed, wincing at the pain sudden movement caused. He must have been more bruised than he realized, and the whole of his thigh had stiffened. He found his tan boots beneath the bed and grunted as he bent to lace them up; it felt as though someone had slammed a medicine-ball into his stomach. He stood, using the upper bunk as support until he felt steady, then joined the doctor and the girl.
'Everything okay?' he asked, looking from one to the other.
'No serious damage.' The doctor stood. 'Let's join the others.'
'How many "others" are there?' Culver said. 'And who are they?'
'Engineers mostly, technicians permanently based here to operate the telephone equipment. The rest are ROCs -members of the Royal Observer Corps - and one or two Civil Defence people. More should have joined us at the first warning of attack, but...' she shrugged '... such clinically devised plans don't always work out in practice. Especially when a whole city is in a state of panic. There are nearly forty of us in all.'
She led them from the sick bay and both Culver and the girl gasped at the size of the area they had entered.
Impressive, isn't it?' Dr Reynolds said, noticing their astonished looks. 'It would take well over an hour to walk around the whole complex. I won't bore you with a list of technical equipment housed down here
- mainly because I don't understand most of it myself - but we have our own power plant and two standby plants. We also have our own artesian well and purification plant, so water won't be a problem.
That's the switching unit area to the left and the power plant is just ahead of us. Further on is the kitchen, dining room and welfare department; that's where we're headed.'
The harsh glare from the overhead neon lights added to the atmosphere of machine-sterility; no warmth reflected from the grey-green walls. A quiet hum of power indicated electronic life in the non-human world, but Culver noticed that no individual machinery appeared to be functioning. He briefly wondered if there was anyone else left to communicate with.
Eventually, after what seemed like a long journey through confusing corridors, a different kind of humming reached his ears, but this was distinctly human: it was the sound of many voices in low-pitched conversation. The three of them entered the dining room and heads swung round in their direction, all conversation coming to a halt.
Dealey sat at one end of the room, white pads held by a bandage covering his eyes; at the same table, positioned at a right angle to the three rows of dining tables, were two blue-uniformed figures, one female, and two other men in civilian clothes. One of the latter whispered something to Dealey, who stood.
'Please come forward, Mr Culver,' Dealey said. 'And the young lady, too. Dr Reynolds, if you would join us at this table.'
Many of the people in the room were wearing white overalls and all looked pale and tired. They watched Culver and Kate curiously, almost as though they were interlopers gatecrashing an exclusive club. Two seats were offered them and they took their places close to the top table. The doctor sat next to Dealey.
Two mugs and a coffee pot were pushed towards Culver and he nodded his thanks, pouring for himself and the girl. No sugar or milk was offered. The buzz of conversation had started again and, as he raised the mug to his lips, he was aware of the barely suppressed stridency that prevailed. He glanced at Kate; she was gazing into the dark brown liquid as if it would somehow reveal some insane reasoning for all that had happened, some crazy logic as to why man should choose to shatter the very earth he lived upon. He wondered
what she had lost personally - husband, family, lover? No wedding or engagement ring, so perhaps lover or even lovers. Parents, brothers and sisters. The memory of them all had to be bombarding her emotions, a relentless tormentor that only oblivion itself could vanquish. Everyone in the room was going through the same ordeal, the loss of relatives, loved ones, the sense of waste, futility, the fear of what lay ahead for themselves. Culver felt the coldness spreading through him like a creeping night shadow.