'How much further?' Ellison complained. He was panting and one hand was clutched tight against his side as though ribs had been damaged in the beating.
The bridge,' Culver said, his own chest heaving with the effort. His cheek was caked with darkish blood and he had realized earlier that a pellet from an intruder's air-rifle must have scythed a path across it. The wound throbbed, as did
the rat-bites in his ear and temple, but no longer stung. The pain in his ankle was sharper, but did not hinder him too much.
'If we can get to Waterloo Bridge there's a staircase leading down to the Embankment. We can get to one of the shelter's entrances from there.'
They journeyed on and were shocked when they reached Lancaster Place, the wide thoroughfare leading up to Waterloo Bridge itself. They should have expected it, but somehow hadn't. And one more defilement to their city should not really have surprised them. The bridge was gone, collapsed into the river.
They looked towards its broken structure with new bitterness. The open space from bank to bank looked insanely empty. On the other side, the National Theatre was a mound of rubble.
'Please, let's not stop now,' Dealey implored, fighting his own inexplicable sense of loss. The steps may still be intact. They're in a sheltered position.'
They walked forward and it was strange, so very strange, like walking a gangplank towards the edge of the universe. The great, wide bridge stretched out over the river as if yearning to fingertip-touch the similarly outstretched section on the other side. Vapour rose from the swollen river, thicker here, and hanging heavily.
They looked towards the west and saw the broken shaft of Cleopatra's Needle.
'Oh, no,' Dealey moaned, for he was examining the area beyond the snapped monument.
Culver's forehead sank onto the wide balustrade overlooking the Embankment road.
'Steve, what is it?' Kate clutched at his shoulder. He raised his head.
The railway bridge.' He pointed. 'Hungerford Bridge.'
They saw that it, too, had collapsed into the river. The metal struts had broken in several places and it hung as if by threads, dangling into the river like a sleeping man's fishing rod, still loosely connected to the section on their side. This section had fallen onto the roadway, completely blocking it. The others looked uncomprehendingly at Dealey and Culver.
There was an enclosure, a compound, beneath the bridge,' Culver told them. 'A thick brick wall with barbed wire on the top. A mini-fortress, if you like. It's been destroyed by the bridge.'
His face set into grim lines and it was Dealey who explained. The main entrance to the shelter was inside that enclosure.'
From a distance the wreckage had looked simple, just a collapsed iron bridge, broken in sections so that one part formed a waterchute into the river, the midstream portions mostly submerged, concrete supports shattered in half. Close up, it was a complicated tangled mess of bent and twisted steel girders, scattered red brickwork, huge chunks of masonry, and riddled with cables and wires. A segment of railway line rose from the disorder like a ladder into the sky. An engine lay on its side among the jumble, carriages behind piled up in zigzag fashion, the rear compartments ripped off, the top of one protruding from the river. Culver made a point of not looking into the broken windows; he had seen enough dead for one day without searching out more. He guessed the train driver had made a desperate dash to reach the station, Charing Cross, in the hope that he and his passengers might find a last-minute refuge. Had the train been delayed on the bridge when the sirens had sounded, or was it far back on the southern side of the city? He imagined the race across the river, passengers chilled by the rising and falling sirens, helpless and depending on the driver to get them to safety. The murky grey-brown water below, the panoramic view of London, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament to the left, St Paul's in the distance to the right, renowned landmarks of an historical city that would soon
cease to exist. What must have gone through their minds in those last moments? Impotent rage, unable to help themselves, unable to run, hide, to be with loved ones? Or total, shocking fear that blanketed all thought, that paralysed their senses? It was obscenely terrible, the thought of their sterile waiting. The sudden emptiness as the sirens stopped, the terror of fellow passengers and the chuggajig of metal wheels somehow not filling the silent void. The incandescent flash that would have seared their eyeballs had they looked directly into it. The thunder that followed.
Culver shuddered. It was as though the souls of the dead were revealing their story to him, their horror still existing in the complex of torn metal, the last thoughts of the dying collected there, waiting to be absorbed by receptive minds. He shook his head, a physical act to disperse the notion.
'I know this place,' Kate was saying. The down-and-outs used to sleep under this bridge. There was a mobile soup kitchen every night. But I was never aware of any compound.'
Dealey spoke with some satisfaction. 'Nobody was meant to. It's surprising how anonymous and innocuous these enclosures are.' He corrected himself. 'Were. The tramps actually wrapped themselves in cardboard and slept against the very walls of the compound. They presented a perfect camouflage.
The bridge overhead was thought to be adequate protection in the event of a nuclear explosion.'
'Looks like someone goofed again,' Ellison said bitterly. 'Is there any way we can get through to the entrance?'
‘You can see for yourself. It's buried beneath hundreds of tons of rubble,' Dealey replied.
'But there are other places.' Culver was alert once more. ‘You told me there were other entrances.'
This was the obvious one, the one I planned to use. It was the most protected. The others are mostly inside government
buildings, and they, of course, will have been covered by the ruins, just as this has.'
They must have realized what would happen,' Fairbank said. They had to have other escape routes.'
'In the main, the other exits are outside what was considered the danger zones.'
Culver frowned. Wait a minute. Yesterday you told me there were other, smaller points of access along the Embankment.'
Yes, yes, that's true. But I'm not sure that we can get into them, even if they aren't covered by debris.'
'Can't we just knock?' Fairbank asked wryly.
You don't understand. These entrances are meant for maintenance inspection and are really only narrow shafts and tunnels.'
We're not choosy.'
Tm not sure we'll find a way into the main complex.'
'It's worth a try,' said Culver.
'How the hell do we get past all this?' asked Ellison, indicating the massive debris before them, then pointing towards the even bigger mass that was the destroyed Charing Cross railway station. 'I don't have the strength to walk around that lot -1 think a couple of my ribs are fractured.'
We'll work our way through here,' said Culver. 'It might be dangerous, but it'll save time. Are you up to it, Kate?'
She gave him a nervous smile. ‘Ill be fine. It's strange, but I feel so exposed out here.'
That's what comes from living underground for so long.'
"Yesterday it was different. I felt free, liberated, glad to be out of the shelter. Since this morning, though, since we were attacked...' She did not bother to complete the sentence, but they all knew what she meant; they shared her feelings.