As if in a trance, Joseph took a step down.
'Wait!' Ben said, and the old man looked sharply at him. 'You can't go down there in the pitch-dark.' He pulled his rucksack from his back, rummaged around and took out his torch. 'Here,' he said, handing it to Joseph.
The old man nodded gratefully; then, shining the torch downwards into the darkness, he descended.
Ben watched him disappear. He seemed so confident, considering the fact that minutes ago he had appeared to be barely on the edges of sanity. What was down there? What was he so sure he was going to find? Why was he prepared to take such risks to locate this place? Half of Ben wanted to follow him, to find out what was going on; the other half just wanted to get out of there.
'Ben!' Annie's voice disturbed his thoughts. 'Ben, we can't stay here.' But then her voice changed. 'Ben — what's that noise?'
He blinked. Sure enough, the familiar drone had started up in the distance.
It was getting louder.
And louder.
'Ben!' Annie screamed. 'They're back!' And as she spoke, their ears filled with thunder, followed by the most spectacular crash they had yet heard. The walls of the hut seemed to shake — it was obvious that a bomb had just landed very near to them. And as though they had come out of nowhere, the air outside seemed suddenly to be filled yet again with the roar of jet engines.
Ben and Annie spun round to the open door in unison, just as it rattled on its hinges and debris flew into the hut. 'We can't go out there!' Annie shouted, and Ben knew she was right. But if one of those bombs hit the hut, it would be the end.
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the trap door. 'Come on!' he shouted. 'Down here!'
Hurriedly they started descending the steps.
As soon as they were below the level of the floor, Ben became aware of a chill. He shuddered. Below them he could see the torch, its beam moving around whatever was down there like a firefly, and faintly illuminating the figure of the strange old man holding it. The smell was even stronger down here, and in addition to the musty aroma of age there was something else. Something foul, as if things had been living and dying down here. What it was, Ben didn't even want to think. Under ordinary circumstances that smell would have made him turn round without a moment's thought. But this was not an ordinary situation. Planes were still flying overhead, and they could be victim to one of their devastating bombs any second. Whether they were safer down here, he couldn't say; but it surely couldn't be more dangerous.
The steps went a good way down — maybe five metres, maybe ten, Ben couldn't really tell in the darkness and in the hurry. At the bottom there seemed to be a kind of corridor. The felt their way along it, moving blindly and with care as they were unable to see where they were stepping. All they could do was make for the silhouetted figure of Joseph up ahead.
As he walked, Ben felt an irritating, tickling sensation against his face. It made him want to sneeze, but for some reason he felt he didn't want to make any sudden noises down here. The further they walked, the worse it got. Cobwebs, he thought to himself, as he brushed the silky strands away from his skin. He tried not to think of the spiders that had spun them. 'You all right?' he asked Annie.
'Not really,' Annie replied in a small voice. 'I don't like it down here.'
'It'll be OK,' he reassured her, though in truth he had to agree with her. His hand brushed against the wall — it felt cold to the touch, and damp. He wondered how long it had been since anybody else had touched that wall, and he tried not to think of the smell, which was getting worse and worse.
After several paces Ben sensed that the corridor was opening out a little, until finally they stood side by side with Joseph in a low-ceilinged room. The stench was even stronger here — a gagging stink — and Ben found himself breathing through his mouth so that he didn't get too much of that putrid smell.
The old man held the torch above his shoulder and slowly scanned the beam of light around the room, meaning that Ben was only able to piece his surroundings together gradually. The walls were hung with what looked like metal medicine cabinets. Mostly they were closed, but a few of them had their doors hanging off where the hinges had rusted away, and these ones seemed to be empty. A bare wire hung from the ceiling. There was a metal trolley — it was difficult to see in the darkness, but it appeared to be thick with cobwebs and discoloured by rust — and next to the trolley was a chair. When Joseph's light fell upon it, he did not seem inclined to move the torch, deciding instead to stare at that chair. It seemed to be bolted firmly to the ground, and it too was made of metaclass="underline" metal feet, metal arms, a metal back. Whoever had designed that chair had not intended it to be comfortable. It had some other purpose.
What that purpose was, though, Ben did not give much thought, because there was something else on his mind. A scurrying, scratching sound of something surprised by the light and the sudden company.
'Can you hear what I can hear, Ben?' Annie whispered.
'Yeah,' he replied. He didn't want to think about what it was that they had disturbed in the darkness, but he knew it was better to try and find out. 'Joseph,' he said. 'I think you'd better give me that torch.'
But the old man was still pointing the beam of light at the metal chair. 'This is it,' he said quietly, his voice strangely devoid of any emotion. 'This is it. I've been wanting to find this place for fifty years.'
'Honestly, Joseph. Give me the torch.'
'They've been telling me I imagined it. For fifty years they've been telling me I imagined it.' His voice betrayed a tremor now. 'I knew they were wrong. I always knew they were wrong.'
The scurrying grew more pronounced. With a shock that made him jolt his whole body, Ben felt something brush against his leg. Almost without thinking he shot his arm out and grabbed the torch from Joseph's hand. He took a deep breath and shone it down on the floor.
And the floor seemed to move as he did so.
Ben closed his eyes. If there was one thing he couldn't bear, it was these. 'Rats,' he whispered.
There were hundreds of them — at least that was what it looked like. He tried not to look at the tails — long, thick, glossy whips at least the same length as the rats' bodies, the very thought of which made him shiver. As he shone the torch down onto the floor, they parted like the Red Sea, but they soon grew used to the new sensation of the light, and started to swarm around the trio. Annie clutched onto Ben's arm so tightly it hurt. 'I think we should get out of here,' she said, her voice tight.
'Yeah,' Ben replied tensely. 'And fast. Come on, Joseph.'
But as he turned, Annie started screaming. Loudly. Hysterically. 'Get it off!' she yelled.
'It's on me. Get it off!'
Ben spun round and shone the torch in her direction. Annie was looking, aghast, down at her legs, where a large black rat, its thick greasy tail writhing behind it, had attached itself by its claws to the material of her combat trousers. Several other rodents were gathered around by her boots. 'Get it off me!' she screamed again.
Every inch of Ben's body was repelled by the sight of the rat, but he knew he had to do something. The torch was still in his hand, and it felt like a good weight, so he struck the rat a solid blow on the side of its body. The rodent squealed, and fell with a heavy thump to the floor, where its sudden arrival dispersed its companions.
But not for long.
Ben felt the unmistakable scratching of tiny claws up his legs and the horrible heaviness of something on his trousers. He knocked the rat down: as he did so, he felt his skin brush against the fur of the rodent that was scampering up him, and once more he found himself unable to restrain a shudder. Horrific memories of the rats he had encountered during the London floods came to his mind. He hated these creatures — why did they always seem to like him so much?