‘So, he kept me over there first?’ Terry says, as she looks away, her mind quickly elsewhere. I think she is probably trying to remember what was going on when she was taken: the inner city areas were still safe, the world was still okay, apart from what was happening around the edges – in the places most of us didn’t really know about.
‘I think they put whoever they took first over there, and I hope that includes Lucy.’
‘Of course, Lucy too,’ Terry says and eventually smiles. She’s not as enthusiastic as she was before, but right now I’ll take anything she can offer me.
‘He couldn’t risk creating suspicion while the police were still responding to calls, but in the last 24 hours things have got a lot worse, so they have probably found it easier to capture more women.’
The other two huddle together, stepping back from the small wooden door when I pull the string, checking how easy it is to lift up. ‘Why don’t you both go grab some blankets and towels, or maybe find some clothes? If there are others down there they might need it.’ I hand one of them the keys. ‘And then bring the car up closer to the house.’
Terry nods at them, telling them it’s okay, before looking over at me. ‘We don’t have much time.’
‘You lift the door and I’ll go in first,’ I say, handing her the small piece of rope and then taking my gun and flashlight in each hand, ready to face whatever comes crawling out.
Terry watches until the other two are gone before moving over and standing opposite me. Her eyes are on mine as she wills me to open it and face our mutual enemy together. I take a deep breath but don’t experience the same trembling feeling I’ve had every other time in this place. Terry somehow gives me the confidence to go on.
‘On three?’ I say.
Terry nods back. ‘Let’s give them hell.’
She counts and I point, and when she reaches three and pulls up the thick wooden board, I point the torch into the tunnel, the barrel of my gun following the light. When I find no immediate threat I lower myself in, my gun and torch balanced on the basement floor as I crawl my way through the dirt. It’s basic, drilled with some sort of small machine, something I think that could be worked by just one man. There are no wooden slats, nothing to hold it up. It’s simply a thin vein that has been carved through the earth, leaving behind it a trail of soil and debris, and a smoky tunnel of floating dust.
Terry hands me the torch and gun and I nod to say I’m going further in. ‘You figure out that dynamite,’ I say, as I disappear into the darkness. I crawl along with the torch held in my mouth and the gun tucked into my pants. The structure goes down a few metres and then levels out. It’s not wide enough to stand up but it is big enough to move and turn around in. There are no lights but I imagine that he plans one day to run cables through here and thus make it a proper path between his two dungeons.
I shine the torch on the floor and see a trail than extends along the ground; two long runs that stretch ahead through the soil like sledge marks. I’m sure that’s how he transported the women between the two buildings, moving them as he needed to. I follow them for several metres – a length that must stretch under the entire road – until they reach an abrupt end, their trail blocked by some sort of yellow foam.
I suddenly jump as I feel something touch me from me behind. Trying to turn around, I fall down onto the gun.
‘It’s only me!’ Terry shouts, holding her hands out and touching my knee.
I lie back for a moment, almost hearing the beats of my overworked heart echo through this small passageway. I wipe the growing sweat from my brow, all the time wondering how much more of this I can take.
‘What is that?’ Terry asks, looking at what I have found up ahead.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, crawling forward so I can get closer. When I get near enough I touch it and feel how waxy it is. ‘It’s some sort of foam,’ I say, turning to see that Terry is right behind me, the stick of dynamite in her hand.
I rub my hands along the strange material, seeing that it seems to join exactly with the soil, creating a seamless and tight finish, as though nothing was meant to get in or out.
Terry stretches her hand out towards me, still holding the dynamite. ‘Shall we blow it?’
I gently push the stick away. ‘That might not be necessary,’ I say as I focus on the substance and push my hand into it. It immediately gives way to the force of my fingers, giving me the confidence to go deeper. Nothing burns as I slip my arm through it, and so, since time is not our side I start digging. We move quickly, working as a team. I excavate big chunks with both hands and Terry piles them up behind us. After wading through about a foot of foam I feel new, slightly fresher air. It makes me move more quickly. I know I need to get more than just my arm through, in case there is something lurking on the other side.
Once I have cleared enough out of the way I push myself into it, soon seeing that the tunnel follows a similar pattern up to the house. It snakes its way back upwards and the incline in the soil also has the same two-track pattern running through it.
I waste no time as I quickly crawl forward and then heave myself up. The trapdoor on this side is still open, so I quickly push myself into the basement of Number 12. As soon as I am inside I scan every part of the room, pointing my gun around nervously as I turn. It doesn’t take long before I see the first movement in the shadows and I’m about to pull the trigger, which would end the life of whatever is lurking there and signal to anyone present that I’m here, that we have made it into the lair.
Something stops me from firing, a whimper in the darkness telling me that this isn’t the threat I was expecting down here, and that my hours of searching demand that I’m careful for just a little longer. I keep looking, trying to make out the forms in the shade.
‘Help!’ a whisper comes from the far side of the room. It’s the voice of a woman – not Lucy, but clearly someone who is also in need.
I move closer, my gun still pointing ahead of me. I look around the room, wanting to make sure that Marius isn’t waiting to pounce. As I duck under beams and step over boxes I notice that all the walls down here are also coated with the same yellow substance. I touch some of it and it feels hard to the touch; it seems to have has set – clearly designed for a long term purpose.
When I get to the furthest part of the basement, where the plea came from, I stop and stare. I look at the row of large wooden structures – which, from a distance, I thought were boxes, but which I now think of as cells, each of which have a small hole at the front.
‘Please, you have to help us!’ the voice says again, from one of the structures closest to me. I am leaning down, trying to trace the voice, when I suddenly see an eyeball appear at the small hole. It flickers, clearly trying to find me. After it catches sight of me it immediately disappears, quickly replaced by a finger, which pokes out of the hole.
I move closer, touching it, desperate to show that I am here and will not hurt her. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, barely a whisper. ‘We’re going to get you out of here.’
I turn around, knowing that I need Terry’s help. I don’t have to go far before I find her standing just behind me, staring in disbelief at the makeshift cells, all numbered in chalk. I watch as she appears to count them. Both of us can see that there are 12, all of which have numbers on, except for the last one. The number has been rubbed out, which shows it is no longer of any importance. The door has been left hanging open.