too. The patter of distant footsteps echoing out from the archway to our side, and a hiss of dry laughter, too close for comfort.
We continued along the lines, crouching below the level of the platform in case there was anybody else nearby. But as we drew level with the corpses I risked another look to see that the blood pooled beneath them was sticky and almost dry. Whatever had happened here had happened a while back.
‘We obviously weren’t the first to think of doing this,’ Zee whispered.
We scampered along the length of the platform and into the tunnel at the other end. Even my supercharged vision struggled to make sense of the shadows, and I kept my hand firmly against the wall so I didn’t stray to my death. Tiny objects kept popping beneath my feet and it took me a while to realise they were probably rat skulls, weakened by time. The smell, too, was age old and rotten. It reminded me, more than anything, of the warden’s breath; of decay, of bodies pulverised and putrefied. And it was difficult not to picture ourselves strolling down his throat.
‘You hear that?’ Simon said, his words turning my bones to ice water. I tried to calm my heart, cocking my head to see if I could make out what he’d heard. There was still a distant, banshee-like squeal of brakes, along with the echo of our steps and the constant whine of the electrified rail. But other than that I couldn’t make out anything new. ‘Thought I heard shouting,’ he went on. ‘Probably my—’
He stopped, and this time I heard it too, a dull voice that could have been a pipe clanging. It was too far away to tell. We moved as stealthily as we could, marching in time until once again the gloom of the tunnel began to peel away, the distant glow rising like daybreak, a semicircle of tired yellow light breaking free from the night. It grew as we approached, as did the noises. Simon had been right, they were shouts.
‘What should we do?’ asked Zee as we crept towards the Twofields platform. It was deserted, but there were definitely voices filtering through the doors, echoing off the cold, clean tiles and making it sound like they were right there in front of us. Like they were ghosts.
‘Leave them,’ Simon said. ‘Keep moving to the next station.’
‘But this is the one we need,’ Zee replied. ‘It’s a junction stop. The Elizabeth Line is through those doors. If we keep going then it’s five or six more stops to the next junction, and then we only get on … I can’t remember which line is up there but it will take us in the wrong direction, I’m sure of it.’
Another noise tore through the arched opening of the tunnel, this one somehow far more unnerving than the rest. It was a laugh, high-pitched and lunatic. I looked at Simon, then at Zee, meeting each boy’s gaze with the same reluctance.
‘It might be even worse if we carry on,’ I said.
‘Okay, that settles it,’ Zee said, putting his hands on the platform and clumsily hauling himself up. He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. ‘We watch each other’s backs, same as always.’
‘Same as always,’ I said, waiting for Simon to clamber up reluctantly before leaping onto the platform. The noises may have been even louder up here but it was good to be back in the light. We cautiously made our way towards the nearest exit, peering through the archway to see a sight that might have belonged in a war movie.
The first thing I noticed was the colour. The pristine white tiles had been splashed with so much red that it looked like a hospital morgue. It was so vivid that it didn’t look real. There were more bodies, slumped and broken, dead eyes staring at the rolling escalators to our left as if wondering why they couldn’t get to the top. These corpses were a mix, just like the last lot – maybe three or four sets of Furnace overalls as well as a number of police and SWAT uniforms. The smell of blood was fresher here, and the taste of gunpowder hung like
We continued along the lines, crouching below the level of the platform in case there was anybody else nearby. But as we drew level with the corpses I risked another look to see that the blood pooled beneath them was sticky and almost dry. Whatever had happened here had happened a while back.
‘We obviously weren’t the first to think of doing this,’ Zee whispered.
We scampered along the length of the platform and into the tunnel at the other end. Even my supercharged vision struggled to make sense of the shadows, and I kept my hand firmly against the wall so I didn’t stray to my death. Tiny objects kept popping beneath my feet and it took me a while to realise they were probably rat skulls, weakened by time. The smell, too, was age old and rotten. It reminded me, more than anything, of the warden’s breath; of decay, of bodies pulverised and putrefied. And it was difficult not to picture ourselves strolling down his throat.
‘You hear that?’ Simon said, his words turning my bones to ice water. I tried to calm my heart, cocking my head to see if I could make out what he’d heard. There was still a distant, banshee-like squeal of brakes, along with the echo of our steps and the constant whine of the electrified rail. But other than that I couldn’t make out anything new. ‘Thought I heard shouting,’ he went on. ‘Probably my—’
He stopped, and this time I heard it too, a dull voice that could have been a pipe clanging. It was too far away to tell. We moved as stealthily as we could, marching in time until once again the gloom of the tunnel began to peel away, the distant glow rising like daybreak, a semicircle of tired yellow light breaking free from the night. It grew as we approached, as did the noises. Simon had been right, they were shouts.
‘What should we do?’ asked Zee as we crept towards the Twofields platform. It was deserted, but there were definitely voices filtering through the doors, echoing off the cold, clean tiles and making it sound like they were right there in front of us. Like they were ghosts.
‘Leave them,’ Simon said. ‘Keep moving to the next station.’
‘But this is the one we need,’ Zee replied. ‘It’s a junction stop. The Elizabeth Line is through those doors. If we keep going then it’s five or six more stops to the next junction, and then we only get on … I can’t remember which line is up there but it will take us in the wrong direction, I’m sure of it.’
Another noise tore through the arched opening of the tunnel, this one somehow far more unnerving than the rest. It was a laugh, high-pitched and lunatic. I looked at Simon, then at Zee, meeting each boy’s gaze with the same reluctance.
‘It might be even worse if we carry on,’ I said.
‘Okay, that settles it,’ Zee said, putting his hands on the platform and clumsily hauling himself up. He stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. ‘We watch each other’s backs, same as always.’
‘Same as always,’ I said, waiting for Simon to clamber up reluctantly before leaping onto the platform. The noises may have been even louder up here but it was good to be back in the light. We cautiously made our way towards the nearest exit, peering through the archway to see a sight that might have belonged in a war movie.
The first thing I noticed was the colour. The pristine white tiles had been splashed with so much red that it looked like a hospital morgue. It was so vivid that it didn’t look real. There were more bodies, slumped and broken, dead eyes staring at the rolling escalators to our left as if wondering why they couldn’t get to the top. These corpses were a mix, just like the last lot – maybe three or four sets of Furnace overalls as well as a number of police and SWAT uniforms. The smell of blood was fresher here, and the taste of gunpowder hung like
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