The Mall by S L Grey

around again.’
    He sighs as if I’m asking him to do something unreasonable, but finally does as he’s told. He flinches and knocks against me as several pairs of pinprick eyes glow back at us half a
metre from where we’re standing. The light snaps off.
    ‘Relax, Dan. Just rats.’
    ‘I hate rats!’
    ‘Listen.’ True enough there’s the sound of scuttling feet on concrete and something brushes over my shoe. ‘See? There had to be some somewhere.’
    ‘What now?’ he says.
    ‘I’m going to start moving forward.’ I reach across to my right and my fingers graze a brick wall. ‘Give me your hand.’ His palm feels clammy and hot and I hold it
as loosely as I can as we shuffle forward, using the wall as a guide. It starts to curve to the left, and then, bit by bit, I start to make out the details of our surroundings. It’s clear
that we’re in a low-ceilinged tunnel, and the more it curves, the lighter it becomes.
    ‘Light at the end of the tunnel,’ Dan says, burping out a giggle.
    I drop his hand and start jogging towards the exit, ignoring the stitch in my side and the fact that my lungs feel like they’ve been napalmed. Dan shuffles up behind me.
    It’s only a matter of metres before we reach the end of it.
    ‘Oh God,’ Dan says as we both stare out at the scene in front of us. ‘I can’t take much more of this.’
    We’ve ended up in a vast area the size of an airplane hangar. The soot-caked brick walls instantly remind me of old disused London Underground stations – although there’s no
sign of a train. The ceiling is scored with ancient fluorescent lights, mostly broken or dim.
    ‘Hello?’ I call out. ‘Hello?’
    ‘What are you doing?’ Dan hisses. ‘We don’t know what kind of people are down here.’
    ‘At least we know there are people here,’ I say, pointing towards the fires flickering in the dented oil drums around us. The floor is covered with debris, old bundles of rags,
cardboard boxes and the occasional blackened mannequin and overturned shopping trolley. A couple of bloated, albino rats totter sluggishly away to our right and disappear behind a rusted structure
that might once have been a car. Although the ceiling is high and a faint cool breeze seems to be wafting in from somewhere, the stench of piss is thick in the air.
    Dan stares up at the ceiling. ‘I think I know where we are,’ he says. But he’s not looking where he’s going. He stumbles over one of the rag bundles and, before I can
react, a scabby, filthy hand darts out from its depths and clasps his ankle.

chapter 6
    DANIEL
    Surely this isn’t real. You can’t feel this way for so long and still be living. It can’t be real. It’s a dream. I’ll wake up.
    Wake up . Please wake up .
    Once again I’m cowering in a dark place, in fear for my life. Peering over the incomplete counter I’ve ducked behind, I make out a half-finished parking garage, rusted girders
sticking out of concrete columns, warped and battered scaffolding jacks holding up the ceiling. A wide sweeping arc of shopfronts funnelling into a food court. I’m holed up in what would have
been a restaurant with a romantic view over the parking lot.
    Rhoda scoots next to me. For about ten seconds, I’d forgotten about her. It was a relief. I don’t want to be doing this with her. I want her out of my nightmare. I want to go home.
But she’s trailing me like a rabid dog. As long as she’s here it’s impossible to fool myself.
    ‘What the fuck are you doing running like that?’ she pants.
    ‘They were going to get me.’
    ‘Get you?’ she snorts. ‘I don’t think a posse of blind hobos is likely to “get” you.’
    ‘What? They’re not bli—’
    But they are. The two men anyway. One of them yells out in our direction, but not exactly at us. His words are incomprehensible. I can feel his anger, though. A recognisable rage, in some
bizarre way more frightening than the terror of being chased by that screaming