The Fall of Man

Part III chapter 15

Chapter 15

Yet more time passes in the darkness. The tiny stub of candle sputtered out hours earlier. Eve sleeps fitfully, slumped against Gareth’s shoulder, their fingers entwined amongst the polystyrene and the dirt. Suddenly she is wakened by the familiar grinding of metal on metal. A moment passes before the door creaks inwards. A lone figure steps into the cell and pushes the door closed with a clunk. A torch held at head height obscures the intruder’s face, and rakes a beam of light over the three of them. Even the old man wakes under its bright gaze. He blinks blindly into the harsh light, looking both startled and bemused. The torch swings and comes to rest over Eve’s limp body. Quickly Gareth shuffles to his feet and moves to squat in front of her.

“Eve?”

In the painful white glare, Eve’s ears recognise the whisper, and her brain grinds to a halt. Her heart stops in her chest. It can’t be.

“Eve, its me.” The torch swings around to illuminate her father, throwing deep theatrical shadows across the familiar creases of his face. A black fleece shrouds his upper body.

“Dad!” Her muffled cry echoes in the tiny box of a room. She jumps blindly to her feet and throws herself around the shadowy figure, her dry throat rasping as she sobs into his shoulder. Between her frail arms, he feels bigger; swollen.

“Come on. We need to leave…”

Together, they file out through the doorway; first Noah then Eve, with Gareth nervously bringing up the rear. Eve walks with a stoop. She still has Bill’s shawl draped over her shoulders. In spite of prolonged pleading, the old man refused to leave his cell.

“More will come, girl. And I’ll be here to tell them, see…”

At the foot of the doorway, Eve pauses. Two khaki-clad legs project out from under a shadow into the tunnel. They belong to a slumped figure whose head is lolled forwards into his chest. A dark puddle has collected around his feet and is slowly making its way along the nadir of the tunnel floor.

“Come on, Eve.” Her father tugs firmly at her arm.

He leads them swiftly from passage to passage, following the slow but steady incline of the floor. The three figures pick their way, step by step, towards the surface. At any moment, Eve expects to hear an alarm sound, the clanging of a bell, or the tramp of feet on the damp tunnel floor behind them, but it never comes.

Suddenly they round a sharp corner and Eve can see a burning white disc of light beyond her father’s stooped silhouette. The way behind them is plunged into darkness by the influx of the sun. Behind her, Gareth emits a low groan. She wonders briefly when he last saw daylight.

At the head of the passage, a sturdy cast iron storm gate sits squarely across the tunnel mouth. A fine wire gauze lines the outside face of the gate, and it is bolted to the floor. Noah throws his shoulder against the metal, but it is stuck fast. He grasps it with both hands and heaves, his feet slowly squirming deeper into the mire, but to no avail.

“SHIT. It won’t budge.”

“I can get it.”

Eve works her fingers into the grime that has built up between the edge of the gate and the tunnel wall. Rough concrete tears at the damaged skin of her knuckles. Ignoring the stinging, she drags her hands around the gap at the perimeter until they are alongside the restraint. It is partially submerged in the years of residue that have gathered at the foot of the tunnel. Straining, she eases the bolt up with a lone finger. Finally, it snaps out of its catch and the gate eases free. With a sharp intake of breath, Eve retrieves her fingers and inspects her hand. The wounds have been reopened and blood flows from three of her knuckles. Gareth pushes between the two of them and through the heavy gate shoulder first, then lifts it for Eve to crawl free.

They hobble briskly across the surface of the city. As they limp along, Eve watches her father. His body moves with purpose and conviction; he seems to know his way around. When they arrive at the north gate, however, it has been barricaded shut. There is no sign of movement around the shored-up patchwork of steel and timber. Eve is about to push forwards for a closer look when Noah holds up a hand. He scans the buildings on the other side of the street for a moment, then gestures up to the broken glass of a bay window that projects from the burnt-out office overlooking the gate. Eve’s gaze follows the line of his finger. In the picture-frame casement is the unmistakeable hunched silhouette of a man. Alongside him is the thin horizontal line of a rifle barrel, the wooden stock tucked deep into his shoulder.

“The gates are a trap. They’ll be on all four of them. We need to find another way through. Let’s go.”

Gareth tugs at Eve’s arm.

“Dad, wait – what is it, Gareth?”

He points back into the city.

“What?”

He makes a rolling motion with his hands.

“Eve?”

“I have no idea. But he wants to show us something…”