4
Cold wind blew the stale smell of ash through the air as Nkiruka made her way hurriedly across the dead heart of the streets. She had no illusions about what had happened to those who had stayed in that house. Her life had only two anchors—her husband and her son—and now one of them was gone, cut by a tragedy of circumstance and revenge. Even Sefu, strong as he was, did not have that frightening, unnatural strength. She tried to keep her head upturned proudly, with her chin high, her neck showing as regal outline as she could muster. She felt like a queen forced to live past the coup that stole her king and razed their little kingdom.
He is dead. She tried to keep the tears from her eyes.
She looked down at her son and over to her last friend, Gus and, on his shoulders, tiny Jess. Faraji, now twelve years old, flanked her, his arms stiff, eyes peering once and again back the way they had come. She hoped that one day he could forget about this night, the night that had been coming for years. Sefu had kept them safe for so long but had also carefully prepared them for this day, and, though he no longer could help them, they knew his instructions.
Go to the city.
Gus knew where to go and led the way. In a vague way, Nkiruka also knew the plan. The big Polak would find the old underground tunnels and the group would hold their breaths and plunge into the blackness to disguise themselves from their pursuers. Hopefully, they would find a line that would take them into greater London – to the relative safety of the public eye. This course was a risk in itself. Windblown rumor sometimes alluded to the old tunnels as dangerous haunts for those unfit for general society. Perhaps their little group would prove such talk to be true.
She could see that Gus knew the precariousness of their position. His teeth ground together. Without prompting, a big hand rose to clutch his daughter’s hand. His eyes never stopped moving. They darted onto every rooftop, passageway, window and doorway. Everything was still. But he was nervous. Perhaps he was surprised they hadn't already been caught.
After an hour of traveling through the Outskirts, they were yet to encounter a single soul. None of them spoke as the tiny procession trudged disconsolately through the gloom, scurrying like rats in the decomposing viscera of the country's past. They had walked the whole way above ground, but they soon approached an abandoned tunnel mouth. As they came toward it, Nkiruka could see from the stained tiling inside the entrance that it had once been a tube station. Gus passed out flashlights. Nkiruka gave the first to Faraji, then turned on her own. They traveled easily over the trampled fence and were quickly swallowed up by the concrete mouth.
Darkness enveloped them. Going into these forgotten spaces felt much like invading a dusty tomb. Nkiruka felt her breath quickening as if the walls were compressing her lungs, hemming her in. They were frightened sheep, and the walls herded them like a cruel shepherd.
Gus kept moving. Each of them jumped over the turnstile and descended down one, then two frozen escalators. Just before the third, Nkiruka heard a noise. The whole party jumped.
Jess had started to cry.
The group stopped. The silence had been so thick, so smothering, that even her soft sniffles assaulted their ears with the shock of a morning revelry. Gus hoisted her down to his chest and put her head onto his shoulder, whispering to her, patting her back, telling her to close her eyes. Faraji tugged impatiently on his mother's arm as they waited, but she held him back.
The little girl’s tears had deepened her own feelings of remorse. For a moment Nkiruka forgot their flight, and the lost faces of their loved ones rose into her mind's eye. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she pictured Sefu’s face. She did not wipe it away. He was dead. Not coming back, but not forgotten. As strong a man as he was, he could do nothing to fight such people, such hatred. In the half light, Faraji met her eyes and then turned away, but not before she saw in his the same unrelenting grief and venomous anger that she felt herself. Gus wore a worried expression that he quickly suppressed when he found her watching him. He turned away and stepped down the third escalator. Jess’s quiet sobbing sounded the way.
They walked down several walkways with their three lights illuminating the dingy air. Eventually they reached a westbound platform. An abandoned carriage hunched solemnly on the rails. Nkiruka eyed it warily. To her, it looked like a bloated snake that had died long ago. She knew it once had a purpose, that it had been a great symbol of the freedom and mobility of an entire city, but now she felt eager to escape the sight of it.
Faraji slipped from her grasp and went to peer inside. The doors of the mechanical packhorse hung unevenly, having at some time been pried apart by some unknown miscreant. Gus motioned with his light. Nkiruka and Faraji met him at the end of the platform, where they waited awkwardly for him. The carriage sat there like an empty coffin in a sepulcher, inviting them to rest. Gus motioned with his light and with some difficulty squeezed into the gap between the carriage and the end of the platform, dropping heavily onto the tracks.
Faraji waited for his mother to follow. Finally she gave him a stern look and cuffed him lightly and he leapt down with Gus and Jess. Nkiruka turned the beam of her flashlight back onto the platform. Suddenly, she heard a rustling in the tube car. Seconds later, she saw a large dark rat jump onto the platform, sending her skin into a fit of the crawls. The rat scurried in the opposite direction, as if it had designs of its own that could not wait.
She hated rats.
After lowering herself onto the gravel floor, she found Gus waiting for her.
What was that?” he whispered.
A rat. An enormous rat.”
Gus's face relaxed.
Let's get out of this place,” she said.
He nodded curtly, turned, and began to make his way down the subterranean line. He had always been a man of few words.
Nkiruka looked around at the walls lined with giant metal veins and shuddered. The rat was only one of many unsavory things in this place.
She knew they had to hurry.
Faraji gripped his mother's hand as the lay of the tunnel began to curve hungrily, eating up their steps. Without warning Gus suddenly switched off his torch. Faraji and Nkiruka quickly followed suit. Around them the cavernous dark sprouted fearsome creepers, encircling them, binding them to the ground like the bony hands of the dead grasping at their feet. Their hearts palpitated violently, threatening to burst and kill them all. It was Faraji who spoke first, his voice was a whisper.
What is . . .”
Shhh” was Gus's immediate reply. Even Jess had stifled her sobbing.
They waited under a pendulum of tension.
After his eyes had adjusted, Faraji dropped his mother's hand and moved forward to stand at Gus’s side. Now he could see why the other had stopped them. Ahead, a dim orange light cast flickering shadows on the walls of the tunnel. Together they crept forward cautiously from the near side of the bend. The big man’s pale hand extended, pointing to where the tracks merged with another line, to where the unseen source of light seemed to emanate. Fear overcame Faraji for a split second, but he couldn’t decide which was more pressing, the danger behind them or the one before them. He was aware of the abyss behind him, and what the prospect of turning around might mean. They must brave the glow ahead.
Before anyone could stop him, he left Gus and crept toward the unseen light source near the tunnel's fork. His heart sent jolting currents of blood through his body with every beat. The thought of those chasing behind urged him onwards. He looked back for his mother, who he could not see in the dark. The four had been running all night since the sudden attack on their home. He felt without seeing the fatigue cloaking their faces like an ugly masquerade, Jess clinging fearfully to her father's few remaining strands of hair. He knew his mother was watching him angrily, willing him back to her side. He turned around and snuck like a burglar toward what looked like firelight before she could force him back with the power of her will.
He continued on his path toward the light. His nose caught the smell of petrol fumes wafting down the old tube lines.
Nearer, firelight moved shiftily along the sides of the tunnel. He felt like he was in a cave. In the reflections of the flame, Faraji saw the flickering tongues of snakes hissing at him, the massive eyes of eagles pinning him down, and he heard the vicious laughter of hyenas and smelled the stench of a decaying carcass. He felt the faint brush of something against his arm only to find nothing there at all. With a supreme effort of concentration Faraji regained control of his fear. He averted his eyes from the flickers surrounding him. He narrowed his vision and stepped lightly forward until he was only a few yards from the corner. Each step he took used only an infinitesimal weight. He hugged the wall and finally peered slowly around the corner.
The source of the eerie redness was indeed a fire. It blazed, contained inside a rusted oil drum.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. Three huge troll-like figures sat morosely around the oxidized cylinder. All three were eating voraciously. On top of the fire sat a crude looking spit with the carcass of a rat impaled on it. Faraji thought each of the figures must be seven feet tall – and ugly beyond belief. Although their backs were turned to the boy, he could make out some of their features. Choleric red boils swarmed over their faces and the napes of their necks. One of the giants was missing an eye and an ear, in place of which only a massive scarred abscess remained. They wore thick long overcoats that looked tattered from years of use. Faraji kept close to the wall, examining the strange trio of dregs. Suddenly, one of them spoke.
Put some more oil on the fire, Tom. You lazy goo’ for nothing. Mum was always straight on to scold you like she did. You're nothing but a great bum,” the voice of the middle dreg lashed out of the space.
What about yous, yous three-chinned wad of fat,” retorted the far left one, whose mouth was crammed with meat. “Yous the one who'd only get us rat meat.” He sang strangely, “Rat yesterday, rat today, and damned if it don't look like rat tomorrow! Why don't you oil it yurself and don't bring mum into this when ye's eating.”
Dun you dur,” chimed in the third, the one missing an eye and the opposite ear. “Both yurs eat yur meat and shut yur gobs.”
At least put some more oilies on the fire. I's getting cold again. We likes the shadows when the flames is big,” William pleaded. His frame was the largest of the three and, Faraji noticed, he was wearing three stained and filthy overcoats.
Fine yous giant slob,” Tom grabbed a large can and chucked it savagely at William. Gasoline sloshed messily onto the ground.
James Croy! Whadya do that to us for, Bill Higgins?!” replied William.
Bill Higgins is your name you fat tart,” yelled Tom angrily. “Sort your head out. You's Bill Higgins, he's Bert Higgins, and I's Tom Higgins.”
No they’s not!” interjected Bert, who picked up the can that struck William. “You're Bert, he's Tom and I'm Bill.”
Tom and William looked at each other, and Faraji looked on incredulously. The three dregs appeared thunderstruck. Their eyes writhed in their heads, jolting from one face to another. Faraji had never seen such complete and utter confusion.
We wants ta be Bert today!” cried the original William.
I's gonna be Bert today, you bloated goat!” screamed the one who, only seconds earlier, had professed to being Tom.
Faraji watched the bizarre spectacle unfold as the enormous figures quarreled like the three heads of an ogre. He looked back again. His mother had come closer to the light and now wore an expression of mixed wariness and consternation. Suddenly, a resounding crash echoed through the underground and the two hurriedly turned their attention back to the trio of oddities.
The three dregs were tangled in a heap on the ground clawing and scratching at each other viciously. This practice continued for some time while Faraji watched, still hidden from their sight. Finally William (or perhaps Bert) gave Tom (or was it William?) a great blow to the head. The strike was so vicious that the other fell flat on the ground, unconscious and bleeding from the mouth. The gigantic figure stayed there, motionless, his eyes closed, head facing away from the fire towards Faraji.
Jessah, Bert, you didn't have to give him such a hard smack,” one of the brothers admonished.
We's Bill, Tom!” the other raised his fist threateningly.
But then if he's not Bill, who's that there? I thought he was Bill. Who am I then?”
Bert threw up his massive arms as if faced with the calculation of some astronomical number. He grabbed the petrol can and poured a large dollop on the fire, which belched black smoke up to the ceiling. Faraji continued to watch with a mixture of horror and curiosity. He wanted desperately to find a way past these three giants, but as far as he could see there was just no way to get passed that didn't risk being seen. He resolved to keep watching them. Perhaps they'll knock each other out, he thought hopefully.
You's Bill, no we's Bill, and . . .” The self-proclaimed William paused perplexedly. “You's Tom, he's Bert.” He laid his hands on his stomach with a satisfied smile. A curious frown crossed his hideous face.
There was a pause for a moment. Only the hissing fire broke the silence. Finally William muttered croakily:
We should never of et mum. She always knewd whose was whose.”
Faraji felt the hairs on his neck stand straight up as he heard William (or Bert or Tom, or whichever bloody one!) murmur the final statement of fact.
The boy took a step back frightfully. He felt instinctively the need to protect his own mother, and turned his head toward her, motioning for her to backtrack into the safety of the darkness. She eyed him, nodded, and made a commanding motion ordering him to follow. Nodding his head in assent, he gave one last look backwards toward the ogres, who for a short period of time following Bert's lamentation had been situated in glum silence.
The two who had retained their consciousness during the fight stared at the wall behind the fire. Half-lit fantasies danced in the air around them. Bert spoke first, before Faraji could turn away. His face was angled downward toward his fallen brother.
What you looking at Bert?”
Faraji followed William's head down to the ground where the third giant lay. His eyes were open. He was grinning nastily.
He was looking straight at Faraji.
The troll laughed happily.
What I see, Bill, what I see, is a little black boy looking back at me.”
William and Bert whirled round like tornadoes, caught sight of Faraji, and rushed at him maliciously. The poor boy felt stuck. He refused to unleash these demons on his mother, Gus, and Jess, who he hoped by some grace still remained far enough down the tunnel to escape detection. With the little strength he had after an entire night of running, he tried to fight them.
As William's enormous weight flew at him, he ducked underneath the giant's outstretched arms. Faraji kicked the gargantuan man with all his might right in the middle of his shin. William howled and spit bits of meat angrily, hopping up and down like a deranged kangaroo. Faraji ran to the side of the tunnel, but now it was Tom’s turn. As this second aggressor leapt toward him, the boy launched himself to the right, out of the way of the charge. Tom watched in neanderthal confusion as the boy disappeared behind his blind left eye. In the momentary pause, Faraji stopped, shockwaves of fright smashed into his lungs, his labored breaths echoed throughout the underground. Suddenly, he felt a vice-like force surround his boot.
Got it, you loats,” said a voice from Faraji's feet.
Faraji looked down. To his horror he saw Bert's gnarled hand encircling his ankle, like the imprisoning end of a ball and chain. He struggled desperately to get free, to loose himself from the huge cannibal's grip but his attempts were effortlessly repressed. Faraji stood there, rooted to the ground.
They soon used their combined strengths to bind him. William held the boy down while Bert and Tom tied his hands and feet with long shoelaces taken from their boots. Once they had finished, William threw Faraji beside the smoking oil drum.
How should we do this one, Bert?”
Oil him and roast him, says I.” Bert pointed at the petrol canister.
Let's find a boxsies and bake him on tops of the fireskiis,” clapped William excitedly.
We ain't doing that, you idiot!” The other two yelled together.
An’ we ain't got no box, neither, numbskull.”
We's the one what saw him first,” argued William strangely.
No you isn't, I was the one what saw him first,” cried Tom angrily. “And we're roasting him. We ain't even got a box. It’s two to one, an' mum's not here to take your side no more.”
The gigantic oddities squared off against one another again. While they were distracted, Faraji lost no time. He struggled like mad but only made slow progress at his bonds. He kept one eye locked on the writhing tangle of punching arms, kicking legs, and biting teeth. At first, the row looked to be going in the majority's favor. William had momentarily blinded Tom's one remaining good eye by spitting a horrid brown snot into it, but he also took the sharp end of an extreme beating by Bert, who punched him thunderously in the back. Tom tromped around like an enraged elephant in such a way that, if Faraji had not been so petrified, might have made him laugh. He kept working at his bonds. Bert and William now clawed and bashed at each other cruelly.
This fight would last longer than the first. Tom had finally cleared his eye and ran to rejoin the ruckus. He wailed mercilessly on William, who threw up his great hands like an aegis. In his enthusiasm Tom accidentally caught Bert on the chin with a flailing fist and caused Bert to momentarily switch his allegiances. He hopped on Tom's back, and the two fell over with a comical crash, just missing the fire.
Meanwhile Faraji had almost completed the process of untying himself. He had freed his hands and was trying covertly to untie his feet. Within a moment he managed to free himself completely. He waited patiently, looking for the most opportune moment to make a break for it. His body ached from the knocks these three man-eaters had given him, but he crouched there quietly.
Things seemed to be swinging back into William's favor. With his brothers’ anger directed at each other, he had taken the opportunity to pick up a large wooden plank from the side of the tunnel. He proceeded to give Bert and Tom a thorough flogging, while the two yelped miserably and were slowly driven farther back into the third end of the fork. Faraji looked back in the direction from which he had come. To his surprise, he saw the stormy eyes of his mother starring back at him. She started toward him but before she entered the firelight Faraji motioned for her to stop. He pointed furiously in the direction of Gus and Jess and then down toward their destination: the third end of the fork was finally free. Nkiruka, worried as she was, saw what he meant, and disappeared silently back the way she had come.
Faraji turned back toward the fighting monstrosities. The three had yet again undergone a violent change of power. Bert had somehow managed to secure the plank and was now beating William (and Tom, though a bit less) in an incoherent rage. William let out pained protestations and scrambled around the tracks like a gigantic cockroach.
Seeing that he was no longer the centre of attention, Faraji set himself to work. He grabbed the petrol canister and began to empty it on the floor in front of the burning oil drum.
He felt a touch on his right shoulder and jumped in surprise.
It was Gus. The big man wore a grim expression on his face. He gazed up the tunnel toward William, Bert, and Tom. Faraji had finally finished emptying the can when they were noticed.
Hey boys, he's escaped! And there's a pasty with him now!” cried William, who desperately wanted to escape the spotlight of Bert's wrath.
Push it!” Faraji cried to Gus, pointing at the oil drum.
The two tipped the scalding hot oil drum and sent a cascade of fire and oil toward the three dregs. Oil from the rusted drum, which was nearly full, combined with the petrol from the canister, to form an impregnable wall of heat and fumes.
We have to get out of here!” Gus bellowed over the roaring barricade of fire.
Faraji did not need to be told twice. Smoke already beginning to choke their lungs, he and Gus ran like sinners escaping from Hell. The enraged bellows of the three ogres echoed from behind the fire.
They quickly caught up with Nkiruka and Jess. Gus scooped up his daughter onto his shoulders and the three turned on their flashlights and ran through the dark tunnel. Faraji felt like he had escaped from a dream. Who were those three? Why were they down there? And just what in God’s name were they? He did not have time to think. He simply bowed his head and focused on the eye of the flashlight before him.
After running for half an hour, Gus took them off the line and into another tube station. They hurried to the surface, wondering what hell they had escaped.