‘Thank you,’ said Sophie. ‘But I feel awful about it.’
‘Don’t.’
The next floor was the same. In fact there were probably more clothes here than on the floor below. After a quick look round they continued on up to the top floor. Once again Ollie walked with Sophie.
‘So where’ve you been living all this time?’ he said. ‘Where’ve you been hiding out?’
‘All over,’ said Sophie. ‘We’d find a house with food in it and stay there until it wasn’t safe any more. Always on the move, never in one place long. We started out in Highgate, came down through Dartmouth Park, tried Hampstead Heath, but it was way too dangerous and there was nothing to eat. Then we came up through Kentish Town and Camden. It was the same everywhere. Fighting just to survive. There were quite a lot of us to start with. We thought we’d be OK – safety in numbers, you know. But one by one they got us. I try to black it all out and just concentrate on getting through each day. That’s why I feel so rotten about Arran. It’s bad enough the adults killing us kids, but…’
Sophie fell silent and Ollie put his hand on her arm.
From the top they could look all the way down a central well to the basement. Their torch beams made tiny pinpricks of light far below on the tables and chairs of the restaurant.
They poked around. It didn’t look like anyone had been up here in ages. Dust covered everything. There was a bathroom department at the top and a lot of the stuff was intact. In a time of crisis nobody was going to come all the way up here and loot fancy soap.
‘What do you reckon then?’ said Lewis. His voice quiet and slow as ever.
‘I reckon if there was anyone hiding here ready to jump out on us they’d have tried it by now,’ said Achilleus. ‘I can sense it when they’re about. When you find a nest of grown-ups the smell is something else, man.’
‘Don’t I know it, bro,’ said Lewis.
‘It’s getting on,’ said Ollie. ‘We should get back to the others.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lewis. ‘Then it’s shopping time!’
29
Sam couldn’t tell how long the man had been carrying him through the tunnels. He’d worked out it was a man after a couple of minutes. Though he wasn’t like any of the other grown-ups he’d seen since the disaster. He had shaved and had long hair knotted into untidy dreadlocks, although he wasn’t black. He wore jeans and a baggy knitted jumper under his heavy overcoat.
And he didn’t smell.
He carried a torch. Not a hand-powered one like the kids had. A big, battery-powered thing that cast a strong, wide beam.
When they had set off he had asked Sam who he was and whether he was alone, and after that he had said very little.
Sam wondered how it was the man could talk. None of the other grown-ups could say a word. Their brains had been destroyed by the illness. This man could talk and use tools and weapons. How had he avoided catching the illness? What was he doing down here? And where was he taking Sam?
Sam had so many questions to ask, but the man wasn’t answering any. He hurried on through the tunnels, sure-footed, knowing exactly where he was going.
They had passed two stations – Angel and Old Street – and the man showed no signs of slowing down. He held Sam firmly under his arm, and it was getting more and more uncomfortable.
‘It’s all right,’ Sam said at last, fearing that his brains were going to be shaken loose. ‘I can walk, you know. You don’t have to carry me.’
‘Quicker this way,’ said the man. ‘Soon be there.’
‘Be where?’
‘You’ll see.’
The man’s feet sloshed rhythmically through the groundwater. Which grew deeper and deeper after they left Angel. He had to wade up to his waist through one section. It shallowed a little after that, but when they finally got to the next station there was still about thirty centimetres of water along the tracks beneath the platform. They had come to Moorgate. Sam had no idea where that was.
The man stopped for a rest. Sat Sam on the platform edge.
‘There used to be pumps,’ he said.
‘What?’ said Sam, surprised that the man was talking to him.
‘Pumps,’ the man repeated. He didn’t have a London accent. It was a soft country accent, sort of fruity, like a farmer. ‘All the tubes and tunnels underground used to have pumps in them, to keep the water out. With no one working them the water’s coming up. City’s drowning, I reckon.’
‘Where are you taking me?’ said Sam.
The man smiled. ‘You’ll see.’
He picked Sam up again and trotted off.
It wasn’t far to the next station but Sam still felt like he’d had enough. When they got there the man put Sam on to the platform and climbed up after him. He took hold of Sam’s hand.
‘Stick with me, kiddo,’ he said, leading Sam along the platform. ‘We don’t want you getting lost.’
Sam looked at the station name. Bank. The tiles either side of the sign made a shape of dragons. There were openings through to the platform on the other side, but they were barred by locked barriers. When they came to the last one, the man unlocked it and took Sam through, before locking it carefully behind him. This platform was identical to the other one, except there was a train standing at it. Small candles in glass jars on the ground gave a warm glow. There was the sound of a generator, and the smell of petrol fumes. The exit and way up to the station was at the end on the left, the opening crudely blocked with an old iron bed frame.
‘Home sweet home,’ said the man and he went over to the train and banged on the side of one of the carriages.
Presently the doors slid open and a woman appeared in the doorway. She was round and jolly looking, with a big woolly jumper like the man’s, and a long, wide skirt. She had a bush of greying reddish hair and a kindly face. She beamed at Sam when she saw him.
‘And who have we got here then?’ she said.
‘His name’s Sam,’ said the man. ‘Found him up at King’s Cross, and I reckon he’s probably one hungry lad.’
‘Come on in, come in.’ The woman bustled back inside and Sam followed.
The carriage had been fitted out as a living area, and looked very cosy. There were flickering candles, curtains at the windows, rugs and cushions on the floor and drapes over the seats. A makeshift double bed filled one part and in the open area by two of the doors the couple had even rigged up a stove. Sam noticed that there was a chimney above it that went up into the ventilation ducts in the station ceiling, exactly like Ben and Bernie had built at Waitrose.
‘Now you sit yourself down, young man,’ said the woman. ‘And I’ll get you some soup. How about that, eh? I’ll just move Orion.’
Sam looked. There was a big ginger cat lying on one of the seats. The woman scooped him up and tickled him behind his ear. He purred happily.
‘You have a cat?’ Sam said, sitting down. He couldn’t quite believe any of this was really happening.
‘That’s right. Plenty of food for him down in these tunnels,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Rachel, by the way. Old grumpy face there is Nick. He don’t say much, so I’m guessing he’s not introduced himself. Am I right?’
‘He hasn’t,’ said Sam.
‘Less of the “grumpy face”, woman,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, I know you’re not really grumpy inside; it’s just your manner. But the poor lad’s probably terrified. You need to show him a bit of kindness.’
‘I’m all right,’ said Sam. ‘I’m glad Nick rescued me.’
‘So am I, my love,’ said Rachel. ‘So am I.’
She tinkered about at the stove, stirring the contents of a pan with a big wooden spoon. The smell was overpowering. Sam’s mouth was filling with saliva, his stomach shouting for food.