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.As Jazz and Cadge dropped down to the tracks, she could not stop staring at that door.Cadge stopped to glance back at her.“Jazz?”It felt as though someone had set a hook in her chest and was drawing her in.She took a step and then paused, fighting the urge.Whatever called to her from behind that rusted metal door, it frightened her in a way the ghosts of old London no longer could.“What’s through there?” she asked without looking at Cadge.“Through where?”She pointed to the door.“Dunno.Stairs, I guess.Some kind of emergency exit.Could just be storage.Or toilets.Never know what you’re gonna find behind a door down here.”Cadge walked back to Jazz and took her hand.That intimate contact allowed her to drag her gaze from the rusty door.She smiled at him halfheartedly, gave his fingers a squeeze, and then pulled her hand away.The boy was sweet, but he was just a boy.If she’d let her hand linger in his, he might get ideas.“Want to go over there? Have a look?” he asked.Jazz blinked.The temptation to say yes nearly overwhelmed her.“No.No, let’s go,” she said.Cadge waited for her this time.When she started walking again, he turned off his torch and stored it in his duffel bag.Drains and grates high above them let daylight filter down, along with the sounds of the cars, trucks, and buses growling by above.Somewhere close, a train roared through the Underground.Dust sifted down from the ceiling and a breeze blew along the tunnel.This track might be closed, but others nearby remained in regular use.A hundred yards farther on, they arrived at the door that led into a staircase down to the sublevel.The circular stairs were quiet as a tomb, the rock closing in on all sides.Jazz shuddered, feeling a claustrophobia unusual for her.“What’s that?” Cadge said.Jazz listened, thinking at first that perhaps more phantom echoes of London were about to appear.But then she heard a girl crying out for Harry and recognized the voice.“Hattie,” she said.They rushed down the last half dozen steps and pulled open the door.The tunnel curved off to the right.The entrance to Deep Level Shelter 7-K was just around the bend.Above, dim light filtered down from screened vents that went all the way to the surface.There came another scream, followed by the shouts of angry men and the sound of scuffling.Cadge and Jazz exchanged a glance, and she saw her fear reflected in his eyes.Turning away, she started along the tunnel.All that remained of the former rail line here were occasional railroad ties on top of dirt and stone, and she kept close to the wall to avoid tripping over anything in the gloom.“Vermin!” a man shouted.“Filthy little vermin.”Jazz dropped her stolen bag and all of its contents and started running.The others needed help.From behind her, she heard Cadge utter her name like a curse and give chase.She came around the bend in the tunnel and staggered to a halt.Cadge bumped into her and nearly sent the two of them sprawling.Tendrils of gas roiled along the floor of the abandoned tunnel, crawling as though with hideous purpose.At first glance, Jazz thought the yellow mist another phantom, a glimpse of some moment out of London’s past.But then Hattie came racing toward them, hacking and choking, the gas parting around her legs.The girl collided with Cadge.He managed to hold her up, but only barely.She began to retch and pushed away from him, dropping to her knees and vomiting.“The others…” Hattie choked out.“Go on to the door up to the old Holborn tunnel.Hide in there until I come to fetch you,” Cadge told her.Hattie managed to stagger away.Jazz pulled her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth and ventured farther into the tunnel, through the slowly rising fog of yellow gas.Cadge came after her and they picked up their pace.“Nothing but bloody sewer rats, what you are!” they heard a man shout.The gas thinned, almost a gauzy film over the shadows.The entrance to the United Kingdom’s lair stood open, the metal door hanging wide, and that ugly gas roiled up from the throat of the stairwell beyond.Not far from the door, four men stood around Harry, who lay on the ground.They spat on him, shouted obscenities, and kicked his back and legs and ribs, even as he tried to protect his face and head with his arms, pulling himself into a fetal ball.“Don’t belong down here, rats.Gotta flush you out,” one of the men said.The four of them wore white filter masks over the lower parts of their faces.They’d thrown something down into Deep Level Shelter 7-K—tear gas or worse—to drive Harry and the kids out of there.Jazz didn’t know what had happened to the others, but she could only hope they’d gone out the emergency exit while Harry’d gone up the hatch to buy them time.Harry let out a shout of agony as a heavy boot caught him in the back.He arched his body, letting a fusillade of profanity loose upon his attackers.But words would not drive them off.They only kicked him again, harder.They hadn’t yet noticed the two witnesses in the deeper shadows of the tunnel.“What do we do?” Cadge whispered.Images of her mother’s corpse flashed through Jazz’s mind.She saw the blood again, and the message scrawled on the bedroom floor.Her mother’s last thoughts had been of her survival.But if she’d reached home while the killers were in the midst of murder, she would never have chosen to run.Nor could she now.She bolted toward them.One of the men heard her approach and looked up.Jazz stopped short, just near enough to taunt them with her presence.“Oi! Leave off, fuckers!”All four of them looked up, and for the first time she got a decent look at them.Three were dressed in boots and work clothes, sleeves rolled up as though they’d just come from the docks.The other wore black trousers and a thin black tie that hung over a white shirt.With the right cap and jacket, he’d have looked like a rich man’s chauffeur.In the eyes of all four of those men, Jazz saw sudden recognition.One by one, they focused not on her and Cadge but on her alone, and they knew her.The phantoms of the London Underground might not frighten her anymore, but the look in the eyes of those men sent ice shooting through her and dread skittering down the back of her neck.She caught her breath and stood staring back at them.They stepped away from Harry.On the ground, the old thief coughed and spat up blood and bile.The men watched her with a terrible malice.“Well, now,” said the man with the black tie.He reached up and pulled down his mask—most of the gas had dispersed—and Jazz uttered the smallest sound, a kind of whimper that she despised.She recognized him.He had been one of the men the Uncles sometimes sent to watch over her and her mother, to pick up groceries or do a bit of repair on the pipes or the electric [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.As Jazz and Cadge dropped down to the tracks, she could not stop staring at that door.Cadge stopped to glance back at her.“Jazz?”It felt as though someone had set a hook in her chest and was drawing her in.She took a step and then paused, fighting the urge.Whatever called to her from behind that rusted metal door, it frightened her in a way the ghosts of old London no longer could.“What’s through there?” she asked without looking at Cadge.“Through where?”She pointed to the door.“Dunno.Stairs, I guess.Some kind of emergency exit.Could just be storage.Or toilets.Never know what you’re gonna find behind a door down here.”Cadge walked back to Jazz and took her hand.That intimate contact allowed her to drag her gaze from the rusty door.She smiled at him halfheartedly, gave his fingers a squeeze, and then pulled her hand away.The boy was sweet, but he was just a boy.If she’d let her hand linger in his, he might get ideas.“Want to go over there? Have a look?” he asked.Jazz blinked.The temptation to say yes nearly overwhelmed her.“No.No, let’s go,” she said.Cadge waited for her this time.When she started walking again, he turned off his torch and stored it in his duffel bag.Drains and grates high above them let daylight filter down, along with the sounds of the cars, trucks, and buses growling by above.Somewhere close, a train roared through the Underground.Dust sifted down from the ceiling and a breeze blew along the tunnel.This track might be closed, but others nearby remained in regular use.A hundred yards farther on, they arrived at the door that led into a staircase down to the sublevel.The circular stairs were quiet as a tomb, the rock closing in on all sides.Jazz shuddered, feeling a claustrophobia unusual for her.“What’s that?” Cadge said.Jazz listened, thinking at first that perhaps more phantom echoes of London were about to appear.But then she heard a girl crying out for Harry and recognized the voice.“Hattie,” she said.They rushed down the last half dozen steps and pulled open the door.The tunnel curved off to the right.The entrance to Deep Level Shelter 7-K was just around the bend.Above, dim light filtered down from screened vents that went all the way to the surface.There came another scream, followed by the shouts of angry men and the sound of scuffling.Cadge and Jazz exchanged a glance, and she saw her fear reflected in his eyes.Turning away, she started along the tunnel.All that remained of the former rail line here were occasional railroad ties on top of dirt and stone, and she kept close to the wall to avoid tripping over anything in the gloom.“Vermin!” a man shouted.“Filthy little vermin.”Jazz dropped her stolen bag and all of its contents and started running.The others needed help.From behind her, she heard Cadge utter her name like a curse and give chase.She came around the bend in the tunnel and staggered to a halt.Cadge bumped into her and nearly sent the two of them sprawling.Tendrils of gas roiled along the floor of the abandoned tunnel, crawling as though with hideous purpose.At first glance, Jazz thought the yellow mist another phantom, a glimpse of some moment out of London’s past.But then Hattie came racing toward them, hacking and choking, the gas parting around her legs.The girl collided with Cadge.He managed to hold her up, but only barely.She began to retch and pushed away from him, dropping to her knees and vomiting.“The others…” Hattie choked out.“Go on to the door up to the old Holborn tunnel.Hide in there until I come to fetch you,” Cadge told her.Hattie managed to stagger away.Jazz pulled her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth and ventured farther into the tunnel, through the slowly rising fog of yellow gas.Cadge came after her and they picked up their pace.“Nothing but bloody sewer rats, what you are!” they heard a man shout.The gas thinned, almost a gauzy film over the shadows.The entrance to the United Kingdom’s lair stood open, the metal door hanging wide, and that ugly gas roiled up from the throat of the stairwell beyond.Not far from the door, four men stood around Harry, who lay on the ground.They spat on him, shouted obscenities, and kicked his back and legs and ribs, even as he tried to protect his face and head with his arms, pulling himself into a fetal ball.“Don’t belong down here, rats.Gotta flush you out,” one of the men said.The four of them wore white filter masks over the lower parts of their faces.They’d thrown something down into Deep Level Shelter 7-K—tear gas or worse—to drive Harry and the kids out of there.Jazz didn’t know what had happened to the others, but she could only hope they’d gone out the emergency exit while Harry’d gone up the hatch to buy them time.Harry let out a shout of agony as a heavy boot caught him in the back.He arched his body, letting a fusillade of profanity loose upon his attackers.But words would not drive them off.They only kicked him again, harder.They hadn’t yet noticed the two witnesses in the deeper shadows of the tunnel.“What do we do?” Cadge whispered.Images of her mother’s corpse flashed through Jazz’s mind.She saw the blood again, and the message scrawled on the bedroom floor.Her mother’s last thoughts had been of her survival.But if she’d reached home while the killers were in the midst of murder, she would never have chosen to run.Nor could she now.She bolted toward them.One of the men heard her approach and looked up.Jazz stopped short, just near enough to taunt them with her presence.“Oi! Leave off, fuckers!”All four of them looked up, and for the first time she got a decent look at them.Three were dressed in boots and work clothes, sleeves rolled up as though they’d just come from the docks.The other wore black trousers and a thin black tie that hung over a white shirt.With the right cap and jacket, he’d have looked like a rich man’s chauffeur.In the eyes of all four of those men, Jazz saw sudden recognition.One by one, they focused not on her and Cadge but on her alone, and they knew her.The phantoms of the London Underground might not frighten her anymore, but the look in the eyes of those men sent ice shooting through her and dread skittering down the back of her neck.She caught her breath and stood staring back at them.They stepped away from Harry.On the ground, the old thief coughed and spat up blood and bile.The men watched her with a terrible malice.“Well, now,” said the man with the black tie.He reached up and pulled down his mask—most of the gas had dispersed—and Jazz uttered the smallest sound, a kind of whimper that she despised.She recognized him.He had been one of the men the Uncles sometimes sent to watch over her and her mother, to pick up groceries or do a bit of repair on the pipes or the electric [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]