They were being followed, they knew that. Footfalls echoed along the tunnels; they caught flashes of light in the darkness. First Officer Jeffers repeatedly whispered for them to be quiet, but it was difficult, with huge brown rats nipping at their ankles every few metres. They too had developed a taste for human flesh since the plague, but with it running out above ground the Rat Gods had seen fit to deliver a nice fresh dinner below. Or something like that. They were relentless.
'I hate this, I hate this, I hate this...' Claire repeated over and over in a frozen whisper. She'd always hated the dark. Now she hated the dark and rats. The dark and rats and cannibals. And the fact that their radios no longer worked so far underground. She tried to focus on the one good thing she was holding on to — Jimmy was alive! Babe lives! What else could it mean? But where was he? Was he trying to get back to the ship? What if he'd been alive when he sent it, but was dead now?
C'mon, Jimmy you can make it.
Even if we don't.
She'd thought Jeffers' idea to use the underground tracks was a good one. But the reality was something else. Cannibals behind. Rats all around. Flashlights beginning to weaken. All they needed now was for the cannibals to appear in front of them as well and they'd be trapped. And eaten. She wanted to run, sprint, make it back to daylight, but they had miles to go and they had to keep the speed down because the other passengers couldn't keep up.
The slowest of them all was the Rev. Calvin Cleaver.
The minister started to cough and splutter almost as soon as they entered the tunnel that would take them on the first leg of their journey underground to Penn Station. Every few minutes he would bend double and dry retch, forcing Jeffers and the crewmen to call a halt until he had recovered sufficiently to continue.
Cleaver was apologetic and blamed his illness on an allergy to rats. 'You go on — leave me . . . I know I'm slowing you down . . . I'm sorry . . .' and he looked fearfully back down the track.
'I'm not leaving anyone behind,' said Jeffers.
It was a good and noble thing to say, but it didn't sit well with Rodriguez. 'You left my wife behind!'
'Mr Rodriguez, your wife was taken,' said Jeffers, his voice calm but firm. 'To have spent any longer looking for her would have endangered our entire mission. We are all together here now, and I intend to keep it that way. Now keep your voice down.'
Rodriguez seethed, but said nothing further.
Cleaver pushed himself erect. 'I think I can go a bit further now,' he rasped.
As they moved on Claire whispered to Ty, 'Maybe if we left Cleaver behind the cannibals might forget about us and have him for lunch.'
'There's not much meat on him,' observed Ty. 'Barely enough for a sandwich.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' said Claire. 'Where are they going to get bread for a sandwich?'
They giggled. But then there was a cry, a flash of light, and the shadows of perhaps fifty pursuers all jumbled together, were briefly illuminated on the tunnel wall perhaps only a quarter of a mile behind them.
Already the giggling seemed like a distant memory.
'Come on!' Jeffers urged.
Two of the crewmen grabbed Cleaver and bundled him along. Claire found herself jogging along beside Jonas Jones. He was a large man and not terribly fit, but he was still quicker than most of the passengers.
'This isn't going to work,' Claire moaned. 'They're too fast, we're too slow!'
Jonas smiled grimly. 'I'm sure the boss has a plan.'
'It better be a good one.'
About a hundred metres further on Jeffers stopped abruptly and shone his torch, which was scarcely larger than a pencil, to the left. Then he quickly consulted the map of the network of tracks he'd kept folded in his left hand. As Claire and the rest of them approached she registered the slightest breath of cool air on her face.
'Mr Benson!' Jeffers barked urgently.
Benson, hurried up. 'Sir?' he asked, a little warily.
'Benson, you've been a thorn in my side ever since you joined the Titanic.'
'Sir.'
'You're always on punishment duty.'
'Sir.'
'Well, if you do this properly, you'll never be on punishment duty again.'
'Sir? What if I do it wrong?'
'Then you'll be dead, Mr Benson, and it won't matter. We all will. Now listen carefully — to our left here is a service tunnel. The entrance is marked on the map, but not how long it is or where it goes. However, there's fresh air coming from somewhere. I want you to run down there and make plenty of noise; take your flashlight and make sure they see you.'
'I'm a decoy, sir.'
'That's it. We will continue on along the tunnel in the dark, hopefully we'll confuse them for long enough to get a proper head start. You understand what you're doing?'
'Yes, sir. You're sacrificing me for the good of the company.'
'No, Mr Benson, you're volunteering to sacrifice yourself for the good of the company. Aren't you?'
'Yes, sir.' He turned to go, but immediately turned back. 'Sir, if I always screw things up, how come you're trusting me to do this?'
'Because, Mr Benson, if it comes down to a fight, I want my best sharp-shooters here with me. You couldn't hit a barn door with a cannon from a distance of one metre. Right — off you go. You lead them on, you do your best to lose them. If you make it, you know where the rendezvous point is — we'll see you there in twenty-four hours. Now get moving!'
'Sir!'
Benson darted into the left-hand tunnel.
'Lights out, everyone,' hissed Jeffers. They were plunged into darkness. Jeffers immediately called out as loudly as he dared: 'Not you, Mr Benson!'
'Sorry!' echoed back towards them.
His light blinked on.
'OK, let's move out everyone,' Jeffers whispered. 'Quietly, carefully, and when I give the word, freeze and don't move again until I say so.'
They walked cautiously along the railway tracks, Dr Hill in the lead, the next man with his hand on his shoulder, the next on his, and right back. They didn't make a sound when they stumbled. They bit their lips when something furry brushed their legs. Jeffers stayed right at the back, urging stragglers forward, watching the advance of the cannibals behind. There was nothing as disciplined about their pursuers. They were a tumultuous, ravenous horde.
Jeffers passed the word back and they flattened themselves against the wall as the cannibals reached the entrance to the service tunnel. A dull, metallic hammering reached them — Benson at work, attracting their attention by banging on the tunnel walls. The rest of them held their breath as the cannibals' lights, most from burning torches, flickered in the sudden breeze from the service tunnel. It was the first time Claire had been able to glimpse their pursuers. She was surprised by their appearance. She had imagined crazed, blood- spattered zombies, but they looked so ordinary. Men, women, even children she might quite easily have passed in a supermarket or sat beside in a cinema. Ordinary people, who wanted to have her for dinner.
After a brief hesitation the horde surged into the service tunnel. One by one the lights disappeared as they crowded through the narrow entrance. Soon there were only two distinct lights remaining — one elderly man holding a burning torch and a child in short trousers with a flashlight — and Jeffers was on the verge of ordering them to press ahead, when there was a sudden clattering sound from behind Claire. A moment later a torch, having rolled across the ground and struck the far wall, turned itself on. In the brief moment before Jonas Jones threw himself upon it to block out the light Claire saw Cleaver with his hands raised in abject horror and mouthing the word 'Sorry!'
The old man and the child turned from the service tunnel entrance to look in their direction.
The old man pointed.
The child yelled to the rest of his kind.
'Run!' Jeffers barked.
He grabbed hold of Claire and propelled her ahead of him into the darkness, pushing the other passengers after her.
Cleaver stumbled forward. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . .'
'Just keep going!'
Jeffers and the remaining crewmen held back. They had their guns out and were aiming back down the tunnel towards the cannibals, who were now pouring back out of the service tunnel.
Jonas drew his own weapon and came to join them. But Jeffers quickly sent him away. 'You must press on,' he ordered, 'we'll hold them for as long as we can, but you must reach the factory.'
Jonas raised a hand and saluted. 'Good luck!'
First Officer Jeffers nodded grimly, returned the salute and then turned to join his men. The shooting started a few moments later.