by Paula Wynne
Begrudgingly, Matt gripped the lever behind Glynn and together they pulled.
A sudden, loud retort filled the hangar.
Glancing up from the lever, Matt saw one side of the concrete rectangle lifting and a hinge at the other slowly opening.
Cami gave a triumphant little squeal and turned to where Bomber lay, his eyes locked on hers. ‘Well, whaddya know. I was right all along. There is a hidden bunker down there!’
61
Another few heaves and the hatch was fully opened, past its tipping point and resting against the wall. Stale, dead air crept from the hatch like baby rats from the nest. For a few minutes they were all silent. All of them, even Bomber with his wrists tied, using their hands to cover their mouths and noses from the offensive smell.
A gaping black hole of nothingness stared back at them. Cami penetrated the blackness with a flash of her torch light. It revealed a brick stairway leading down into a large empty bunker.
‘We’re going in,’ Cami commanded, ‘Glynn, you watch Bomber and I’ll take Matt.’
Glynn yanked Bomber’s bound arms and pulled him to his feet.
Matt suddenly realised that because he’d been needed to help with the lever, Glynn hadn’t tied his hands.
It was now up to him to find a way to save Bomber.
The man who, despite their recent thaw in relations, was responsible for his father’s death.
Resisting the temptation to investigate the intriguing bunker, Matt stepped back. He had to get away from Cami and find his brother. ‘You’ve got what you want. Now tell me what you’ve done with Luke.’
‘You’ll see him when I’m ready, not before!’ Cami spat out.
Matt couldn’t work out if that was a good or bad sign. See him. Did that mean Luke was still alive? Or did she mean see him dead? He shivered and tried to shake off the thought. If she could kill Allan, who knew what she would do to Luke?
Cami pointed with the blood-stained dagger, indicating for him to be the first into the bunker. ‘Go!’
Matt exhaled hard and took a step down into the inky void. He turned to Cami and said, ‘At least give me a torch.’
She glanced at Glynn, who hesitated and muttered, ‘We can’t have him wandering around freely.’
Her gaze roved between Glynn, Matt and Bomber. ‘I don’t think we have much to worry about from poor, crippled Limp-it. Besides, he hates Bomber.’
Matt swallowed hard and, through downcast eyes, flicked a guilty glance at Bomber.
The pilot had his jaw set hard and his eyes staring dead ahead, as if he wasn’t affected by all this going on around him. He didn’t even look at Glynn as he cut the cable tie holding Bomber’s ankles and then jumped back, just in case Bomber had thought to aim a kick at him.
Matt wondered how he could be so tough when his world was tumbling down around his ears.
‘Here you are, then. So you don’t get so scared you piss yourself.’ Glynn handed the camping light to Matt.
Matt held the lantern out in front of him, feeling like a medieval sailor walking the gangplank. The damp, musty odour filled his nostrils, almost making him retch. Bile rose up into his throat, but he made himself swallow it back down.
The stairs leading down into the underground lobby were brick-red, blotched with white and black mildew.
At the bottom, Matt held the camping light high above his head. Its buttery glow revealed a bricked chamber the size of Mum’s garden shed. An open wooden door, green with mould and age, led the way into a tunnel with three empty doorways leading off the main passageway. The red brick bunker had a concrete roof, yet the walls were scarred with limestone tracks from many years of damp trickling in. Along the walls, storage niches held musty blankets, tools, rope, pots and pans, and there was also a shelf of books and a pile of card games.
Cami had come down the stairs and was behind him, and he could hear Bomber and Glynn following her, Glynn keeping up a stream of pointless commands to his captive that made Matt wonder whether he was scared. Every small sound echoed around the dank chamber: first their footsteps, followed by each breath they took, as if a group of spirits followed them and breathed over their shoulders.
He couldn’t come up with a plan to escape, so he figured he might as well find out what the hell this place was. He turned to see a scowl on Bomber’s face.
In the dim pool of illumination from the camping light, Matt almost walked into an old metal fire bucket, left discarded like Bomber’s military machinery.
A caged light in the middle of the tunnel had been wired in via thick metal cables running the length of the tunnel. On the right a long row of hooks had been bolted onto the wall, probably for hanging coats.
Cami stepped ahead of Matt. ‘A bunker would usually have two doors, for an escape exit and so one would double up as a ventilation shaft.’ She poked her head into the tunnel and muttered, ‘But this one looks like it has only one way in or out.’
The first doorway led into a room the same as the main chamber, only much smaller, like a pokey pantry. An old scratched desk and peeling leather chair sat alone and forlorn in the gloom.
Cami said, ‘This is probably a messenger or runner’s room.’
‘How do you know?’ Glynn muttered.
‘War bunkers normally had one, plus a defence officer’s room, an observation room or command centre. And of course, a toilet. Am I right, Bomber?’
The pilot kept silent, staring stonily ahead with his jaw clenched.
An old machine stood near the door. It looked like a generator. Beside it, a box of tubes and cables was peppered with ebony mould and silver webs.
‘Those are probably manually operated ventilators or air filters.’ Cami opened the desk’s single drawer and lifted it out.
‘You’ve done your research, then,’ Rather than impressed, Glynn’s comment sounded snide.
Matt, on the other hand, was quite impressed, despite his wish not to be. He did, though, wonder why a beautiful girl would be so obsessed with skanky underground bunkers. He watched as she ran her fingertips along the drawer, flipped it over and examined the base. She dropped the drawer onto the desk without sliding it back. As she passed Matt, she nudged his elbow to lift the camping light higher, as his arm had started dropping.
Glynn glanced up and traced his hand along the wire running between the caged lights.
Cami flashed her torchlight into another room and exclaimed, ‘As I thought, there’s the loo.’ Her torch beam pointed to a porcelain bowl with only hinges where its lid should have been. Next to it sat a metal bucket, and Matt almost choked on the stench of earthy mould.
Grimacing, after a quick glance around the tiny room, Cami yanked the door shut.
Still following the wire cable, and shoving Bomber ahead of him, Glynn wandered into a room crammed with chairs and two desks back-to-back and another up against the wall. ‘This must be the command room.’
Cami and Matt squeezed into the doorway. They could hardly move, in between the furniture.
Black electric cables snaked along the walls, trailing down into vault boxes or disappearing into light switches and electrical plug points.
Glynn yanked on a cord hanging from the ceiling and suddenly the room burst into bright light. He stood in the centre of the room surrounded by dusty, dilapidated furniture with a huge grin on his face. As if he had saved the day by finding the light switch. Drawing another hub cap tie out of his pocket, he tied Bomber’s wrists to the door handle and muttered, ‘That’s so you don’t get any ideas.’
Matt deposited the camping light he’d carried all the way down onto the middle desks. Glynn reached over and turned it off.
‘Quick,’ Cami declared, ‘while we have light, search this room.’
‘What are we looking for? Coins, Nazi memorabilia, or artefacts from the Third Reich?’
Cami shot Glynn an exasperated look and rolled her eyes. ‘No! The most valuable treasure, information. It will be a map. So search for any kind of
paperwork.’
As Cami and Glynn rifled through the desk drawers, Matt eyed Bomber. A permanent scowl twisted the pilot’s face, but still he remained silent.
Matt glanced around, imagining a group of men huddled in the bunker. They wouldn’t have been plotting and planning a war, but they would have played some role in keeping the local people safe. Maybe they came down here during bomb raids.
The two tables in the middle seemed to be the work area, while the one up against the wall was laden with a rusty tea tin showing a brand he’d never heard of, a few broken mugs and a glass bottle.
Matt had the strangest sense that somebody had just been sitting in that chair. He shivered, but the sensation clung to him. He imagined another person pinning notices to the board that hung at an angle on the wall. While, because this was England, a third person brewed them all a pot of tea.
The place had been an underground bunker, but now it seemed more like a time capsule. He almost chuckled out loud. The tearoom. AKA, the all-important command centre. He squeezed past Cami’s humped body under the middle desk and stepped over to the tea tin. He lifted it up and pulled a face. It stunk of musty, mouldering teabags.
At that moment, Glynn yelped.
Cami’s head popped up and she spun around. Matt swivelled sideways. They both stared at Glynn, who was holding up an SS uniform by the shoulders.
Cami squeezed between the smelly furniture and grabbed the Nazi uniform. She spat on the grey-green field uniform and tore at the silver braid on the collar. ‘This was one of the “rules of the game.” If you were in uniform, which could include carrying one with you, then you were treated as a prisoner of war. If not, you could be hung or shot for a spy. So even when they were on the run, all the SS wore these at the end of the war. There was definitely one hiding in here.’
She turned to Bomber. ‘Time to talk. What do you know about this?’
He shrugged, held his scowl where it was, and kept his expression cold and unreadable.
‘Clearly,’ Cami sneered, ‘we’ll have to torture you to get anything out of you. Never mind, I have ways and means of making any man talk.’
Matt glanced at Bomber, but the pilot refused to meet his gaze.
Cami dug in the pockets and patted the fabric. Her fingers were all over it, pulling and tugging and sliding between the buttons. After a moment, she hurled it down on the desk and stamped her foot. ‘Nothing!’
Something sparked her anger and she went on a rampage. Pulling drawers out, banging their emptiness onto the desktops and then yanking out the next one.
After all the drawers were on the desks, she leaned over each drawer looking under for a false bottom. When they didn’t give her the results she wanted, she threw them at the concrete walls.
Matt ducked his head as one sailed towards him. The wood crashed and splintered, sending tiny, knife-like shards in every direction.
Another empty drawer flew in front of him. Again the flimsy antique wood fractured as it hit the wall. One half thumped down onto the tea tin and empty milk bottle. They both toppled over and crashed to the floor. The jangling of tin and tinkling of glass splintering echoed around the room. The sound squeezed out of the door and rumbled down the tunnel.
Cami ran up to the shattered drawer and stared down in disgust.
Thinking she had half expected the broken drawers to expose her map, Matt hid a smirk. He was enjoying watching her lose her cool.
She spun on her heel and barked out an order to Glynn, ‘Search under the desks for hidden panels.’ She knelt down on the dirty floor, oblivious to her jeans getting blackened knees, and searched under the middle desk. Glynn shuffled under the other desk.
Matt realised that both Glynn and Cami had their backs to him.
He glimpsed the broken milk bottle and, his back against the wall, slid slowly down towards it. With his hand close to his side, he gripped the bottle by the unbroken neck and slithered back upright.
His eyes latched onto the huge torch Cami had carried down with her. Probably as a backup in case the camping light went out. In her panic to find her secret map, she had discarded it on the edge of the tea table against the wall.
The bunker’s chilling damp clawed at Matt as he tried to keep his breathing even. He lifted his ankle and twisted it in a circle. This kind of cold and damp made it ache. That, on top of the fall and his sliced calf, meant he’d never be able to race away.
At least now he had a weapon. He just had to figure out when and how to use it.
The light suddenly flickered. It popped and fizzed for a moment. Then slowly faded.
62
Matt made his move. Reaching out into the dark, he grabbed the chunky camping light, lifted it high in the air. A thud resounded in the darkness. Then, clinking of glass and rattling of metal as he slammed it down over the nearest head.
Glynn grunted and slumped to the floor.
Cami scuffled for her torchlight. ‘Glynn? Glynn? Where’s my torch?’
Matt lifted Cami’s torch, switched it on and said, ‘You mean this one, or that one?’ He pointed the beam at Glynn, slumped under the middle desk with the camping light in shattered pieces around him.
Cami gasped. A grin immediately lit her face, ‘Well, well, Matt, you surprise me in delicious ways.’ She cocked an eyebrow at him. ‘You may just have it in you, after all.’
Matt held the broken bottle by his side, gathering courage to use it on her. He couldn’t bear the thought of slicing that lovely skin, but it was either her or him.
‘Never mind,’ Cami flapped her hand, ‘you saved me the trouble of getting rid of him.’ She glanced around the dimly lit room. ‘Nothing here. We’ll have to go to plan B.’
The milk bottle bit into Matt’s palm.
She said, ‘Bomber will show us his clever hiding place.’
‘No, he won’t.’ Matt didn’t have time to free Bomber who could help him, so instead he pointed the jagged edge of the milk bottle at her.
‘My, my, you really are coming out of your shell.’ Cami smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
He used the broken bottle to ward her off.
She stepped around a chair and murmured in a bedroom voice, ‘I know you won’t hurt me.’
Out of nowhere, her manicured talons swept up and dug into the tender flesh of his groin. She twisted.
Matt shrieked and bent over. As his hand swung down to yank away her squeezing fingers, the bottle’s makeshift blade sheared through the air. It sliced down her thigh, splitting open her jeans to show creamy skin laced with a streak of blood.
She backhanded him across the face.
Matt whipped his elbow around and drove its point into her jaw.
Cami grunted and stumbled blindly into the middle desk. She crashed over and groaned.
Matt glanced down at the broken bottle still clenched in his hand.
He was distantly aware that, over by the door, Bomber was tugging at the handle to try and break free.
Cami knelt on the floor. An abrupt movement alerted him as she swung her arm up at him. The sharp point of the milk bottle’s base tore through his tee-shirt, gashing open his flank.
With her other arm, she swung at him. Her nails raked his cheek, clawing for his eyes.
Without thinking, he slashed the jagged glass at her. It punched into the fragile flesh across her stomach. Blood spurted over them both. Instinctively, Cami dropped the broken milk bottle base and gripped her stomach with both hands.
Horrified, Matt jerked back and stumbled against the side desk. ‘What have you done with Luke? Tell me and I’ll get help for you.’
‘You won’t find him.’ She flinched in pain, but her voice was steady as she whispered, ‘Not until I get the map.’
Matt gaped. ‘Give it up, Cami.’
She collapsed against the wall and stared at the blood oozing down her jeans.
‘You’ve lost. Where’s Luke?’
Hate blossomed in her eyes. ‘You won’t find
him. Make him talk,’ she gestured her head to Bomber, struggling to free himself from the door handle, ‘and we’ll do an exchange.’ Even in the dim torchlight he could see that the colour was draining from her face.
‘No,’ Matt said with a confidence that surprised him, ‘You’ll bleed to death down here. Won’t that be ironic, Cami? It seems you’ve spent years looking for this bunker, and now that you’ve found it, you’re going to die down here.’
She lunged at him, a war cry wailing from deep within her.
Startled, Matt fell backwards as Cami shot forward again and scratched and tore at his arms. Just then, her eyes widened, and she slumped forward, her head lolling against his chest.
Matt glanced past her to see that even with bound wrists Bomber had somehow managed to remove the chunky door handle and had whacked her over her head with it.
‘Quick,’ he said,’ we don’t have much time before they start to come round. Go up to the hangar and get my pliers. They’re in my toolbox on the far shelf. And grab some more of these ties on your way back. I’ll watch them.’
Ignoring the shrieks of protest from his ankle, Matt rushed up the stairs, grabbed what Bomber had asked for, and was back down and cutting the cable tie around Bomber’s wrists.
Together they tied Glynn and Cami and between them they carted each one in turn up and out of the bunker and into the hangar, where Bomber used metal chains and a padlock to hook them onto a set of cement chocks, throwing the key onto an obvious spot of floor by the door where neither of them could reach it. ‘They can’t move, so they’re stuck here until the coppers come.’
Matt eyed Cami and stared at her wound in confusion. He couldn’t let her just bleed to death, but she’d refused to tell him where she had taken Luke. That could only mean one thing: she had killed his brother.
Bomber gestured to Matt to follow him.
Outside, he said in a low voice, ‘She’ll survive. She won’t bleed out. I’ll call the coppers from my office. You hang on here a minute to watch them, and then you can go looking for Luke, although I wouldn’t know where to suggest you start.’
