The Sacrifice

by Charlie Higson

  ‘So where will this take us?’ asked Tish, shining her torch ahead down the twisting tunnel. ‘Is there another way out?’

  ‘There’s a million. Depends where you want to go.’

  ‘OK. Wait.’

  Tish stopped walking and the three of them stood there, crouching down so as not to bump their heads on the tunnel roof.

  ‘Does it link up with the tube system, did you say?’ Tish asked The Kid.

  ‘The train tunnels? Yeah.’

  ‘Not the tube,’ said Sam and Tish shushed him before asking The Kid if he could get them to St Paul’s station. The Kid scratched his head.

  ‘Which one’s that?’ he said. ‘The Kid don’t read – he’s not much cop with the old hieroglyphics.’

  ‘The Central Line – the red line. We must be very near it. St Paul’s is on the other side of the Wall. If we go west.’

  ‘East, west, north, south, each, peach, pear, plum. Don’t mean anything to The Kid.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sam. ‘And I really don’t want to go into the tube tunnels. They’re always full of grown-ups. Anywhere but there.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’ said Tish. ‘The Kid knows what he’s doing. He’s used these tunnels.’

  ‘Don’t like them, though,’ said The Kid. ‘Specially not round here. In Nibelheim. This place used to freak me out of the house. With Alberich’s dwarves up there. Didn’t want nothing to do with the old Clickee Cult. No, sir.’

  ‘We’ll go carefully,’ said Tish. ‘But whatever happens, we’ve got to get back up to street level.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Sam.

  ‘Quickest way, I s’pose,’ said The Kid. ‘Easiest for me to remember is along the tracks and up through a station.’ He squeezed Sam’s hand. ‘You with me or are you with the Woolwich?’

  ‘I’m with you,’ said Sam, and The Kid winked at him and carried on down the tunnel, humming again and muttering to himself about dwarves. Sam fell in beside him.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said.

  ‘’Bout what?’

  ‘Back there, in the square, having a go at you. I was just scared.’

  ‘Forget it, Samphire,’ said The Kid. ‘If I could speak more clearer I would, but the words get all jumbled and twisted and convulsive and they don’t come out like I want them to. We did OK, though, didn’t we? Showed them Clickees who’s the boss. Showed them the old snickersnee.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Sam laughed, feeling slightly hysterical. He knew they weren’t out of danger by a long way. Tried not to think about going into the tube system.

  There was another ladder at the end of the tunnel. It only led down, deeper underground, rather than up towards the daylight. The Kid put his torch between his teeth, hopped lightly on to the ladder like a monkey and dropped into darkness. Tish was less sure of herself and Sam went slowly and carefully, worried that he might get tangled in his scabbard again.

  At the bottom they found a cramped room filled with electrical equipment. There were two doors.

  ‘That way leads to more of the same,’ said The Kid, pointing to one door, and then he pointed to the second door. ‘That way leads to the train tracks.’

  ‘Which way would be quicker?’ said Sam. ‘To get back up there?’ He looked at the ceiling.

  The Kid nodded towards the second door.

  ‘OK,’ said Tish. ‘We check it out and if it’s all clear we go. And go fast. I don’t want to stay down here any longer than anyone else.’

  The Kid opened the door and took the others along a short passageway at the end of which was an oval-shaped opening. He went into a crawl as he neared the end then lay on his belly and stuck his head out through the hole, shining his torch around.

  ‘All clear,’ he said, and climbed down a third ladder. Soon all three of them were standing on the tracks by the glinting steel underground rails. There was no sign of any life.

  Didn’t make Sam feel any better. His chest was heaving. This was bringing back too many memories for him. He felt a rising wave of panic. He’d never been claustrophobic before, but now he was feeling both trapped and exposed. His legs were shaking and they threatened to buckle at any moment.

  ‘Can we get out of here as quick as we can?’ he said, trying to stop his voice from breaking. Tish took her pack from her back and fished out the A to Z. On the back was a tube map. She studied it by the light of her torch.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘It makes sense that this is the Central Line. We would have been almost directly above it up in the square. We have to hope it is. And if we go west we get to St Paul’s.’

  ‘There’s a tube station at the Tower,’ said Sam. ‘We could try to get there.’

  He grabbed the map off Tish and tried to make sense of it. And then he felt a cold flush pass through him.

  He passed the book back to Tish.

  ‘We go to St Paul’s,’ he said, his voice shaking.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘If we go the other way we get to Bank station.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Oh, it comes back to me now,’ said The Kid. ‘That’s the boneyard; that’s where Sam was held by the blood-farmers. That old witch, she might still be there. We don’t want to go back that way.’

  ‘So which way is St Paul’s then?’ said Tish.

  ‘I’m trying to remember.’

  ‘I’ve lost all sense of direction, to be honest,’ said Tish. ‘You must have some idea.’

  ‘That way,’ said The Kid, turning to face one way down the tunnel, and then, as the others joined him, he abruptly turned in the other direction. ‘No, that way.’

  ‘Which way, Kid?’ Tish was growing angry.

  The Kid peered along the tunnel through narrowed eyes. ‘I got a sense that that way is hope and freedom and the buzzing of the bees in the lemonade trees.’ He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. ‘And that way madness lies.’

  ‘We’ve got no choice anyway,’ said Sam miserably and he had to steady himself against The Kid as his knees gave way.

  ‘Whassup, doc?’

  ‘Shine your torch down the tracks.’

  The Kid did as he was told and the beam lit up three grown-ups, pale-skinned and bald, like cave lizards, with wide dark eyes and long fingernails. They looked tough and wiry and were moving quickly.

  ‘Leg it,’ said The Kid and the next moment the three children were stumbling along over the sleepers, torch beams madly scribbling a route in front of them.

  Sam could hear the grown-ups hissing and panting behind him. The ones who lived underground tended to be faster and healthier than the ones up top.

  He could only see about thirty metres ahead as the tunnel went into a curve. He prayed that there would be a platform on the other side or at least a way out. And he prayed that they wouldn’t be back at Bank station. The horror of the tube train where he’d been held prisoner, with its butcher’s carriage full of body parts, had almost been too much for him.

  The curve was agonizingly long so it was a while before they could see any distance ahead.

  ‘Yes!’ Sam blurted as they emerged into a straight section. Tish’s torch beam had caught the edge of a station platform. What if it was the wrong stop, though?

  ‘Can you see?’ he gasped. ‘Can you read the name on the signs?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Tish.

  They ran on a little while in silence and then Tish cried out.

  ‘St Paul’s! Yes! It’s St Paul’s! It’s the right one. Well done, kiddo.’

  Soon the tunnel opened out and they were in the larger space of the platform area. It stank there, a sharp reek of human waste that caught in Sam’s throat, and there were piles of bones and other rubbish strewn along the platform.

  Apart from the three grown-ups who were chasing them, though, there didn’t appear to be any others around so far. The children clambered up on to the platform and looked for an exit sign among the jumble that hung from the roof. Sam was staring u
p when suddenly a body came hurtling out of the darkness and bowled him over. He went down hard, all the air forced from his lungs, a spray of bright lights in front of his eyes.

  Someone had barged into him, but luckily their momentum had kept them going and they had tumbled over the platform edge on to the tracks. Sam was too jolted to move for a moment. He lay there, aware of movement all around him. The breastplate had protected him a bit, but it had also dug into him painfully.

  He knew he couldn’t stay like this. He sucked in a lungful of air and struggled to sit up and clear his head. Tish had been knocked aside in the attack and had dropped her torch; it was rolling along the ground, lighting the legs of several grown-ups on the platform. The Kid had found the exit and was yelling at the other two to follow him.

  Tish pulled Sam to his feet just as the three original grown-ups emerged from the tunnel. They were obviously part of a different group, because a fight immediately broke out between them and the father who had fallen on to the tracks. A couple of mothers joined him, sliding over the platform edge.

  All this confusion gave the children the start they so desperately needed. They were off and running again, through the exit and on to a long frozen escalator. They scrambled up, taking two steps at a time, coughing as they kicked up clouds of dust. Sam found it hard going, tried to ignore the pain in his legs. His trousers were wet with blood. He hobbled and limped up the steps, trying to keep up with the other two. His whole body felt like it had been hammered with a baseball bat. He was covered in cuts and bruises and there was a stabbing pain in his chest. He wondered if he was having a heart attack.

  Is this what it felt like?

  Tish took his hand.

  ‘Come on, Sam,’ she said. ‘We’re not leaving you behind.’

  Sam realized he’d lost his helmet in the fall. Tears came into his eyes. Behind him he could hear the grown-ups. Following. Low moans echoing off the walls, the scrape and thud of their feet.

  ‘Keep going up,’ Tish shouted. ‘I can see daylight … ’

  Sam was sweating and exhausted when they reached the ticket hall at the top. The other two leapt over the turnstiles, but he clumsily flopped and crawled. Light was streaming down through the exits to the street, blinding them. Sam shielded his eyes and ran. Wanting nothing more than to be out in the sun.

  They went to the left, up a short flight of steps.

  And then they stopped.

  The folding metal gates had been pulled across the exit and chained together. The chain was fastened with a padlock.

  19

  Sam put his hands to the closed gates and shook them, swearing. He could see through the dark criss-cross pattern made by the bars. On the other side was sunshine, an empty street.

  On this side …

  There came a whine from the station depths, coughing noises, a deep rattling groan. The grown-ups had reached the ticket hall.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Sam and he kicked the gates. There was no way they could force them.

  ‘I should have thought,’ said Tish. ‘I forgot.’

  ‘Now what?’ said Sam, knocking his forehead over and over against the metal gate.

  ‘There was another exit,’ said Tish.

  ‘We’d have to go back down there,’ Sam said angrily, pointing down the stairs to the ticket hall. ‘And what makes you think the other exit won’t be locked as well?’

  ‘Well, what’s your idea then?’ Tish shouted back at him. ‘What’s your bloody plan?’

  ‘You brought us here,’ said Sam.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Tish replied. ‘The Kid did. So, Kid, come on, how are we going to get out?’

  ‘Search me,’ said The Kid.

  Now Tish grabbed hold of the bars and she screamed at the top of her voice. ‘Help! Help us!’

  ‘That’s no good,’ said Sam. ‘The only people who’ll be able to hear you are grown-ups. You’ll just attract more of them.’

  Tish ignored him and carried on yelling for help.

  Sam turned to The Kid. ‘Maybe we could try the other exit,’ he said, his mouth so dry he could hardly get the words out. ‘We’ve got to try something.’

  They left Tish shouting for help and crept down the stairs. The first of the grown-ups had reached the top of the escalator. These were the fitter, healthier ones, five of them, three fathers and two mothers. Luckily they were having even more of a problem with the sudden bright light than the children had done. They cowered back, cringing and hissing. Close enough for Sam to get a good look at them, though.

  He could see their red eyes, their rotten teeth, the scabs and boils on their skin.

  He knew it was only a matter of time before they got bolder. Once a grown-up had your scent nothing would stop it.

  He drew his sword from its scabbard.

  ‘We can’t fight them all,’ said The Kid. ‘They’re just gonna keep coming.’

  ‘We can fight some of them,’ said Sam, holding his sword tightly. It was heavy in his hand, though, and he felt weak and useless. Who was he kidding with his bright shiny blade? He wasn’t a knight. He was a nine-year-old boy. He might cut a few of the grown-ups, but what chance did he have of killing any? He’d joined in a couple of the training sessions back at the Tower. He’d enjoyed it. This was different.

  This was real.

  One of the grown-ups grew brave enough to advance, squinting through tightly pressed eyelids. He hobbled over to the turnstiles and tried to squeeze through. Finding that impossible, he flopped on to the solid turnstile housing and started to crawl across it. Just like Sam had done.

  ‘No, you don’t!’ The Kid darted forward and smashed his sword down on the father’s head. The blade glanced off, struck the metal housing and snapped in half. The blow had at least taken a chunk out of his skull, though. Thin, watery blood spilt out and some greyish jelly, exposing a patch of bright white bone. The father writhed in agony. The Kid hit him again, with the broken stub of blade, hacking off his ear.

  Sam had been concentrating so hard on what The Kid was up to he hadn’t noticed that the other grown-ups had come forward as well and were all now trying to get across the barriers. He ran over to them and jabbed a bald mother in the shoulder with the point of his sword, not wanting to risk breaking it like The Kid had done to his. The point barely pierced the mother’s skin. She looked at him with dull eyes and her tongue flopped out of her mouth. He stabbed her again, aiming at the same spot, and only succeeded in making the mother angry. She tried to grab hold of the blade and, when her fingers closed round it, Sam yanked it free.

  It came away bloody and Sam saw that it had cut into the tendons of the mother’s fingers.

  It wasn’t enough to stop her, though.

  Normal humans might have held back, scared of the weapons, not wanting to get injured. Grown-ups didn’t think clearly enough for that. They had no sense of danger.

  And that made them dangerous.

  Above them Tish was still calling for help and battering her fists against the locked gates.

  The first grown-up finally made it over the barrier. The Kid had taken chunks out of him and was still chopping at him with his broken sword. Each time he cut another bit off him and each time it wasn’t enough to stop the father from advancing.

  Sam broke away from the wounded mother and came over to help The Kid, stabbing the father in the back. He felt his blade scrape against the man’s ribs, cutting him. He knew he would have to try harder if he was going to hit anything major inside him.

  He tried aiming lower and dug into the soft fleshy area below the ribcage and this time the point penetrated deeper. Before he could try again, however, two more grown-ups got over the barriers. Sam turned and swung his blade wildly, slashing one in the upper arm.

  Again.

  Not good enough.

  Not a killing blow.

  Sam and The Kid were forced to retreat now as the rest of the grown-ups swarmed over, all five of them advancing as fast as they could. And more were c
oming up the escalator.

  The three at the front were bleeding, but there was only one thought in their heads. To take the children down, kill them and eat them.

  The only thing that gave Sam any advantage was that the grown-ups still seemed to be disturbed by the bright light. They turned their heads to the side and rubbed at their skin as if the sun’s rays were burning them.

  Sam swung again, aiming low. He was more successful this time. The end of his blade cut through the belly of the mother whose fingers he’d sliced. She belched and gurgled and vomited up a stream of dark blood which spilt down her front and joined the spreading stain on her dress.

  With more confidence he swung again.

  And missed.

  With The Kid at his side, he backed steadily towards the stairs, guided by Tish’s shouts.

  What was the use of calling out for help?

  Sam swore. They were beyond help. Soon it was going to be hand-to-hand combat. And what chance did they have then? One of the fathers was twice his height with wiry muscles showing on his scabby, spotty, naked arms.

  Sam wasn’t strong enough to do anything. He was just a boy. Not strong enough to make the sword any use. His arm ached as he pathetically swung it back and forth, back and forth like a pendulum.

  His eyesight was blurry with tears.

  He stumbled up the stairs. It was only a matter of time before he’d be backed up against the bars at the top. The grown-ups were hungry; they were beating their fear of the sunlight, dribbling as they advanced.

  Sam should have stayed at the Tower. Should have listened to Ed.

  And then he heard voices – boys’ voices – and he turned round.

  There were three boys outside, on the other side of the gates. They were wearing soldiers’ camouflage jackets, green and black. Two were carrying short spears.