Among You Secret Children

by Jeff Kamen

  Dazed, he headed back along the platform, calling at each carriage as before. He was halfway along the train when his radio crackled. Hearing his name bellowed in the static, he moved to a wider position on the platform, looking about desperately, then spotted Vonal on the main concourse. He was heading up a heavily armed party escorting a squad of handcuffed guards and officers, the lead men apparently looking for somewhere to stow their charges.

  He ran to meet him, passing windows of crushed faces and a hideous sprawl of flattened palms and scraping cylinders and stewards pointing guns as they tried to close the doors. Vonal detached from the group as they advanced and waved to him, leaving his colleagues to marshal the dusty and exhausted-looking figures further along the train.

  ‘Everybody here?’ Vonal said, clasping hands as they met. ‘If so, we should get going.’

  ‘More or less. What about upstairs? All clear?’

  ‘As far as I know. We had a good look round, Pavlin’s lot too. What does more or less mean?’

  Lütt-Ebbins took a shaky breath. ‘We’re a few people short.’

  Vonal looked at him. He was black with soot and grime and his eyes seemed to burn through like organs meant for something other than seeing. ‘How many’s a few?’

  ‘Two that I know of, but there could be more. I’m still looking for Moth and Stoeckl. You haven’t seen them, have you?’

  Vonal looked off towards his party, where a couple of the men were ordering those aboard to make room for the prisoners. ‘Stoeckl?’ he said. ‘No. Expect he’s here somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve looked everywhere, I couldn’t see him. Moth, he … he had a radio. Did you get a call from him? He was Climber.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Matthëus. Klaus’s boy.’

  Vonal’s gaze clouded. ‘No,’ he said. ‘He won’t be joining us.’

  ‘What? You don’t mean …’ Lütt-Ebbins hesitated, studying his face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He’s gone. I’m sorry, Lütt.’

  ‘What are you talking about? What happened to him?’

  ‘Let’s get going.’

  ‘Please, I need to know. Is he dead? What happened to him?’

  Glancing impatiently at the train, Vonal reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a notepad and ripped off the top sheet and handed it across. ‘It was him,’ he said. ‘He’s the one who did us over. Must have come in through the vents.’

  Lütt-Ebbins read it, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  To whoever reads this,

  I’m getting rid of myself the best way I know how.

  I’m disposing of my problems like we dispose of our rubbish.

  We all die one day, and it’s my turn now.

  Love to my friends. M Matthëus (Moth).

  ps. don’t worry.

  He looked up emptily. ‘But this … it can’t be his.’

  ‘It’s his, all right. I saw the same note in Tilsen’s folder. Must have been preparing it for some time.’

  ‘But ... but how could he have —’

  ‘I know, Lütt, I know. It’s hard to take. Would’ve broken his parents’ hearts.’

  ‘But he couldn’t have known … he ... he even offered … I can’t believe he’d ...’

  ‘Let’s face it, Lütt — we chose him, we screwed up. Now we move on.’

  As Lütt-Ebbins folded the note, still reeling, his attention was drawn to movement on the concourse. Another group were running from the blazing entrance. A half dozen silhouettes weaving around a trail of smouldering obstacles. Behind the open doors the once-grand foyer stood as a smoky corridor of fire. ‘Maybe it’s Stoeckl,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s wait on board.’

  ‘No, Vonal. I can’t.’

  Before Vonal could hold him back, Lütt-Ebbins ran off to intercept them. As he passed the cab, the driver leant out and yelled something about having to reverse out of there. Lütt-Ebbins yelled back telling him to wait a minute, and then Vonal was running at his side and was with him as they met the oncomers.

  They were all in uniform. Tilsen was running boldly ahead of the others, but as soon as Vonal levelled his gun at her, she halted.

  ‘Well, well,’ Vonal said. ‘Tils Tilsen.’

  Behind her mask her expression was serpent-like, and as she assessed the packed train and the debris-littered platform, her eyes grew heavy with loathing. A tall grey-haired officer was among those who came forward to join her, his hands raised.

  ‘Ischmann, too,’ Vonal added. ‘Lovely.’

  Tilsen regarded Vonal as though she was going to spit at him, her smile both acid and indulgent as he cocked the gun. ‘You must be delighted,’ she said, gesturing towards the roof with upturned palms. ‘I look forward to life under this new regime very much indeed.’

  ‘Fuck you, Tilsen,’ he said. ‘You’re responsible for this, not us. We wanted Van Hagens as it was. It could have been something worthwhile. Something for everyone.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Listen a minute,’ Lütt-Ebbins cut in, raising his voice as the train horn blared, ‘are any of our people up there? Did you take any hostages? Anyone?’

  She observed him wryly a moment, then shook her head.

  ‘What about Stoeckl? The man you arrested with Matthëus. Have you seen him?’

  She said nothing, merely glanced upwards as another deep thud sounded over the roof.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Vonal yelled, and she stiffened. ‘Let’s get something straight, shall we? I’m going to be the one conducting interrogations when this is over. I’m going to hold you personally responsible for any people unaccounted for. You. That’s a promise.’

  Her eyes flashed indignantly.

  ‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ Lütt-Ebbins said. ‘Were you holding any of our people up there? Yes or no? Stoeckl — did you see Stoeckl? You did, didn’t you? Where is he?’

  ‘Where is he, Tilsen?’

  As the horn sounded again, Lütt-Ebbins looked back to find the driver and his mate beckoning frantically. Very slowly, the train was pulling away. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘I’m begging you. Try to forget your politics for the sake of a decent man’s life.’

  Ischmann whispered in her ear, and she nodded reluctantly. ‘All right,’ she snapped, then to Lütt-Ebbins said, ‘You’ll probably find him in the officers’ messroom. It’s at the back of the Inspectorate. Probably, I said.’

  ‘Is anyone else there?’ said Vonal.

  ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘You’d better not be lying,’ Lütt-Ebbins said, watching her. ‘We’ve suffered a setback, but that’s all. We might be reasonable men, we may have better hopes for our people than you ever had, but we will change things without compromise. The days you knew are over.’

  Tilsen seemed amused by this comment, and as she pushed between them, her lips curled in an enigmatic smile. ‘Are they really?’ she said, then ran off towards the moving train, Ischmann and the guards hurrying after her.

  ‘Okay, let’s go,’ Vonal said.

  Lütt-Ebbins was checking the valve reading beneath his nozzle. ‘I’m staying,’ he said. ‘I have to, Vonal. I can’t leave him here. I couldn’t live with myself.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Come on, let’s go.’

  ‘No. We’ll have to make it overland.’

  ‘What? You trust that woman?’

  ‘I believe her. I believe he’s alive. I’ll find a way out through the turret or something.’

  ‘No. We’re going. We’re going now.’

  ‘I can’t, Vonal. Listen to me. I’m going to look for him.’

  ‘Lütt, the train’s going.’

  ‘I don’t care! Don’t you get it? I’ve already lost one friend in all of this … I can’t lose another. I just can’t.’

  ‘Lütt, don’t make me —’

  ‘No, Vonal, I have to go. I’ll see you in a few days.’

  Vonal looked at him incredulously, then shook his head. ‘Okay, listen up,’ he said. ‘When y
ou get to the top, keep going. Don’t come down again, don’t try to follow us out. Got it?’

  Lütt-Ebbins nodded.

  ‘Take plenty of supplies, something to sleep in. Got a radio?’

  ‘Only the Stub.’

  ‘Get something else, you won’t pick up the network outside. What about a gun?’

  ‘I’m armed.’

  ‘Okay, so head for the mountain. Go round it and stay on course south. All the way to the foothills. Remember, if you’re low on oxygen, don’t run. Stay calm, keep walking. I’ll try to send out a search team.’

  ‘You’d better go, Vonal.’

  Vonal embraced him, slapping his back. Then they parted, Vonal setting off at a run.

  ‘I’m not just doing it for myself,’ Lütt-Ebbins called out. ‘Remember? We did this for everyone.’

  Vonal lifted a hand, still running. ‘You’re a good man, Lütt,’ he yelled, ‘see you soon.’

  Lütt-Ebbins watched him go, unable to move until he’d witnessed him climb aboard. He waved the driver away, waved away the protests and the masked faces leaning out to stare.

  ‘What are you doing?’ a thin voice was screaming, ‘what the hell are you doing?’

  ‘Go!’ he cried, backing away, ‘I’m going overland. I’m going over ...’

  His voice was drowned out by an explosion above the control tower. He retreated, running from the downpour of smouldering concrete and clanging beams. As the tower started to collapse, leaning impossibly to one side before one of its legs gave way, he backed off further until he was looking obliquely down both sets of tracks, alone in a clamour of alarms and boarding messages and flashing displays. The spectral train was shrinking, accelerating into the tunnel, a chain of brownish sparks kicking up raggedly beneath it. The noise of the horn dipped away beneath the terrible blaring roar coming from the speakers and then faded, the headlights vanishing in whorls of smoke.

  He continued to retreat, the ochre depths of the cargo bay flickering menacingly, the once pale and lofty roof split and cratered. Still the burning tapers blew around, some extinguishing as they fell, others burning brightly, tossed like streamers thrown from buildings during some unimaginable time of celebration.

  He turned to survey the barricades, the overturned trucks, beyond which stood the raging lobby. An electric door in the entrance was flapping back and forth like a huge crazed wing. He hesitated. For a long and dreadful moment he thought about running after the train, then he forced himself on again.

  Once inside the lobby he had to protect his face from the heat. The photoplates, even the loudspeakers were burning. He ran up the stairs two, three at a time, bellowing Stoeckl’s name.

  ~O~

  Entering the cavern, he believed himself to have touched upon the trailing roots of the mountain. He lifted his face to the cool steady breeze, bracing himself for the climb that would take him away, lift him, deliver him to the place he’d dreamt of for so long. And as he set off towards his destiny, it was all he could do not to weep in considering what freedoms awaited him. What people. What worlds.

  The floor was like wet black soap underfoot and he trod slowly and with great deliberation, the thin beam of his torch straying like a hair between those vaulted ribs of rock, a massive and darkly arching structure whose lower parts were composed of hollow recesses which seemed to bow visibly under the terrible weight they were supporting, their overgrown and limey shanks riddled with gaps and holes revealing wet glints of chambers beyond. He walked on, crossing from one side of that silent hall to the other should other routes away expose themselves; but none did, and he had no choice but to continue ahead. The smooth black floor was cut with florid shapes and deep organic tracings. It began to dip away, and he followed the moist downward pathways with cautious steps, hearing the distant pitter and gloop of water.

  ~O~

  Eventually he stopped in an open space within the cavern’s lower organs, his hair and clothing damp from endless spatterings of water. He shivered as he peered over the torchbeam. Less certain now, questioning why he’d left the base as he had, why he’d gone searching for the lift instead of climbing a shaft up to the systems station; smoke or no smoke, fires or not. To be beneath the sky, he thought ... to be running free ...

  Droplets were falling from the roof in a steady rainfall. He saw them spattering on milky tombs of rock, welling blackly in stone pools. Nearby was one such trembling sink, and squatting down at it, he disturbed a thick crust overlying the pool’s rim and saw the sediment fall with a plop among a host of teeming lifeforms. A fringe of black moss was swaying in the water. Beneath it he could see slender creatures like eels, snapping as they turned. A race of tiny crabs were crawling blindly away and he watched as they navigated the polyp-infested horrors of their domain and descended to the shadows. Colours of ivory decay in that pool, around it soft shards of blackened porcelains. Raised edges like putrid teeth. He put a tentative hand into the water and then snatched it out from the cold, watching the eels dart ribbonlike to the darknesses they knew. He was beginning to wonder if they were edible when he heard a faint noise, a kind of scuffing. He swivelled on his haunches to listen.

  Nothing. Then the scuffing came again.

  He rose, swallowing.

  For a minute he did nothing more, just waited for the noise to develop, become something else, and then he raised his torchbeam and sent it flashing round, sent it near and far, sent it to places he did not wish to explore. Deep clefts shrank luridly away from him. Rounded sculptures lurched forward, mute and sweating. He pulled out a military knife he’d found in the offices, and with no idea what he’d do with it, he gripped it in one hand and with the other shot the beam around again, swivelling, searching randomly, jousting as if to provoke the noise-maker, trick it into appearing, giving itself away. But there was nothing to see but distant showers of dripping water, empty notches and clefts. Black ripples trembling within cold bowels of rock.

  He listened a while longer, and then he thought of the countless tiny creatures which must infest such a warrenlike system, and by and by he tried to focus his thoughts on why he was there, why he’d come to the cavern at all. The word strata came to him, and he seized upon it gladly. Strata. The idea of natural gaps and seams and folds, crude flaws he might find his way into and use for climbing to levels above. He thought how it was that the water was pouring down, thought of all the pockets and gulleys it must have travelled through in order to reach the roof. In doing so, he warmed himself into believing that just such a flaw was somewhere close by, the rocks assembled like a ladder up which he could ascend.

  Hitching up his bag, he went on again, crossing the braided water where it welled and broke and welled again on its piecemeal journey into the ancient dark.

  ~O~

  Moth going deeper into the blackness, following a dark and icy brook as it meandered. Moth stopping with his torch, flashing it behind and up in the heights where long dark teeth grew down between inaccessible keyholes and leaking fissures.

  Then he turned. Quickly, instinctively. He stood listening, unsure. It might have been scuffing again, but it might not have been.

  Reminding himself of strata, natural folds, he continued ahead, turning his collar up against the droplets. Before long, he passed a group of calcified figures that stood gazing mysteriously outwards like some silent brethren gathered there to observe the centuries toll by. They seemed to observe him as he went, their milky visages cratered and arcane, obliquely hooded, massed in running sores. Discomforted, unable to shrug off a niggling concern, he looked back up the long stone throat he’d descended, but found little there to draw him back again. Little to persuade him to turn around.

  He stood a while in the rain, just listening. Then, pulling down his mask, he wiped it out and exhaled. ‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘let’s go, get climbing.’ He replaced the mask and went on again, maintaining a downward course until finally he left the black guts of dripping rock and found himself in prospect of a vast
subterranean lake.

  He watched it glint and ripple, the largest body of water he had ever known. Matching the dreams deep in his mind of seas or rivers, albeit for the moment he was far from where the sun touched upon such elements, there on the fair face of the surface lands. With the breeze lifting, twitching his hair, he looked out towards the draughty flues that flanked the lake on either side, thinking that at last he was close to a place to start climbing from; and then on hearing a disturbance, the clack of falling pebbles, he swung round and sent his torch streaking to a ledge.

  To find a creature watching him.

  It was the goat. His face hung pale and aghast as he saw the light glittering in its eyes, its horns reared in curving lines of shadow. He stared at it in terror, watching as it moved, turning a fraction as if to observe him sidelong from above the drop.

  He did not realise he was backing away from it until he felt the water’s coldness, felt it tugging at his trouserlegs. He could not turn from the creature, did not dare to, needed it framed in his sight until he’d put as much distance between them as possible. But as he retreated, so it skipped aside to somewhere he couldn’t see, and before he could follow it with the torch it had vanished, leapt nimbly away. He waded backwards, passing the beam from those layered shelves on high to a wash of fallen stones and back again, then sent it further away, then further still, then swept it back to the ledges, gasping as he caught a dark shape jumping down a level. Twisting and stepping swiftly. Unerring. A creature sure of its purpose. Its will to do him harm.