The Fifth Room

by A J Rushby

  When I hear nothing, I get up, round the back of the bunker and run for the trees as fast as I can.

  With my half run, half limp, it takes me longer than I’d like to reach them. I’m only a few steps into the tree line when I falter. I don’t know how feasible my plan is. The trees are pretty dense and it’s dark. I can’t see where I’m going, or know that I’m going in the right direction, and anything could be underfoot or nearby—animals, a hole, a stream. Thinking, I turn ninety degrees to my right, but keep just inside the tree line. I’ll make my way to the road, but keep inside the tree line in case I need shelter. The road will have to lead to a village or a house. Something with a phone.

  It takes me what feels like forever to reach the road. I walk slowly, feeling my way through the trees, tiring again.

  I hear it before I see it, as a car passes by and I see a flash of headlights. It can’t be far now.

  A few more steps and there it is. Just beyond the next few trees and a small rock wall.

  Being careful to keep to the shelter of the trees, I take a sharp left. I see a wide footpath running along the side of the road, outside of the tree line, but I don’t dare make my way over to it. It would be quicker, but someone else might drive past at any moment, and the Society’s car will surely be driving back and forth along this road. I can’t risk it.

  As if to prove my point, I hear a vehicle approaching and take a few steps back, ducking down behind a large tree, worried that my light-coloured shirt will do me no favours and I’ll be spotted.

  The car passes by, and when I can’t hear another, I force myself to push onwards, weaving my way through the trees. Though towards what, I really don’t know.

  ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-ONE AND A HALF HOURS AWAKE

  As I continue along beside the road, the trees become more and more sparse. I find I have to listen for cars and then run as fast as I can to hide behind the next one. I also begin to notice something—it’s getting harder for me to concentrate. I’m obviously well overdue for my next dose of medication now and I’m truly starting to feel the effects, the pain from my leg not working to keep me awake any longer. I wonder how long I’ve got before I’m too tired to continue and what I’ll do then. I’m not supposed to stop taking the drugs this way. The plan was to gradually decrease them and begin sleeping normally again. I don’t know how long I’ve got up my sleeve until I can’t go on, but I do know I can’t afford to waste any time.

  I slap my own cheek. Concentrate.

  The next tree being even further away from the last one, I pause and visualise the task in front of me—continue along this road until I find some kind of dwelling with a phone in it. Hopefully an unoccupied dwelling.

  There are no streetlights along the road, so I have to rely on the moonlight to guide me. I keep going, running from tree to tree. At one point, I hear a rustling from some long grass not too far away from me and I freeze, my stomach clenching in fear. Eventually a small brown rabbit jumps out of the grass, looks directly at me and then takes off again at a great speed, though I’m not so sure who was more afraid of who for a moment there.

  I run to the next tree and, finally, I see something. A shape. Not too far ahead. Some kind of building. Not a house—it’s larger than that. It looks industrial. Like a storage shed or something.

  I stop and listen. I can’t hear anything. Taking another few seconds to make sure, I move into action, leaving the cover of the last tree behind and racing towards the building. When I get there, I press myself up against the side of it, out of view of the road, then inch closer towards the front to see what the place is.

  I have to be careful—there’s a light shining down from its roof, illuminating the signage and the huge metal doors below. It looks like a mechanic’s workshop, I see now. The doors are bolted together with a heavy chain and padlock, but there’s also another door, further along on the opposite corner, which seems like it might be the entrance to a small office space. I don’t want to run out under the light, so I make my way around the back of the building, stepping carefully as I go, avoiding car tyres, large metal drums and two cars out the back. I’m in luck, I see, as I round the corner and head up the other side—there’s a long window along the front part of the building where the office must be.

  When I reach the window I peer inside. Thanks to the light shining at the front of the building, I can see more than I’ve been able to see since I left the bunker. There’s a desk below the window and a filing cabinet beside it … with a cordless phone on top.

  My eyes stare at the phone for what feels like a very long time. I wouldn’t even need to climb in through the window. The phone is there. Right there. I’d be able to reach it easily.

  I pull back and scan the rest of the building. I can’t see any sort of area where someone would be living or sleeping. There’s no sticker on the window suggesting there’s an alarm and I can’t see any kind of external system on the building. And it is a small town, after all …

  I listen for cars. Not hearing any, I duck out into the light and quickly check the front door, twisting the handle. It’s locked. I’d thought it would be, but you never know your luck …

  I go back around to the window and assess my situation. I don’t want to break the window, but the phone is right there, tempting me. I could take my pants off and wrap them around my hand, but I can’t risk getting hurt again.

  Wait …

  I remember something then and turn towards the back of the building once more. I’d seen bricks stacked around the tyres of one of the cars back there. Not wanting to lose another second, I make my way around there, grab a brick and then run back again as fast as my knee will let me.

  When I get back to the window, I pause to think. I consider wrapping the brick in my pants, but it’s going to be noisy however this happens, so I ditch that idea. Instead, I stand back and hurl the brick at the glass. It shatters instantly.

  And an alarm goes off.

  The piercing noise floods my brain so that I can’t think of anything else. I freeze for a moment and then jolt into action, realising I have to move. Now. Before the police or the owner arrive.

  I run back out to where the trees line the road and take a left, stumbling on a rock as I go. Despite the alarm still clawing at the quiet of the night, I can hear nothing else. No cars. No police siren.

  Despite the adrenalin pumping through my body, it desperately wants to slow down. I’m getting tired now. Really tired. My eyes are heavy, my feet reluctant and my knee throbs. But I have to keep going.

  I look ahead then and am almost overjoyed to see streetlights up ahead. So I was right to come this way after all. I am heading into town.

  I take off again then, faster now, ignoring my body. I’m spurred on by the thought of civilisation. Of people who aren’t connected to the Society.

  The noise of the alarm fades into the distance as I keep running towards the streetlights. I can see houses now. They’re not far. Just across that …

  I halt in my tracks.

  It’s a rail overpass.

  I see the sign, illuminated by the first set of streetlights, before I see the bridge itself.

  Hiding behind the final tree, I try to get a closer look at what I’m up against. Peering out, I can see the railway tracks are quite some way below the bridge. There’s no way down and back up again. It’s across the bridge or nothing.

  But how wise is it to cross the bridge? I’ll be completely exposed for at least thirty seconds or so. Up to a minute even, when I factor in the time taken from leaving this tree to hiding on the other side and my limping.

  Surely a police car will come past at any moment now. Or at least the owner, who will have been alerted the alarm has gone off. And the Society will, of course, be very interested in any strange happenings in the area. If they see a police car or hear a siren, they’ll have their car here in a moment to see what’s going on. They’ll be wanting to find me before the police do, I’m sure of it.

 
I pause behind the last tree, my eyes glued to the bridge, and assess the risk.

  I can’t see that I have much choice though. It’s either cross or go back.

  And going back isn’t an option.

  ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO HOURS AWAKE

  I watch the bridge and what lies beyond it for a minute or two, scanning for signs of life. When I can’t see anything and still can’t hear any cars, I take off. I want to run faster than I’ve ever run in my life, but I can’t. I’m so tired now. So slow. I feel as if I’m running through glue. My body is failing me and my knee throbs and burns, but I ignore it. I hit the bridge and scream at myself internally. Keep going. Faster. I’ve got to get to the other side. I’ve got to hide.

  I hear the police siren before I see it. My eyes widen as I take in the distance I’ve yet to cover. But I’m about three-quarters of the way across and there’s no going back now. I pump my arms harder and keep going, my eyes searching for cover before I reach the end of the bridge.

  I dive behind a hedge just as the police car rounds a corner up ahead and the siren gets louder still. I watch as it speeds past me, the blue, neon yellow and Politi lettering a blur, and then heads over the bridge in the direction I’ve come from. Then I wait behind the hedge in case there’s another car, but it seems there’s only one.

  Everything’s quiet again.

  No one seems to have been woken by the disturbance. Or if they have, they haven’t come outside to see what’s going on. My body tells me to pause for a nap, so I pinch myself yet again and think about what to do next. It looks like there’s a large four-way intersection at the end of this road. There’s a sign too, and I memorise the names on it so I know where I am.

  On the other side of the road, opposite me, is another hedge and what I think is a garden beyond. I’m guessing it belongs to a house fronting the main road.

  I’m not sure what’s across and to the left of the intersection, but across and to the right of it is a church with a large blue front door.

  Just in case I didn’t feel guilty enough about breaking and entering.

  I look back at the intersection, which I see in double for a second or two until I blink hard and force my eyes to try again. No, I can’t risk it. It’s too well lit and it’s also the road that leads from town to the bunker and the mechanic’s workshop. It’s going to have to be over that other hedge. In fact, the bushes look like they might even be thin enough to push through.

  When I’m sure I can’t hear anything, I sprint across the road, my eyes trained on the hedge on the other side, searching for the weakest spot. When I get to it I grasp at it with my hands, pushing the thin branches aside. It’s sturdier than it looks, and I have to get right down on my knees and push harder still, sliding my body in sideways. One of the branches pulls through my hands and strikes out painfully at my neck. I keep going, my torso finally bursting through to the other side, then I turn and pull my legs through behind me as well.

  Finally through, I lie down on my back, close my eyes and catch my breath. Which is obviously a mistake, because, before I know it, I jerk awake. Had I actually fallen asleep then? I don’t know. I have to be careful. I have to stay awake.

  Rubbing my neck, I roll onto my side and push myself up, taking in my surroundings. It is a house, like I thought—a little cottage with a steeply angled roof. There’s a car in the paved driveway, which makes me think someone is probably home. Asleep, I hope.

  My feet don’t make any noise as I cross the grass and then the paved driveway. I head for the back door and what seems to be a porch that leads into the house itself.

  When I get to the door, I check through the window on the right hand side of it. It does look like a porch, as I can see shoes below and a few gardening bits and pieces.

  I reach out and twist the door knob hopefully.

  It’s not locked.

  Slowly, carefully, quietly, I push the door, which miraculously opens without a squeak. Once I’m inside, I close it behind me again, equally carefully. The owners could be awake due to the police siren, could have a dog … I just don’t know.

  The porch door closed, I keep my eyes trained on the inner door that will lead inside the house. As noiselessly as I can, I take the few steps needed to cross the tiled floor and rest my hand on the knob.

  Please, please let it be unlocked.

  I begin to twist the knob, expecting all the while to feel that sudden resistance.

  But I don’t. It keeps on twisting all the way round.

  It’s unlocked.

  I can barely believe my luck.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I open the door as soundlessly as I can and enter the house, reminding myself not to make any sudden movements. I can’t afford to stumble again or to knock anything over. I just need to find a phone. That’s all. Just a phone. One I can take with me and leave the house, like a cordless. Maybe even a mobile, which would be even better.

  I look around me, squinting in the dark. I think I’ve entered the kitchen and living areas. The kitchen is on my right, the living area on my left. Perfect. There’s got to be a phone here somewhere. The kitchen bench I can see a few steps directly ahead of me. I can also see the silver door of a fridge shining as the moonlight enters the window. But I can’t see further into the room to spot a phone. I also can’t turn a light on. I get an idea then and take a few steps to my right to crack open the fridge door.

  Yellowish light streams out, enabling me to see further into the room.

  And there’s the phone on the other end of the kitchen bench.

  A beautiful, charged cordless phone. All I have to do now is walk over, take it out of its cradle, close the fridge door and leave the same way I came in.

  I take my first step towards the phone, but pause as I hear a sound. A ker-thunk echoes down the hallway. I frown. It doesn’t sound like footsteps. I listen harder and then jump as something furry winds around my legs.

  It’s then that I realise my mistake. It’s heard the fridge. It’s heard the fridge open and it’s come running.

  Miaow, the cat says, looking up at me hopefully.

  When I don’t move towards the fridge immediately, it becomes more insistent.

  Miaow, it says again, louder this time, head-butting my legs.

  I take a step to the right and reach over and snatch the phone from its cradle. I’ll take the phone outside and make the call. The reception should be fine.

  There’s only one problem, I see as I turn round.

  Which is the dachshund waiting behind me.

  I freeze as the dog and I look at each other for a moment and then it begins to bark. Not angrily, but happily, glad for some overnight excitement.

  In my head, I swear, take a few steps over and close the fridge door.

  That’s when the voice calls out. I can’t make out what the dog’s name is, or what its owner says, but the voice is insistent—it’s telling it to be quiet.

  The dog jumps up on me and begins barking even louder.

  The cat miaows.

  The voice calls out again.

  A light switches on.

  I run back towards the door, but I misjudge the corner of the bench and crack my hip on it in my haste. My hand flies out and knocks something off the bench.

  I’m out the internal door in a moment, the cat and dog both at my feet. A few more steps and I’m out the external door as well, which slams behind me with a bang. That’s when I feel the phone, which is still in my hand. I drop it, knowing it will be useless to me now, and start running. I’m halfway down the driveway when the voice yells out at me, but I don’t stop.

  I keep running.

  I run straight across the four-lane road, barely even looking for cars as I go.

  Luckily there aren’t any nearby.

  That is, until I cross the fourth lane and the black Audi that’s quite some way down the road begins to speed up and head straight for me.

  ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-TWO AND A HALF HOURS AWAKE

/>   I’ve got to get off the road.

  Now.

  As the Audi’s tyres screech and the car speeds towards me throatily, I move into action.

  I have no choice but to run for my life. I jump over the gutter, hit the footpath and run as fast as my body will let me. I round the side of the church, the motion-activated lights flicking on as I run past, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

  I don’t stop to think. I don’t strategise. I don’t worry about the right way or the wrong way.

  I just run as fast as my body is able.

  That’s all I have left now.

  I pass by graves, run down some grass and end up on a small side road. It curves downwards, a small café sitting on the corner. There’s a sort of dead end further along, but just before that the road sections off to the left as well, curving around and then dropping further still. I follow it down that way, passing by some industrial-looking silver sheds. As I continue, I see a boat, and then another boat. That’s when I slow, my head whipping this way and that. I’m close to the water, which probably isn’t the best place to be. Most likely the road will end and I’ll be stuck.

  They’ll find me down here for sure.

  And what they’ll do to me then … I think about that journalist. The one who’d tried to out the Society in Argentina.

  I turn back and head for the dead end. I was pretty sure I saw a gate, and as I approach it now, puffing as I run back up the hill, I see I’m right. I bolt towards it, stick my left foot on the bottom rung and scramble over the top of it, landing badly on my injured knee. Then I take off, trying to ignore the roaring, throbbing pain. Everything hurts. Everything stings as I sweat from both fear and the running. But at least I’m alert now. Far more alert than before—from the pain, and the adrenalin coursing through my veins.

  As I run along the small side road, the scenery on each side of me begins to change. Now it’s not industrial at all, but full of tall, leafy trees.

  Suddenly the trees vanish on either side of me, the clouds shift slightly and I’m presented with a moonlit view of some lush, green rolling hills. I slow down, frowning. After the industrial surroundings I’d been in before, this new setting feels strange and wrong. Is this someone’s house? It can’t be. Unless they’re crazy rich. I blink, glancing around me again. Water on one side, manicured grass on the other. Please don’t let this be the Danish royal family’s summer house, I think.