Always Forever (75 page)

Ruth jabbed a finger excitedly. "There's the tunnel!"

To get to it would mean passing through the flickering creatures. Veitch
gave Ruth a reassuring smile. "Head down. Stay right behind me. Don't let
them get a hold of you."

He barrelled into the mass of them, lashing his sword in front of him. Ruth
kept exactly in his step, her heart thundering as hands clutched at her clothes;
some caught but were pulled free; others ripped through her hair without getting any purchase.

Just as they were about to dive into the tunnel, one of the Baobhan Sith
latched on to Veitch. Ruth saw the transformation from mist to solid form as its
mouth tore wide to expose the unbelievably pointed teeth. The powerful jaw
muscles heaved as the head swept down to Veitch's neck.

At the last moment Ruth jabbed the Spear into the creature's mouth. The fangs smashed down on it and the thing shimmered into nothingness. Veitch
dragged Ruth into the small tunnel.

Though breathless, they couldn't slow down. They could feel the presence
of the Baobhan Sith at their backs like an icy shadow. In the main tunnel they
headed southbound, acutely aware that they might run into more Fomorii and
be trapped between the two forces.

The torch cast barely enough light to see, and it was hard running across the
uneven tracks without tripping, but the Baobhan Sith drove on ceaselessly.

"They're not going to let up, are they?" Ruth gasped. "What do we dokeep running until we're face to face with Balor?" At the mention of the name
the air temperature noticeably dropped several degrees and a deep, resonant
rustling, like whispering voices, rose up on the edge of their hearing. Ruth
resolved not to say that name again.

"We've got to lose those grey bastards before we can do anything." Veitch
spotted another side tunnel, this time leading to the northbound tracks. He
headed towards it. They continued southbound, both beginning to flag. A hundred yards further on they came upon a doorway leading to the conduit for
power lines and fibre optics. The Baobhan Sith were almost upon them as Veitch
wrenched the door open, thrust Ruth inside and slammed it shut behind him.
He jammed his sword into the frame and twisted it so the handle wouldn't open.

They could sense the Baobhan Sith moving beyond the door as they collapsed against the wall and sucked in mouthfuls of air. "That should hold them
until they raise the alarm." Veitch rubbed his tired eyes. "Good job they're
morons with no initiative."

"We better get moving before the Fomorii turn up," Ruth said. "I tell you,
I could do with a sleep."

"We'll get some downtime once we find a safe place to hole up."

"I suppose we've lost the others?"

"We can't go back for them, can we? They'll be there." A heavy pause. "At
the end. You can count on it."

The conduit lay beyond another door. It was lined with cables and wires, but
they could walk along it at a stoop. Every time they came to a branching conduit, they turned, right, then left. After half an hour they found another inspection door and exited into a tunnel.

"Well, I have no bleedin' idea where we are now." Veitch headed left,
hoping it would lead them back towards the City.

"All we need to do is find another station." Ruth eyed the torch worryingly;
the flame was burning very low.

They continued along the tunnel for a little way until their path was
blocked by a large, dark object: a tube train. "Don't worry-we can squeeze by
it," Veitch said.

But as they edged along the side of the train, Ruth looked up and cried out
in shock. The torchlight revealed the dirty windows were streaked with blood
in explosive, paint-gun patterns. Inside she could just make out the shapes of
bodies. It was hard to tell from her perspective, but they didn't appear to be in
one piece. The sour-apple stink of decomposition was thick in the air.

Veitch noticed it too. "The doors have been torn off," he noted.

Ruth could just make out small figures too, and frail, old ones. She fought
back tears; the terrible waste still tore a hole in her heart. "The Fomorii must have
moved out across the city through the network when their leader was reborn."

Veitch peered in through the ragged doorway. "Poor bastards. Didn't stand
a chance."

From ahead came the tramp of many feet. Ruth and Veitch were halfway
along the carriage, squeezed tight against the dirty, oily walls. They wouldn't be
able to make it back to the open tunnel before the Fomorii arrived.

"In here," Veitch whispered. He crawled up through the doorway into the
body of the carriage, pulling out his handkerchief and pressing it against his
face. Ruth shook her head furiously in primal disgust, but she knew it was the
best option. She screwed her eyes shut, covered her nose and mouth and followed
Witch in.

He guided her along the floor away from the open doors, but even with her
eyes shut she had a visceral image of the scene around her. She brushed against
hard and lifeless things that swung or shifted dramatically with a soft, wet
sound. The floor was puddled with a thick, sticky substance; though her mouth
was covered, the stench made her retch. Her stomach heaved time and again,
and she didn't know how she managed to keep it silent, but then her eyes filled
with tears at the thought of what had happened and somehow that helped.

Veitch took the torch, which was so low it barely cast any light, and said he'd
shield it with "something he'd found"; Ruth didn't ask what that was. They'd
barely ended their exchange when the carriage rocked madly as the Fomorii
barged past on either side. The two of them slid backwards and forwards on the
slick floor. Ruth had to jam her hands and feet against the sides of the seats to
stop herself skidding back towards the doorway. She almost lost her grip when
Veitch slammed his boot heel into her face, but a moment after that the violent
movement subsided. They exited the carriage a little sooner than safety would
have suggested, but even then they couldn't escape the stink from their fouled
clothes; nor the thought of all the atrocities that had been committed.

A little further on they smelled smoke, and as they progressed they realised they
could make out a faint glow tinting the tunnel walls. They moved in closer to
one wall and edged forward cautiously. The smoke grew thicker, the light
brighter.

Round a bend in the tunnel they glimpsed several fires burning. After so
many hours of darkness it took a while for their eyes to adjust to the glare, and
when they did they pulled back quickly. Several Fomorii were moving amongst
piles of burning rubbish. It was obviously some kind of checkpoint or guard camp.

Veitch cursed quietly. "We're never going to get past that."

"I bet they've got camps like that all around the perimeter of their core area."

"There was a door further back. We will find a way past the bastards."

"I wish we could get some of that fire." Ruth examined what remained of
the torch.

They retraced their steps to an unmarked door almost lost in the gloom.
Veitch used his dagger to smash the lock and they slipped into a clean corridor
that led on to a large thoroughfare. It had a hard Tarmac surface and there were
military-style stencils on the wall pointing to locations obviously written in code.

"These must be the tunnels the Government set up in the fifties and sixties
in case of a nuclear strike," Ruth said. "A good way to save all the great and good
and leave the poor bastards to die. Probably a favour. Who'd want to live in a
world filled with politicians, the military, businessmen and the aristocracy?"

"We're well and truly bleedin' lost now," Veitch said angrily. "Why did it
have to be me who fucked up again?"

When he was like that there was no consoling him. "Pick a direction," she
said dismally. "It'll take us somewhere."

His anger grew more intense as it became obvious they were moving off the
beaten track. The well-tended road gave way to rough ground, the tunnel
became unfinished: bare brick, then girders and scaffolding, before they came to
a thick barrier of sleepers and planks.

Veitch smashed his fist against the wall, as hard as if he was punching
someone in the face, but his rage wiped away any pain he might have felt. When
he turned, Ruth could see his knuckles were ragged.

She cowered as he stormed around searching for something to attack. "We
fucked up!" he yelled.

"We can go-"

"No! We! Can't!" His furious face thrust an inch away from hers. Suddenly
she was terrified; she couldn't see any sign of the funny, gentle Veitch she had
known from the quieter times they had shared.

She took a step back, but didn't show her fear. "Pull yourself together."

"What?" His eyes ranged wildly as though she wasn't there.

"I said, pull yourself together. You're the hero here-"

"Hero! I'm the bleedin' loser! Same as I always was!" He flailed his arm,
obviously some sort of primal gesture to wave her away. But instead he caught
the torch and knocked it from her weak grip. It smashed into pieces on the floor,
the flame now a faint flicker along one of the shards.

"Ryan!" Ruth dropped to her knees desperately, but there was nothing to
save.

"Oh, fuck! Now look what I've done!" He ran over and kicked the wall hard.

Ruth only saw what happened next from the corner of her eye as she bent
down trying to pull the remaining pieces of wood together to keep the flame
going. Weakened by his punches, the wall collapsed. Veitch plunged forward
into a gulf beyond and a shower of rubble fell down reclosing the opening.

Ruth covered her head until the fall had ended, but none of the debris touched
her. She looked at the faint flame and then slowly took in her surroundings.

"Oh, Ryan," she whispered. And then the tears came in force.

When she finally regained control of her emotions, Ruth wiped her eyes and
resolved to find a way out of her predicament. She wasn't going to be beaten.
She certainly wasn't going to die down there. Balor had to be beaten, humanity
had to be saved and, more importantly-she had to laugh at that strange
truth-she had to see Church again. Even if she had to crawl along pitch-black
tunnels to find a way out.

The flame was barely more than a candle's height on the splinters of wood.
It became trimmed briefly with blue and then began to gutter.

Here we go, she thought. Prepare yourself.

Then, as the flame finally began to die, she became aware of other lights in the
dark. At first she dismissed it as an optical illusion caused by the sharp contrast of
shadow and light on her retina. The flame became the size of her fingernail.

Almost gone now.

But the other lights remained; tiny, glittering stars sweeping across the firmament. She scanned them curiously, and then, just as the flame finally died she
realised what she was seeing and her blood ran cold.

Darkness swept up around her and she heard the sharp skittering sound as
the first rat moved forward.

Veitch fell fifteen feet into freezing water, slamming his head hard on the way
down. The cold and wet kept him conscious, but the dark was so all-consuming
he couldn't tell up from down. The water came up to his thighs and by
stretching out slowly on either side he realised he was in some kind of small
tunnel or gully as wide as the span of his arms. He spent ten minutes trying to
find where he had fallen and attempting to climb back up, but it was impossible
to see, and more rubble kept falling. Dejected and afraid he might be pinned by
another collapse, he began to wade wearily forward.

He continued for what he guessed was around an hour, pausing occasionally
to rest against the wall and catch minutes of microsleep. He couldn't even feel
his lower legs and he wondered how long it would be before hypothermia set in.
But whatever set him apart as a Brother of Dragons made him resilient, helped
him to heal; he'd keep going, he thought dismally. He hated himself. He hated
himself so much he considered lying down in the water and drowning himself,
but it wasn't in his nature. So he had to continue with the infinitely worse
burden of his guilt, thinking about what he had done to Ruth, punishing himself by images of her wandering along inky corridors until the inevitable end
came. It had all been his fault; he could almost have scripted it.