Terminal (48 page)

‘I've absolutely no idea,' Will replied. ‘Something must have rattled him. He's nothing like Bartleby – that's for sure.'

For a moment Mrs Burrows remained in the doorway, staring at her son with her sightless eyes. She sniffed, then said, ‘Supper's nearly ready. Hope you're hungry?'

‘Certainly am, Mum,' he replied.

At first it had felt a little peculiar to be part of his mother's new life in the Colony, her apparent domestic bliss with the First Officer. But in a way, Will believed that he had every right to be there; he was making up for lost time because he'd never known anything like it when they'd lived together in Highfield. All through those years, Mrs Burrows had been far from a perfect mother as she occupied her days with her beloved television and not much else. Certainly not cooking meals for him!

‘Can you guess what we're having?' she said, smiling as she and her son went through their little routine.

‘Um … not pennybun stew, by any chance?' Will replied, playing the game and acting as if this was some startling novelty when the large mushrooms were just about the only thing that Colonists ate, day in, day out.

Mrs Burrows cleared her throat. ‘Eliza tells me that Stephanie came to see you yet again today,' she said matter-offactly because she knew Will was still missing Elliott terribly. ‘It wouldn't do you any harm to let the poor girl in and talk to her.'

‘Maybe …' Will replied noncommittally. ‘When I feel better.'

Mrs Burrows wasn't going to push the point; she was just on the way out of the room when Will said, ‘If that cat isn't coming back, can you shut the door, please, Mum?'

‘You really like the dark now, don't you?' she said.

He'd asked to have the luminescent orb removed from the fitting in the middle of the ceiling because, even shrouded, it had been keeping him awake. Of course it made no difference to Mrs Burrows if there was light or not, and every Colonist had been raised to live with constant illumination, even during periods of sleep, because the orbs burnt unceasingly.

‘I do. Yes,' he answered and, as she pulled the door shut, Will let out a long sigh, relishing the pitch black in the room.

Ah, the wonderful, chocolatey darkness,
he thought to himself, allowing it to lap over him now he was alone.

In the silence of the house, snatches of his mother's conversation with the First Officer carried down the corridor from the kitchen. She was talking about the Hunter's strange behaviour, then there was a large crash as she dropped something and swore loudly. It sounded like a pan, so it was probably their supper hitting the deck. Mrs Burrows evidently still had a lot of catching up to do when it came to domesticity.

There was the low rumble of the First Officer's voice – Will couldn't make out the words, but he sounded concerned. Then Will heard his mother announce, quite clearly because she was at the kitchen door and facing down the corridor, ‘I know you'll think me mad, but I tell you – I
can
smell Styx. It's faint, but it's in this house!'

The First Officer's booming laugh filled the building. ‘You
are
mad,' he said with affection.

‘Too right, mate. She
is
mad,' Will echoed in a whisper, chuckling to himself.

He stopped chuckling as the realisation struck home.

The way Bartleby was reacting to him.

His sudden yearning to be in the dark.

His mother's supersense, which was rarely wrong.

Will placed a hand on his stomach, gingerly feeling it. Jiggs had said that the Styx grubs might have left something behind: chemicals … enzymes …

Will sat up slowly.

Was he somehow changing?

Changing into something else?

Changing into a
Styx
?

He held quite still for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Does this never end?' he cried.

 

 

 

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank:

Barry Cunningham, publisher and editor of the Tunnels series, without whom there would have been no beginning and no end. He has the patience of a saint (he's needed it when dealing with me), and the imagination, empathy and the light touch that have helped and encouraged me through all these books. So, thank you for everything, Barry. We finally did it. We got there. Now where's that film you promised?

I would also like to thank …

You. If it wasn't for all you readers out there, who have supported my series over the years, there's no way that I'd be writing these words at this very moment. So thank you. And, yes, I do care about what you think, and I do read your reviews!

The Chicken House: Rachel, Nicki, Steve and Esther, and all the rest of the team who have made the books what they are.

Karen Everitt, who has been so instrumental in keeping me on the right track with each instalment, and has spotted all the things I've missed. And there have been many!

And all those people throughout the world who have helped with the series and made such a difference. I know I'm going to put noses out of joint by not listing all your names, but I'd like to give the following a particular mention: Sirius Homes (aka Javier Recari Ansa), Kirill Barybin, Mathew Horsman, Joel Guelzo, Simon Wilkie, Craig Turner, and Julian Power.

And, of course, my hard-put-upon family, Sophie, George and Frankie, who are now allowed back in my study again. I find I can only write books because I have an almost religious conviction that I'm doing the right thing, and I know that sometimes it isn't easy for those around me.

And lastly I want to say goodbye to my friend. Will, I'm really going to miss you.

Roderick Gordon

But if you leave me to love another you'll regret it all some day,
You are my sunshine …

Please don't take my sunshine away.

You Are My Sunshine
by
Jimmie Davis and Charles Mitchell,
1940

 

 

Helen Hayes, published in
Guideposts
(January, 1960). Walt Whitman, ‘Salut au Monde!', first published in
Leaves of Grass
, Second Edition (1856).

Every effort has been made to trace or contact all copyright holders. The publishers would be pleased to rectify any errors or omissions brought to their notice at the earliest opportunity.

 

 

 

 

 

From The Chicken House

I can't believe this is the last part of the bestselling Tunnels series. I've waited so long to find out why, when and oh no – not that!

The secrets revealed here are deep, rich and satisfying – there's sadness, joy and excitement, too.

Rod Gordon has continued the original Tunnels vision to a stunning and terrifying conclusion. The only thing left to find out is: how did it all start? Answers, please!

Barry Cunningham

Publisher

 

 

 

Text © Roderick Gordon 2013
Cover illustration © David Wyatt 2013
All inside illustrations and chapter headers © Kirill Barybin 2013, except for
“Bartleby Kitten” © Roderick Gordon 2013.

First paperback edition published in Great Britain in 2013
This electronic edition published in 2013
The Chicken House
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ISBN 978-1-908435-43-9
ePub eISBN 978-1-908435-97-2