Alice Isn't Well (Death Herself Book 1) Page 7

  “This place used to be a pretty busy station,” Harry continued. “Got shut down just before the war, but there's no point letting it go to waste. There should be -”

  He stopped and turned as a distant boom rattled a nearby door, causing a rush of air that briefly agitated a few fires burning in nearby cans.

  “Why do they keep bombing us?” Wendy asked, feeling a catch of fear in her belly. “The war's in France, not here.”

  “The war's everywhere,” he replied, turning and continuing to make his way along the tunnel. “Don't worry, though, I'm sure our lads'll give 'em more than -”

  He stopped again as there was another boom, and this time the whole tunnel shook slightly, causing a drizzle of dust to fall from the ceiling.

  “We're perfectly safe under here,” Harry continued, although he sounded slightly less confident. “These tunnels were built to last. We'd have a chance even if there was a direct hit.”

  “You said people come here when they haven't got anywhere else to go,” Wendy replied, keeping close to him as they walked past another small, flickering fire on the floor. Although her whole body still hurt, she was determined not to show any weakness. “Does that mean my mother might be here?”

  “She might be, but -”

  “Can you ask?”

  “What's her name?”

  “Florence. Florence Hegatty.”

  “Well, I'll ask around,” he replied with a sigh, “but you mustn't get your hopes up, okay? This isn't a place where miracles happen, it's a place where people huddle together when the miracles have all run out. We help each other.” As they reached a spot where several people were sleeping on the floor, he had to carefully climb over the slumbering limbs, before reaching back to help Wendy over. “Sorry, kid, but space is at a premium down here. You just have to slot in where you can find a space, but there are plenty of other children around. Are you good at making friends?”

  “Okay, I suppose.”

  “Then you'll have to see if -”

  Another boom, closer this time, and the walls shook more than before. Looking back, Wendy saw that a few of the sleeping figures had begun to sit up, blinking in the low light cast by nearby fires. A few of them looked around with vacant expressions, before slowly settling back down one by one, some of them grumbling in the process. Some of them looked dead already, and Wendy couldn't help thinking about the catacombs she'd read about in school, where the dead lined the walls. She'd never been to such a place, of course, but she imagined it was much like this: cold, echoey and dark, with the promise of death around every corner. She felt guilty, but at the same time she couldn't help but feel a little afraid, especially when she noticed one old woman watching her through a half-closed eye that glistened in the light of a nearby fire.

  “You'll get used to it down here,” Harry told her. “I can promise you one thing, Wendy, and that's that no-one will hurt you, not if you stick close to the others. There's strength in numbers, you know.” He smiled as he heard her belly starting to rumble. “Hungry? Would you like some stew?”

  She paused for a moment, still watching the old woman, before turning to look up at him. Finally, she nodded, before spotting another corridor that led off from the one they'd been following. Unlike the others, however, this one was completely empty, and a lack of lights meant that all she could see at the other end was darkness.

  “What's along there?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied, taking her hand. “Just remember what I told you. There's strength in numbers. Never, ever go wandering off alone down here.”

  “But -”

  “It's really nothing,” he added, “just don't allow anyone to trick you into going along one of the corridors that isn't being used. There isn't anything along there that you need to see. Sometimes there are just...” He paused, as if there was something else to say, but after a moment he forced an uneasy smile. “Just take my advice, kid. Stay with the crowd.”

  With that, he began to lead her away, although she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder. With so many people crammed into the main corridors, it made no sense for other areas of the station to be left empty, but she figured there had to be a good reason.

  Suddenly there was another boom above, and the ceiling shook again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Today

  “Balmedon Lane,” the automated voice announced. “Next stop, Balmedon Lane.”

  Opening her eyes suddenly, Alice realized she must have fallen asleep at the back of the bus. She looked up at the indicator and saw to her relief that she hadn't missed her stop, but as she looked out the window at the dark city streets, she realized she should have found a few hours to sleep during the day. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out one of the caffeine drinks she'd been saving for the night-shift and decided to drink it early.

  As she tore the foil off the top, she looked at the bus ticket in her hand. Just one. She glanced at the seat next to her, and then along toward the front of the bus. There was no-one else on-board, not at almost 10pm on a Tuesday night, and definitely not so far south of the river.

  “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “Millions of people do this every day. There's nothing special about you. Just get on with it. You're not sick anymore.”

  ***

  “Donald?”

  Pulling the porta-cabin's door shut, she was surprised to find that there was no sign of Donald anywhere. She hung her coat on the rack and then slipped her Tesco bag into one of the lockers, before heading over to the desk. There were a few manuals and training books strewn about, along with a small notepad with a rough sketch of a woman in a nun's habit. Looking around again, she saw the bank of monitors at the far end and made her way over to look for any sign of Donald in the main building. Although she was ten minutes early for her shift, she figured he might have headed off to do the first inspection alone.

  He seemed like that kind of guy.

  Watching the monitors for a moment, she waited for some sign of movement on one of the screens. Her gaze switched from monitor to monitor, but all she saw were grainy, static images of the corridors and balconies inside the shopping mall. Every few minutes, one of the images switched to the view from another camera, but there was still no sign of Donald. Finally, she had to remind herself that although she'd formed a very clear opinion of him during the previous night, she still knew next to nothing about the man, so it was probably a little early to worry about him acting out of character.

  Grabbing a radio from the counter, she flicked the switch on the side.

  “Donald, it's -” she began, before correcting herself. “Base to Echo-2, base to Echo-2, come in please, Echo-2. Are you receiving me? Over.”

  She waited, listening to the static for a moment.

  “I guess not,” she muttered, setting the radio down before heading back to the door and leaning out. The porta-cabin was on one side of the shopping mall's empty parking lot, with the main Barton's Cross building lit up by floodlights a good hundred meters or so further along. She squinted, looking for any hint of movement in the few scattered pools of light, but there was still no sign of Donald. Glancing back at the desk, she saw his scruffy old coat hanging off the back of the chair, and she knew that he must have shown up already since the day-shift team had left.

  Sighing, she pulled the door shut and stepped down to the parking lot, before stuffing her hands into her pockets and making her way across the cold space. As she reached the main building, she looked up and saw dark, dusty windows lining the wall, and for a moment she felt as if someone might be inside, staring out at her. Forcing herself to ignore such concerns, she reached the main door and pulled her keys from her pocket, using them to open the padlock so she could slip inside. Once she'd secured the door again, she switched on her flashlight and shone a beam of light across the foyer that led to the atrium, and she waited for some hint of movement in the distance.

  Nothing.

  Silence.


  “Donald?”

  She waited again.

  “Great,” she muttered, making her way forward until she reached the edge of the atrium, at which point she shone her flashlight up and around, running the beam of light across the balconies. Still not finding any sign of Donald, she made her way along one of the corridors that ran away from the atrium, passing various boarded-up stores until she reached another, smaller open space with an old food court at one end. On a nearby wall, there was an old price-list that had been left in place, and she couldn't help but smile for a moment as she looked at the various hot-dogs, burgers and other items that had once been available.

  The menu certainly beat all the gruel and porridge she'd eaten at the hospital.

  Turning, she suddenly realized she could hear a noise in the distance. There was a faint, constant whispering coming from further along the corridor, and as she took a few steps forward she realized someone was talking, albeit with a very low, deliberately quiet voice. She opened her mouth to call out, but something about the tone and cadence of the voice reminded her of Donald, and she was fairly sure it must be him. It was almost as if he was hiding away, trying not to be overheard.

  Figuring that she wanted to find out what he was up to, she turned her flashlight off, leaving her standing in just a patch of moonlight, before making her way carefully through the darkness, heading toward the next corridor.

  “Listen, I don't have time for this,” she heard Donald hissing as she reached the next turn, “I have to get back to the office, she's probably there by now, but I want to register in no uncertain terms my absolute outrage that this decision was taken without me! I should be informed of these matters!”

  Frowning, Alice hung back for a moment to listen some more.

  “I know all that,” Donald continued, evidently talking to someone on his phone and clearly extremely annoyed, “but that's my point entirely. I should have been involved in the decision-making process right from the start, and I certainly should have been informed about the situation with this woman. You can't just drop me into something like this without letting me know I might be in serious danger!”

  Danger? She could feel her heart racing, and although she had a feeling in the back of the mind that she knew what was wrong, she hoped that it might yet turn out to be something else.

  “That's beside the point,” Donald hissed.

  A pause, as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.

  “Totally beside the point,” he continued, “and you know it. There's no way to predict how someone is going to react in that kind of situation. I'm sure Alice is a perfectly lovely young woman and in other circumstances, I'd have absolutely no problem working with her. You know me, I get along with everyone, it's just her background and -”

  He stopped suddenly.

  Alice waited.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Is anyone there?”

  Alice paused, before stepping back into the shadows, keen to make sure that she wasn't spotted.

  “Nothing,” he continued after a moment. “It's just not right that I'm expected to work in these conditions. How am I expected to turn my back on her? After what happened to her, she shouldn't be out in society like this, it's absurd! You can't use me as a baby-sitter for some psycho.”

  Feeling a shiver pass through her chest, she realized her worst fears were coming true.

  He knew.

  How much, she couldn't be sure, but he knew.

  Even a little was enough.

  “Then there's the rule-breaking she's already demonstrated,” Donald continued. “On her very first shift just last night, I saw her -”

  He stopped again.

  “Hang on,” he hissed, before his footsteps could be heard getting closer.

  Instinctively, Alice ducked behind the food court's counter and crouched down, waiting as she saw Donald's shadow crossing a patch of moonlight nearby.

  “This is insane,” he continued. “I have to get back to the office, but I'm not working with her. You need to do something about the mess you've caused, or I'll... I'll...” He paused again. “I don't know what I'll do, but I won't let this stand, Aaron, do you understand? I look forward to hearing how you plan to rectify your mistake.”

  With that, she heard the call being cut. She realized he must have been talking to Aaron Hawkins, the boss of the security firm, the man who'd agreed to hire her after lengthy consultations with Doctor Carrington and the hospital. Companies could get up to half an employee's wage bill covered by the health authority if they were willing to take on someone who had recently been released from one of the nearby psychiatric hospitals, and plenty of managers were willing to overlook their natural concerns if it meant cutting the payroll costs. She knew that was the only reason she'd been given the job.

  “Hello?” Donald called out. “Is anyone here? Alice, is that you?”

  She held her breath, waiting.

  A moment later, she heard his footsteps heading away, back toward the atrium. Rather than getting to her feet, however, she waited a moment longer, in case he was trying to trick her. After a few seconds, she heard a faint shuffling sound, and she realized she'd been right: he'd clearly made plenty of noise while leaving, and then he'd quietly doubled-back to see if she emerged from some hiding place. A moment later, she realized she could hear a kind of sniffing sound coming closer, and she felt certain for a fraction of a second that she'd been discovered. She opened her mouth to apologize, but suddenly the sniffing sound began to recede, and she realized that maybe she'd been granted a miraculous reprieve. She continued to hold her breath until she heard footsteps heading away again, and finally she exhaled.

  “I can't hide from the truth,” she remembered telling Doctor Carrington a few weeks earlier. “People will find out about me.”

  “You're going to be fine,” he'd replied. “Stop worrying so much, Alice. No-one's going to hold the past over your head. This job is a chance for you to turn your life around, and I promise you, no-one is going to go delving into your past.”

  “Sure,” she muttered, taking a deep breath as she finally got to her feet and looked across the dark space. “That didn't last long, did it?”

  Chapter Twelve

  1941

  This time, she heard the whistle.

  It was coming closer, closer than the rest, falling through the night sky. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, bracing for impact. Still the whistle became louder, as if it was right overhead. She held her breath, like everyone around her and then, when it seemed like the whistle was so close it was almost inside her head, it stopped for a fraction of a second, as if maybe the bomb had magically not landed, and then the entire tunnel rumbled as a distant boom rippled through the ground. Brick-dust fell from the ceiling, enough to put out a couple of nearby fires, and when Wendy opened her eyes she saw that only one fire was still burning, all the way at the other end.

  The rumble continued for a few more seconds before finally subsiding.

  “Somebody's home probably just got flattened,” whispered a mournful voice nearby, from the darkness.

  “Our lads'll give 'em hell,” added someone else. “For every bomb that falls on London tonight, ten'll fall on Berlin.”

  “You really think that?” another voice asked, with obvious skepticism. “It's turning. I'm telling you, the tide's turning, we're losing momentum and -”

  Other voices quickly drowned him out with a series of boos and curse-words. Contrary opinions weren't popular, not with bombs falling all around.

  Pulling her knees up to her face, Wendy tried to make herself as small as possible. She looked around at the dark figures on either side of the tunnel, occasionally getting a glimpse of half a face here or a pair of eyes there, as someone else tried to get one of the fires started again. Since Harry had left to take care of some other matters, Wendy had remained quiet and had tried to avoid getting noticed, had tried to pretend she didn't even exist. There were plenty of people around her, bu
t she'd still not seen one of them properly, not yet. Just shapes and flashes of their faces in the gloom.

  And the smell.

  Most of them stank of damp clothes and sweat, and things she didn't even want to think about.

  “Hey,” a voice said suddenly. “You. Over there. Hey.”

  Wendy stared at the floor, even though she was sure the person was talking to her. She hoped he'd give up and move on if she just ignored him.

  “Hey.”

  This time, she felt someone nudging her arm. Reluctantly, she turned and saw a dark figure crouching nearby, with just a sliver of flickering light picking out one side of his tired, old face. A fire in a tin can cast shadows over his features, filling his every wrinkle with dark lines.

  “Kid,” he continued, “let me ask you a question, eh? Are you smart? Can I ask you a question?”

  She swallowed hard.

  Suddenly the man leaned closer; much closer, close enough for her to smell the garlic and vinegar and tobacco on his breath.

  “How do you tell the difference,” he continued, “between the living and the dead?”

  “Leave her alone,” a tired woman said nearby.

  “I'm just asking her!” he hissed, keeping his bulging eyes fixed on Wendy. “It's not a trick question, kid. I ask everyone when they're new down here. So come on, then, how do you tell the difference?”

  She opened her mouth to answer. Her lips were dry and slightly stuck together after not speaking for hours. She wanted them to stay that way, but at the same time she could tell the man wasn't going to leave her alone unless she answered. “I... I don't know.”

  Turning, he pointed along the tunnel with a dirty, mitted hand.

  “It's not easy,” he explained. “The thing is, they mostly look the same down here, but I've worked out one surefire way. You've gotta look for their shadows, see? Living people have a shadow, you can see it when there's a fire going. Dead people, they don't got no shadow. It's the light, see? It helps you tell the difference.” He nudged her arm again. “I dare you.”