Chapter 23

'Hey, Mick,' whined Beck, 'This bloody meat's gone off completely. It's absolutely disgusting. It really is.' If they could smell it, then I could believe it was off, too. The pong down here was just unbelievable ... you felt like your lungs were being pulled inside out.

'Are you sure about that?' inquired Mick vaguely. 'That stuff had to be fresh no more than a couple of days ago, best I remember.'

'It's way over ten days ago since that stuff was fresh, Mick,' complained Greg. He held his nose. 'Phew! That meat's been stinking for days. It's enough to make a rat puke, Mick, it really is. It's time we had us another barbecue.'

'Yeah, Mick,' breathed Andy, 'What we need is a lovely, lovely barbecue. Fresh, juicy meat. Can't you just taste that crisp, golden crackling skin, Mick? Crunch, crunch, crunch. Yum, yum, yum.' The guy must have been an ad man in days gone past.

'Don't you lot think of nothing but your fucking bellies?' growled Martin crossly. 'And what about them ones that's downstairs, waiting to get at us? What about them, huh? Victoria Line platform, that's our biggest problem right now, not your fat guts. It's about time that lot was done, but real good and proper like. Martin's got a shooter to do it now, too. There'll be plenty to eat once those bastards been put down.'

'Yeah, sure, Martin, I know all about them,' wheedled Steve smoothly. 'But we need a good old nosh every now and then to keep up our strength, don't we? Right, Mick? Hey? How can we get 'em if we're like weak?'

Mick clapped his hand against the leg of his jeans. 'Martin's right. You lot seem to think that meat grows on trees or something like that,' complained Mick. 'We gotta conserve our precious natural resources, like.'

'Aw, Mick,' cajoled Beck, 'We got two of them. Couldn't we spare just a little teeny one?'

'Crunch, crunch, crunch,' murmured Greg, sniffing the air, 'Ahh, Bisto!'

'Hmm,' said Mick, jaws working slightly. He stared over in our direction. 'That lot over there eating much?' he asked.

'Oh, Christ, Mick, just loads and loads,' cried Debs. 'Especially that one.' She pointed at me haughtily. 'Him with the big mouth.' I felt that comment was really very unfair. I had done my dead level best to keep a civil tongue in my head and I certainly wasn't eating any more than anyone else. Spiteful little bitch.

Mick looked as thoughtful as he was able to. You could tell he was thinking because he was scratching his head. 'We got much beer left?' he asked Martin.

'Yeah, I suppose so,' replied Martin grudgingly, 'I mean like I guess we got about enough for one more pretty good blow out.' He shook his thick finger at Mick. 'Mind you, Mick, I don't know where we'll get any more after that's gone.'

'Oh, them lot downstairs are bound to have loads and loads stored away, beer, beer, beer!' chipped in Andy eagerly. They all looked expectantly at Mick.

'Well, guys, ... ' teased Mick, scowling. 'I really just don't know ... '

'Oh, please, darling old Micky,' begged Debs, 'Please-please-please, honey?' She knelt in front of him and grasped his knees. She nuzzled her head between his thighs and bit his cock through his jeans, winking at the audience.

Mick laced his fingers into her hair, pushed her face deeper into his crotch and grinned cheekily. 'OK, just for you, baby,' he agreed huskily.

'Yippee!' shouted the bundles. 'Barbecue, barbecue, bar-be-cue!' They danced spastically and chanted, 'Pig roast, pig roast, long pig roast! Yay!'

Debs jumped up, ran over and pinched my arm viciously. 'Bags I the wing!' she shouted gleefully.

'Ow, dammit!' I shouted and lashed out at Debs with my foot.

She jumped back lightly and stuck her tongue out at me. 'Oh, how charming!' she simpered.

I jumped up, furious. 'If you had any balls, I'd bloody well smash them flat for you, you fucking little bitch,' I growled. My temper was getting a bit frayed, I'll be the first to admit; fallen into bad company, I suppose. Debs just laughed brassily and scampered quickly behind Mick.

When I jumped at Debs, I almost knocked Peters over. He was still handcuffed. They'd lost the keys, naturally. His hands had turned a lovely pastel blue. Tsk, tsk. They couldn't have been on that tight if he hadn't got gangrene yet.

'Hey, Turner,' whispered Peters softly. It was the first time he'd spoken to me down here.

'What do you want, Peters?' I snarled.

'Sit down,' he whispered gruffly.

'Piss off,' I replied.

'Turner, please sit down, dammit,' insisted Peters. Since he asked so nicely, I sat.

'So what do you want, then?' I demanded.

'You caught their drift yet, eh, Turner?' he asked, nodding his grey head in their direction.

'What do you mean?' I asked warily.

'You know what all this, ah, barbecue business means, don't you?' he asked.

'Well, I guess they get a pig or an ox from somewhere and roast it over a fire,' I said curtly. 'What else?'

'A pig or an ox,' sighed Peters heavily. 'Why not a camel or an elephant or a dinosaur? Where do you think they're going to get any fresh meat down here, Turner?'

'I suppose, they'll just go up above to a butcher shop or some place like that and loot it,' I replied carelessly. 'So what?'

'When I came down here yesterday, Turner, the winds were up to a hundred and thirty-five and still climbing,' he said. 'Don't be a fool, man. Those fleabag's aren't going up above into any storm to get any fresh meat, no way.'

'Well, then where do you think they're going to get it, then?' I demanded sharply.

Peters snorted. 'I thought you were supposed to be the big brain box, Turner,' he chuckled. 'Try to figure it out for yourself, why don't you? What's the only abundant source of fresh meat down here in the Tube, besides rats? You've got fifteen seconds.'

My stomach jumped like a startled rabbit; a big kicking hare. 'Oh, no, you're joking, Peters, you've got to be,' I whispered in disbelief.

Peters shook his head grimly. 'Isn't population control the sort of thing all you greeno's approve of? Not eating cute little animals?'

'That's sick,' I said with growing belief.

Peters looked at me. 'Not ecologically sound, hah?'

'But this is England, Peters,' I gasped foolishly. 'I mean, that sort of thing's just not possible here.'

'Oh, yeah?' sneered Peters. 'Well, believe it or not, Prof, cannibalism's widespread practice down here. We've known about it for months.'

'So why didn't you lot do something about it then?' I demanded.

Peters shrugged. 'It's not going to make any real difference, even in the short run, Turner. A fewer number of people might just as well drown with full bellies as more with empty ones,' he said.

I thought for a moment. 'But we've been eating that meat,' I gasped with new horror. I sort of retched. I didn't think I was all that squeamish, up until then.

Peters nodded his head again. 'That's right, Turner, we've been eating it and that's a good thing, too. 'We've got to keep our strength up, as the man said.'

'My God, Peters, that's absolutely disgusting,' I hissed weakly. 'I mean we could get CJD!' I looked at him angrily. 'So why are you telling me this?' I demanded.

'So haven't you figured out who's going to be the next guest of honour, Sir Prof?' he asked, grinning.

'I thought you wanted me dead anyway,' I snapped sulkily. 'So what difference does it make to you if I'm first? You'll just be the next one, if even that lot can stomach you.'

'I don't want you terminally processed now, Turner. You were considered a problem, I'll admit. But security leaks don't matter any more. It's too late for anyone to do anything effective against Canute now.'

'I never intended to anything about it, anyway,' I growled.

'No matter,' dismissed Peters. 'What we've got to do is get ourselves out of here and out of London. And bloody quick. We've only got a two days left.' He lifted his arms behind him and knotted his fists. 'I can't get away by myself like this and you won't be able get away by yourself.'

I lifted my chin. 'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that,' I snapped. 'I could just run for the tunnel and leave you behind. I got away from you and your goons easily enough, didn't I?' I looked at him angrily.

'That was just beginner's luck,' dismissed Peters. 'Our hearts weren't in it. These guys have got a much bigger stake in you than my guys did. They'll go after you and bring you back for sure. Maybe not in one piece, either. As long as that Mick's there to lead them, that is,' he added.

'So what are you proposing?' I asked, suddenly a good deal more interested in Peters' proposition.

'We're going to have to jump Mick and put him out of action,' said Peters decisively. 'Then we'll make a dash for it.'

'Extremely subtle plan,' I scoffed. 'And how do you suppose that two men, one of them with his arms handcuffed behind his back, are going to be able to overpower Mick and the apes?'

'We can if we're armed,' said Peters confidently.

I pointed my finger at him and said, 'Bang!' I lifted the finger and blew imaginary smoke from it. 'Now Mick's next. Just like that, huh?'

Peters ignored the sarcasm. 'Do you know how to use a handgun?' he asked.

'No, of course not,' I admitted.

Peters shrugged. 'I thought you were Canadian once, your father was in the Forces. Well, don't worry about that. It's pretty much like using a toy one. You just get as close as you can, point mid-body at the target and pull the trigger a couple of times,' he said. 'There's no safety, cocking or anything like that to worry about. It's really not difficult to use at all.'

'You may not have noticed, Peters,' I rasped sarcastically, 'But Mick's got your lovely little toy.'

'Oh, we can get it back from that arse easy enough, the way he's flashing it around. He's just an amateur, anyway,' stated Peters confidently.

'A pretty gifted one, I'd guess,' I replied sardonically. 'And so you suppose that Mick's just going to give the gun to me, the lucky beginner. I'll say, "Please, Mick, can we have the gun, please?" and he'll hand it right over to me. That right, huh?'

'That's where we'll have to work together,' said Peters. He outlined his plan. Basically, we lured Mick over here, Peters bowled him over and I grabbed the pistol away from him. Really professional, yeah?

'I think that's a pretty desperate plan, if you ask me,' I commented sceptically.

'I think we're in a pretty desperate situation, Turner,' countered Peters.

'And what if it goes wrong?' I asked.

'So they'll end up picking us out of their teeth a bit earlier than they expected,' shrugged Peters. He gave me a fierce look. 'At least we'll have tried to do something, rather than sitting here like sheep waiting to be slaughtered.'

'I don't know,' I mused, scratching my stubble. 'Your plan sounds pretty bloody daft to me. I'll have to think about it.' Peters sighed disgustedly and slumped against the wall.

I settled down and nervously watched the preparations for the feast. The ragged ones were putting away beer like there was no tomorrow and they could have been right. They stoked up the fire with newspapers and old wooden escalator steps. Mick and Martin gathered a couple of his men together and they had a brief huddled consultation. Martin broke away, strolled over and gave me a casual nudge with his foot. 'Up, cock, up,' he snapped.

My bowels went absolutely icy cold. Fortunately, I'd become constipated from not wanting to shit in public. 'What's the matter, Martin?' I demanded in a quivering voice. A pity that the body isn't always a bit more in tune with the rather more heroic mental intentions. It's really just too humiliating sometimes.

'Get up, feller,' he growled curtly. 'We need you now. It's time for you to share with us.'

I scuttled back away from him. 'Listen, Martin,' I cried, 'I know what you've got in mind.'

'Yeah, so what?' He moved forward and grabbed my arm. I knew how a chicken might have felt when the cook closed in on it. Peters watched with amused interest.

I shook Martin's hand away. 'Hey, look, man, I know something that will save your lives,' I gabbled. I had decided that I wasn't going to try the Peters plan. Too risky.

'Turner,' warned Peters savagely, 'Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll shut it for you.' So much for the amnesty on security leaks.

'It's something you need to know, Martin!' I cried desperately.

'Turner, you'll be for the high jump if you leak that information!' bellowed Peters. He was really getting worked up about this. He rolled over and tried to get between Martin and me.

'You'll all die if you don't find out what I know, Martin!' I shouted. I batted Martin's hand away again and kicked desperately at Peters. I think Peters was going to try to tear my throat out with his teeth.

'Keep your mouth shut, you traitor!' roared Peters. His normally grey face was mottled with crimson blotches.

'Oh, yeah, sure you do,' said Martin with total disinterest to my warning. He got a better grip on my arm and started to drag me away from the wall.

'Hey, Martin!' called Mick. 'Those old guys giving you a hard time or something?' The oiks loafing around him bellowed with laughter. Peters lurched to his feet. He tried to butt Martin with his head.

Martin's face flushed with anger. He knocked Peters down and kicked him hard in the stomach. He heaved me about ten feet away from the wall in one jerk. I tried to scrabble back to the wall. I looked pleadingly at Mick. 'Listen to me, Mick, listen!' I shrieked. 'You're all going to die if you don't listen to me.' Mick roared with laughter. 'Mick, just give me a minute!' I begged. 'You'll be sorry if you don't!' Mick laughed even harder, his beefy face turning brick red. I played my last hand. 'London's going to drown, Mick, drown! The sea's coming in! It'll fill up the Tube. You've only got a couple days left to escape!'

That got Mick's attention, for some reason. Maybe he was a non-swimmer. 'Hey, wait a minute there, Martin,' he said sternly. He strolled over, hand caressing the cross-hatched butt of the revolver. 'Now what's that you said about us all drowning, mister geologist?' he asked.

I pulled away from Martin and gave Peters a triumphant glare. 'London's going to drown in three days, Mick,' I babbled urgently. Peters managed to get up on his knees and gave me a truly frightful look. 'A tidal wave's coming, Mick. The sea's going to cover all of southeast England, drown it.' Strictly speaking, it wasn't a tidal wave that was coming. Drama was the point of the statement, however, not scientific accuracy.

'Oh, yeah?' sneered Mick. 'And how come we ain't heard nothing about this important bit of news, mister?'

'It's a big secret, Mick,' I said quickly. 'The Government's been hiding it to stop a panic. I'm a scientist, an expert. That's how I know.' I pointed at Peters. 'This guy's a secret policeman, a spook. He's been killing people to keep the secret covered up. I escaped from him. He came down here after me.'

Mick nodded approvingly at Peters. 'He sounds like our sort of guy, don't he?' he commented. Martin snorted appreciatively. Mick turned to me. 'So now you've told us this very important news, feller, exactly what do you think we ought to do about it, huh?'

'Well, look, you can escape from London,' I said quickly. 'Move up north where the sea won't reach. There's still time, Mick. I can show you how to get away. I know how. I can take you to a safe place.'

'You fucking bastard traitor, Turner!' spat Peters. He staggered to his feet. 'You scum!'

'It's true, Mick,' I said. 'It's absolutely true. Every word of it.'

'This is one right old con, Mick,' said Martin in a bored voice. 'It's just a load of old cobblers, the turkeys cackling, chickens squawking. Come on, let's get this guy spitted over the fire and stop all this bleeding pissing about. I'm getting hungry. And that lot over there, they're hogging down all the beer.' He nodded towards the ragamuffins capering drunkenly around the fire.

Mick's face registered annoyance. He turned sideways and roared, 'Hey, you fucking scumbags! Leave off that there fucking beer!'

At that moment, Peters sprang forward and head-butted Mick in the midriff. Mick fell heavily back against the wall. A second later, Peters side-kicked his right foot viciously against Martin's knee. The knee buckled inward; Martin shrieked thinly and fell backwards off the platform. Mick tried to snatch the pistol from his waistband, but Peters kicked him full in the throat. Mick fell back, belched loudly and collapsed, his feet and hands fluttering weakly. The pistol slipped from his waist and clattered to the concrete floor.

'Get that firearm, Turner!' ordered Peters. Automatically, I scooped it up. It was heavier than I thought it would be and toasty warm from Mick's body.

I stared down at Mick with amazement. I was pretty sure he wasn't breathing. His long red tongue lolled out, almost down on to his chest. I'd never seen a dead person before then, I mean not freshly dead, alive a minute before and not close up like this. The rag people stood and gasped. A minute passed, then they buzzed angrily and started towards us in a determined body. Most of them had knives and clubs of some sort or another. My finger tightened around the trigger of the pistol and I gestured dramatically at them with it.

'Armed police! Stand back or we'll open fire!' shouted Peters in his best voice of authority.

The group hissed and moved back a step or two. 'They've gone and killed our poor, dear Mick!' shrilled Debs indignantly. 'The bastards! The swines!' I wouldn't have minded potting her right then and there, I can tell you. The others started yelping along with her.

'Disperse or we'll fire!' bellowed Peters officially. The group hushed and milled about in place, undecided. A few empty beer bottles were heaved at us, but they didn't move forward.

'Move back,' Peters whispered to me. 'Slowly, now, don't show your back to them.'

We inched back towards the edge of the platform. We took a few more steps backward, trying to stare down the rag people. It was working, too. They moved back a bit from us. Suddenly, I felt a powerful hand grasp my ankle. I shrieked wildly and pivoted. Peters must have overestimated the damage he'd done to Martin, because there he stood, looking a good deal meaner than usual. It was reflex, pure and simple, on my part - I just pointed the snout of the pistol in Martin's general direction and clamped back on the trigger. The recoil and roar was quite unexpected, simply amazing. Martin just disappeared; blown away, as I believe they used to say in the detective films of my youth.

I'd have thought that the cannibals would've scampered away when the gun went off. Instead, they charged across the twenty five or thirty feet between us, howling with fury. It must have been the drink or something.

'Fire, Turner, fire!' shouted Peters into my ringing ear.

I held the pistol tightly in both hands and squeezed the trigger wildly. The damned thing jumped all over the place, like a big dog straining against its lead, but in the wrong direction. I jerked and jerked and jerked at the trigger until the gun stopped jumping. The roar was continuous in the confined space of the station. Two bundles of rags flopped onto the platform floor and lay twitching. The rest of the rag people vanished into the exits by the time the firing stopped.

Peters looked at the dead or wounded raggies. 'Beginner's luck, again, Turner,' he grunted with satisfaction. He nudged me off the edge of the platform. In shock, but still gripping the empty pistol, I helped him jump down. He butted me gently down the track with his head.

I don't think I've ever stepped in so much shit in all my life, not even if I had a dozen lifetimes to live and spent them walking the pavements of Paris blind. Certainly not cannibals' shit. Utterly disgusting. And so, sustaining the scatological context, once again I disappeared into the bowels of the Tube.