Chapter Eight
"Freeze where y'are!"
As a sharp voice with a strong accent rung and echoed through the tunnel, the boy gave a yelp and took a hasty step backwards. His companion, however, stood firm, and fixed him with an exhasperated and withering gaze. She rolled her eyes as he attempted to cover his momentary fear without conviction.
"Stay where y'are!" threatened the voice again.
"Or leave!" yelled another voice. Female.
Much to the boy's trepidation, the girl who he had come to know as being almost fearless in danger defiantly replied. "Why?"
Silence replaced echoes. After the passing of several heartbeats, the strongly-accented voice spoke again, but it was now a voice that posed little threat.
"Eh? Wh-what?"
"Why? Why should we leave?" the girl yelled through the tunnels, "We found this place, and we can use it if we want!"
"Hey...but...hey! We found it first!"
The pair grinned at each other as they heard the tremor in the disembodied voice. Whoever this underground inhabitant might be, he certainly wasn't used to being challenged. It made the boy wonder how long this person had belonged to the dark of the tunnels. The girl, however, lost patience. Regardless, she began to pick her way down the final stretch of track between them and the voices. Unable to decide whether to be worried about her or to admire her courage, he remained, rooted to the uneven ground. He glimpsed the flickering of a light on her bright hair before she made the last turn in the tunnel, and waited for the worst. He didn't have to wait long. The girl's excited explanation echoed through the caverns.
"Where'd you get all that gear?!"
In stunned silence, the boy eyed the platform he had ended up at. It was large, and although damaged, decrepit and unbelievably grimy, he knew it was perfect. The walls curved upwards, and torn posters still clung to them: their colours faded but their words remaining. His gaze fell onto the colourful map of Tube routes and surrounding stations etched into the tiles, then drifted to the red 'O' of the Underground symbol bearing the legend 'Tottenham Court Rd'. Cylindrical electric lights hung precariously from the walls, fed by a mysterious power supply. The boy sat on the platform itself, his legs dangling, motionless, off the edge and over the rusted tracks beneath.
By his side, his friend chattered, pausing only to elbow him sharply in the ribs. He shook his head as if to clear it and turned his attention to their new companions. There was the man with the accent. He had long, blonde hair, although brown at the roots, and a graffitied sleeveless jacket. He wore his shabby trousers unzipped, revealing bright red Y-fronts. Beside this outrageous figure of a man sat a stony-faced woman. She was dressed in squeaky black leather and had acquired a great many metal studs and chains. It was to this black-haired woman that his friend was attempting to converse with.
"Where'd you get the studs from?"
"Gutter somewhere."
"And the belt?"
"Old shop."
"The chains…?"
"You find them everywhere."
"What about the boots?"
"Some street. Someone'd chucked a whole load of leathers out there."
"I like the boots," the girl stated earnestly. She leaned forward, "Tell us the street you found 'em on!"
The black-clad woman raised a studded eyebrow. "I can do better than that for you. Take your pick, I've got enough."
"You mean there's more here?"
The young woman snorted. "You didn't expect me to leave nine pairs of boots there for some other fool to get their hands on, did you?" She shook her head and beckoned behind her. "They're over there…in one of the lockers. The dented one."
The girl gave a laugh of anticipation, dragged herself to her feet and quickly disappeared into a small, enclosed area that had once been used as a secure-room for passengers' belongings.
It took the boy several minutes to realise that the now silent pair were staring at him, amusement playing over their faces.
"You're sitting too far over the safety line, mate. Next tube that comes along's gonna knock you flat!"
He cleared his throat and shuffled away from the platform edge. Then he recovered his senses.
"There are no tubes any more," he replied witheringly. "They stopped running years ago after they invented air-transport. Nobody ever uses rail-transport these days."
The pair nodded, sending each other meaningful glances.
"You know your stuff, we'll give that to you," the wiry man admitted, surprised. "Big Macca."
"What?"
The stony-faced young woman, after eyeing the long-haired man's set expression, sighed resignedly. "Church."
"What?" The confused boy repeated.
"What, Big Macca? It's me. Stands for Sir Paul McCartney. Big star of the-"
"The late twentieth. I know. But 'Church'?"
"Charlotte friggin' Church. Ring any bells?" the young woman asked drily.
"Uh…well, no."
"You're lucky."
A bang echoed around the station as, from the enclosed security room, the girl shut a locker with finality. She emerged with her arms spread, and flicked her leg out behind her in mock-Ga Ga fashion. She stood, attempting to stop her grin from spreading any further, as her friend and her two new companions took in her new appearance. She'd found over-large black boots and torn, black stockings. She wore a pair of black and red dyed hot pants-she felt they were pretty flattering-and a garish brassiere: pink and glimmering in places. She hadn't been able to find any underwear amongst the vast expanse of odd garments, but her green Ga Ga ones had had a surprising effect when teamed with the large quantities of ragged black netting across her arms. Her hair, already a tangled mass thanks to her previous treks through lower London and the whole other world beneath it, hung around her shoulders confortably. She spread her leather gloved hands and countless metal chains and cuffs jangled on her wrists. She laughed.
"Makes a bit of an improvement on that Ga Ga gear, at least!"
