Chapter Ten
Britney woke in what he supposed must have been the morning, just as exhausted as he had been before sleep. Meat was nowhere to be seen, and he was surprised to feel a dull disappointment in the pit of his stomach.
They'd talked well into the early morning, once Britney had shared the contents of the Text, and had only been startled into silence by a sudden metallic crash from the bend in the tunnel and a stream of drowsy cursing that could only have been the angry complaints of a sleep-deprived Big Macca, who must have returned from his night-time rambling. Britney supposed he must have fallen asleep soon afterwards, although he had a fleeting memory of a drape of golden hair, warming his left shoulder, before he'd closed his eyes.
The boy rolled out of bed and stood up, shivering, hit by a cool breeze as it wafted down his part of the tunnel. It felt to him like the ghost of a draught in the wake of a clattering train. Shaking his head slowly, he pushed all thoughts of the past to the back of his mind and set off down the tunnel. Past Big Macca's empty camp-bed, past Charlotte's rusted and vacant bedstead, out onto the station platform.
Britney was still utterly alone. He shivered again, unnerved by the stillness of the place, as he wondered what to do. His gut instinct was telling him to sit down, stay put; yet something nudging at the back of his mind told him that he should get up, get out and investigate.
He hesitated, his feet heavy and reluctant, his spine itching.
He sat down against the wall.
Sitting and thinking were his strengths, what he did best. He resolved to stop, to merge into the cracked-tile walls, until the problem sorted itself out.
A head of sleek, black hair emerged from the concealed entrance to Tottenham Court Road underground station, followed by an equally sleek, black-clothed body. Charlotte Friggin' Church scanned the sunlit street for a full thirty seconds before beckoning back towards the tunnel entrance.
"Right, Meatloaf," Big Macca caught hold of the blonde-haired girl as she prepared to hoist herself through the opening. "Remember what I said back there. What we're doing is dangerous. It's daytime. You're only here because we can't do it with just the two of us. It was Britney we could've used most, but he knows too much. If he was caught, it'd be all too easy to reveal all under torture."
Torture…Meat's head swam. Reveal all…She felt she knew exactly what it was that her friend might be in danger of revealing…she tried to shrug it off.
"I don't think-"
"Meat, I'm serious. He ain't told you anything, has he? Anything that could give him away…if you were caught?"
"No!" The reply came out high-pitched and a little too hastily. The long-haired man gazed at her suspiciously for a moment; surely he was remembering the night before…hours of whispered conversation…but instead of enquiring further, he silently threw his pack up towards Charlotte, and swung himself up after it. Meat followed, felling slightly subdued.
"About time," she heard Charlotte remark, "I feel like a human beacon, in broad daylight wearing all this black."
Britney's back had begun to ache. The curve and slope of the platform wall meant that he had to sit slouched over, bent in the middle. He groaned as he hoisted himself upright.
"Sorry, Paul!" he shouted suddenly, as if his apology for the night before would bring Big Macca back. "I mean…sorry, Mister McCartney!"
His words echoed as emptily as ever throughout the long platform.
…McCartney…Cartney…Cartney…ney..ney…
As Big Macca smashed the glass pane in the door to the once-grand theatre, Meat gazed up at its fragmented name. 'Domi…on', the sign now read. She wondered what this theatre had seen in the past, and what people had entered and exited through its doors.
"We'd use the stage entrance," Big Macca had explained earlier, "that whole wall's crumbled to the ground. But we'd be out in the open too long. We'd be caught…"
Privately, although the thought of capture terrified her, Meat was saddened that hey must aid the destruction of this ancient building. She heard a small cry of triumph and turned to see Big Macca, feet planted firmly inside the theatre, beckoning towards her. She clambered awkwardly over the splintered pane and onto a glistening carpet of sharp glass shards. She was grateful for the sturdy, thick-soled boots she now wore: the flimsy trainers Teen Queens were provided with would already have been torn into strips of thin, polyester ribbon. Practical for dancing, maybe, but not manufactured to withstand the extremes. She wriggled her toes in her tall black shoes as Charlotte's own iron-toed boots came to rest beside hers with a crunch.
"Charlotte," Big Macca whispered, "I think the best place would be over there, behind that display case; you'll have a good view of the street, and stay hidden." The woman nodded, and settled herself down there in a panther-like crouch.
"Meatloaf," the girl snapped to attention as Big Macca addressed her. "Follow me."
Britney's stomach rumbled unsettlingly loudly. He was hungry, and yet he had no idea where the food was stashed.
If there was any food.
Meat longed to sit down. She'd been standing, her arm raised to the
dusty fuse box on the wall, for five minutes, and the adrenalin she'd
felt at the thought of risk had already worn off.
Next time, she
decided, she'd let Britney go. Text or no text.
"Just remember", Big Macca had told her before he'd disappeared behind the poky box-office counter, "as long as you hold these two wires together – completing the circuit, okay – we're safe. But if you let go…hey, I don't know exactly…but we'll be in trouble. Big trouble. It's down to you, girl."
Meat wished she
could swap posts with Charlotte; at least then she'd be able to sit
down.
She felt a slight warmth in the fingers of her right hand,
and looked up quizzically. She supposed it must just be the
electrical current pulsing through the wires she held.
Yet as the minutes passed, it became evident that no amount of current could generate as much heat as that being transferred through Meat's stinging fingers.
The circuit was faulty. Dangerous. The fuse should have broken by now; if technical studies at Cyber School had taught her one thing, it was that. Meat wondered vaguely how long it might be before Big Macca reappeared, and whether she'd be able to hold on for long enough. She imagined withstanding this pain for hours, days, weeks…and the heat wasn't that bad really, now the thought about it…she couldn't really feel the burning any more…
She shifted her fingers on the wires tentatively, and instantly wished she hadn't. The heat shot through her hand, past her wrist, up to her elbow, paralysing her arm. With a gasp she recoiled, stumbling backwards. The tips of her fingers were white, fluidless.
Big trouble. She remembered those words. Big trouble.
From the corners of her eyes the girl watched as the two thin wires peeled themselves apart, yet she couldn't register it; didn't notice the shrill, reverberating alarm as it sang of intruders. She didn't feel Big Macca's grip as he urgently propelled her backwards, and did not recognise the cold, gloved hands that grasped her soon after, tore her away, forced her forwards, dragged her towards danger.
A small
part of Britney was telling him he ought to feel anxious for his
missing companions: they must have been gone for four or five hours.
Yet all that he felt was a cool anger and a sense of inadequacy.
He'd found the way to this underground labyrinth, after all. Why
shouldn't he be out there, creeping around?
Scanning the ground quickly, he seized a crumbling chunk of rubble and threw it violently out onto the rusty tracks; the softened mortar struck with a dull thud and exploded, dusty fragments drifting in all directions.
