Please accept my apologies for the mistakes regarding how John is treating a medical condition in this chapter. Obviously I'm not a doctor. Thanks Savoi for having a last minute look at the story. Amazing how I keep overlooking mistakes I've made. Guess I need a few Betas instead of just one.
John followed Cyrus down a metal staircase that lead to a narrow pathway, which ran parallel to the tracks of the underground. He had found the young man, or rather Cyrus had found him, in front of the Arsenal Megastore at Finsbury Station.
"How much further do we have to go, Cy?" John asked after they had been weaving their way through a labyrinth of junctions and branches for a good ten minutes, negotiating their way through the semi-darkness with torches.
"Almost there," Cyrus replied and indeed, when they turned around another corner, a tiny room, barely bigger than a cupboard, was on the right hand side. Most of the space was taken up by an air mattress on which a man was lying. Light was provided by two oil lamps that hung from hooks in the wall.
Cyrus bent down and shook the man's shoulder. "Carl, it's Cy. Brought you the doctor." He stood up again and made room for John, who knelt down next to the man on the air mattress.
The medical examination didn't take very long. John had worked in Afghanistan under worse conditions than light provided by a torch and the oil lamps. Quite certain Carl had pneumonia, John left a cough syrup, the order not only to drink plenty of water or preferable hot tea and, most important, that if the condition should not improve within the next three days or even get worse, he was to be called immediately.
"The cough syrup is only for the night. It doesn't do anything but make your throat feel less itchy," John explained to Carl. "Guess I can't convince you to stay at least a week in one of the shelters?"
Carl smiled softly but shook his head.
He handed Cyrus a prescription for an antibiotic. "Cy, when we're done here you go to the next chemist's shop to get those for Carl, okay?"
Cyrus nodded, shoving the signed paper into the pocket of his jeans.
Before John left, Carl took hold of his hand.
"Thanks for helping me, Doctor." He coughed and cleared his throat. "A bit further down lives a couple with a baby that is about four month old. Martha is a good woman but her husband is stark raving mad. Would you have a look at Martha and the baby?"
"Does Cyrus know the way?" John asked.
Carl nodded. "Make absolutely sure you leave before Charlie is back. He doesn't like people. But you should be safe. He never comes back before seven."
John had no idea how Carl knew the time but when he checked his watch is was half past six. A good twenty minutes should be enough time to have a quick look. If necessary he could always come back.
Cyrus and John walked about another hundred meters before coming to a dead end where a flight of stairs led down.
"I don't like going down there," Cyrus told John. "If Charlie is there, we have to leave immediately, all right?"
John nodded.
The air was damp and smelled of mould. At the bottom of the staircase was another passageway that for some reason had been equipped with electric lighting. The cable that connected the lamps was nailed to the wall. After a few yards John discovered a heavy metal door that stood wide open, the entrance obviously leading into an old bunker.
Before he had a chance for a closer look, Cyrus nudged him not too gently.
"We need to keep going. You can go investigate another time."
John nodded. It was only a minute later that they came round a corner and suddenly stood in front of an old wooden door. Instead of knocking, Cyrus pressed one finger to his lips and slowly opened the door to peer inside the room. He gave a soft sigh of relief and opened the door completely, knocking against the wood while doing that and calling out.
"Who're you?" A woman, barely eighteen years old, stared at both men. For a moment John's gaze swivelled to an enormous figure chiselled into the stonewall, before it returned to the woman. She was dressed in sweat-pants, trainers and a dress with long sleeves and in her arm she cradled a bundle that probably contained the baby. The room itself was sparsely furnished with a mattress, a clothes rail that was laden with a colourful compilation of clothes, a small table, two chairs and two buckets. The light was provided by a naked light bulb that was dangling from the ceiling on a single cable.
"Martha, this is a doctor. He's here to have a look at your baby," Cyrus replied.
The woman studied John warily. "I know no doctor," she said.
"I'm John Watson. I was told you had a baby and I just want to check if it's all right," John said with his most soothing voice.
"How do you know Billy's not all right?" Martha asked.
"Billy isn't all right?"
"No. He drank three hours ago, now he doesn't." Suddenly Martha stepped forward and thrust the bundle into John's arms. "Make that he drinks again."
John carried the bundle to a table that was covered by a bed sheet instead of a tablecloth. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Cyrus looking around nervously.
He put the bundle onto the table but the moment he pulled the blanket aside he saw that he was too late. The baby was dead. It had probably died shortly after Martha had fed it three hours ago.
He bit his bottom lip, seeing the woman studied him with small black eyes. John cleared his throat.
"Martha, I fear there's nothing I can do for Billy."
She stepped closer. "Why? What have you done to him?"
"Nothing," John replied. "See, I've just laid him down here on the table. I am sorry but I fear Billy is dead." He gently pulled the blanket to cover the small body again.
Cyrus took a step backwards, his eyes going wide. "We should leave, now!"
The woman's gaze kept shifting between John's face that was full of compassion and the body of the dead baby that was lying on the table.
"Billy ate and now he don't. What have you done?" Martha's voice was turning shrill.
"Doctor, we should really leave..."
Before Cyrus could finish the sentence the door flew open, crashing into the wall with a bang that resounded through the room. A wiry man with large brown eyes and a mop of dark-brown hair stood in the doorway. A knapsack was slung over his left shoulder and he was holding a torch in his right hand. Cyrus paled visibly.
"Charlie," he stammered.
Thanks to Sky, magneta and Johnsarmylady for reviewing. And yes, I rather like cliffhangers.