John kept walking as quickly as he dared in the all-encompassing darkness; one hand at the wall next to him, the other one stretched out in front to prevent that he'd walk into an obstacle. He was avoiding walking into any room, door cases under his fingers alerting him when it was a room in contrast to a junction where the wall simply ended.
He made left as well as right turns wondering about the sheer size of the bunker facility. At one point the doctor was startled when something on the wall was running away from underneath his groping fingers. John wasn't afraid of spiders but that didn't mean he was fond of touching them. Furthermore the eight-legged specimen that had scrambled away had felt rather big to his fingers.
Ever so often John stopped but after Charlie had called out a few times in that childlike fashion, he had stayed quiet. Probably the man had decided he was more likely to catch John when he didn't give away his location by calling out. Now all he could hear were his own steps, his breathing and the pounding of his heart.
Deciding he needed to come up with a plan, John stopped at the next doorway. Shielding the beam of his torch with a hand and his jacket, he illuminated it for a moment for he was much more likely to walk into a piece of furniture or any other obstacle inside a room than in the corridor.
The room looked like a changing room, a few metal lockers in the middle, hangers on the walls and a couple of benches. When John sat down he noticed how very tired he was. He pulled the backpack from his shoulders and opened the water-bottle he always carried with him. The water tasted fresh and provided immediate relief. Returning the bottle to his backpack he became aware of a stinging sensation over his left eye where a shard of the mug Martha had hurled at him had nicked his skin. Because of the adrenalin coursing through his body he had not felt the pain of the small injury. Touching his cheek he felt it was wet. Bloody hell! If he had been bleeding he had probably left a visible trail for Charlie to follow if he cared to look. Sneaking back to the doorway he listened for footsteps and when all was quiet he switched on the torch again. Yes, a couple of tiny drops of blood were visible on the floor. So far Charlie had walked in the darkness too but if he chose to use his own torch he would quickly notice the drops of blood.
John left the room and walked further down the corridor, squeezing a bit of blood from the wound. After about fifty meters he pulled out a handkerchief, pressed it to the cut and hurried back into the direction he had come from. He walked on the other side of the corridor, trying to avoid stepping into the trail of blood. After several minutes he entered another room, hoping he would be safe there for some time. He needed time to rest and review his situation.
oOo
"What do you mean you forgot to close it?"
"Just that. I forgot. It was just this one door. Fat chance somebody wandered into the damn bunker all of a sudden. So let's just go and seal if for good so they can go and blow it up tomorrow just as planned."
"I don't see why I have to come along, Vinny."
"Come on, Pete. It's fucking creepy down there. I'll buy you a pint, okay?"
"All right," Pete agreed grudgingly.
The two men, dressed in boiler suits and helmets hurried along the pathway and down the narrow staircase John and Cyrus had walked three hours earlier. When they reached the wide open door to the bunker, Pete shone with his torch into the darkness and called out.
"Hello, anybody there?"
They listened before Vinny shrugged and removed a couple of large bolts, nuts and a handlebar from the inside of the door.
"What are you doing?" Pete asked when his companion put the parts inside a bag he had slung over his shoulder.
"My brother works in a hardware store. Those parts are still pretty expensive and worth a couple of pints and a pie."
"Seriously?" Pete blinked.
"God's truth."
Pete pursed his lips. "Guess it doesn't matter since they're going to blow up the whole damn place anyway. Nobody's going to miss the parts."
Vinny nodded, closed the heavy door, turned the large wheel on the outside to seal it and began removing the wheel. Now the door could neither be opened from the inside nor from the outside; just like the other doors he had closed and sealed before. "Unfortunately, I have to turn in the wheel together with the other three. I was told to remove them."
Pete shrugged. "Can't have everything. Now let's go get that pint."
They walked back to the staircase where Pete stopped dead in his tracks. "Jesus fucking Christ, is that blood?" He pointed with the beam of his torch to a fat dark puddle on the forth and fifth step.
"Sure is," Vinny replied. "Recon we didn't step in it on the way down. Prolly would've slipped."
They looked at each other and without another word began climbing the stairs, hurrying to get outside as quickly as possible.
Squeamish from the encounter with the blood, Vinny yelled in alarm when a man in ragged clothes suddenly stepped in their path.
"Need help," Carl rasped. He had seen the two men passing and had managed to get up, waiting for them to return.
"Don't touch me!" Vinny screamed. He pushed Carl into the chest and the weakened man slammed into the wall before falling to the ground. He watched helplessly as the men in the boiler-suits ran away. Too weak to get up again, he crawled to the motionless body of Cyrus who was lying dead in a pool of blood on the mattress Carl had occupied a few hours before. Wondering what he could do, Carl pulled the knife from Cyrus' back and began to scratch letters into the hard floor.