The Power of Five Oblivion

of him, then forming again behind. He was completely blind but every ten seconds he flicked on the torch to make sure that the way ahead was clear. He was terrified that the river would become deeper, that he would take one step and plunge beneath the surface. If he swallowed as much as one mouthful he would die. Half of him wanted to hurry, urging him forward. But his better sense told him to take it slowly. He couldn’t stumble or fall. He had to take it one step at a time.
    He came to an opening. His shoulders had lost contact with the wall. He turned on the torch and saw that he had come to a junction shaped like a letter Y and that he now had a choice of two directions. Why hadn’t Giovanni warned him? Both the passages were identical, with black, glistening brickwork and curving ceilings a few metres above his head. For no reason at all, he went to the right and thought for a time that he had made the right choice. The further he went, the shallower it became. Soon he was only ankle-deep. But when he turned the torch on again, sacrificing his precious batteries, he groaned. There was a solid wall in front of him. He heard a noise above him, the clank of a chain and the sound of running water. Before he could move away, he was showered with filth. It clung to his hair and trickled over his shoulders. It was more disgusting than anything he could have imagined.
    Angry, close to tears, he turned back the way he had come, once again lowering himself in the depths of the river. Everything was pitch-black. He didn’t dare use the torch. But then he heard another sound and felt something knock into him. He cried out. The torch came on just as a rat the size of a small cat swam past, its claws beating at the surface, its nose and beady eyes straining for air, dragging behind it a long and greasy tail.
    Pedro had almost had enough. He could see himself dying here. His hand was hurting more than ever and he felt physically empty. Even his cell would have been better than this. He reached the junction where he had made the wrong turn and followed the other passage. This time the river got deeper, not more shallow. He could feel the weight of it pressing against his chest, trying to force him back. He wanted to turn round. With each step it was getting worse, the level rising. But at the same time, there was a difference. Daylight was bleeding in from somewhere ahead. He could see it reflected on the walls. It was captured in the beads of liquid that dripped down by him. The corridor twisted and he hurried round, only to come to a shuddering halt.
    The boy, Giovanni, had tricked him. There was an exit straight ahead, a glimpse of the darkening world beyond. The sun was setting but he could still make out a stretch of sand and shingle with the sea beyond. But the way was barred. Metal wires ran across the mouth of the tunnel – too close together to climb through, too thick to cut. Gritting his teeth, the worst swear words he knew echoing in his mind, Pedro staggered forward. His hands found the wire grille and he clung onto it with his fingers, rocking it back and forth, trying to pull it free. It wouldn’t move. He could see the sea! There it was, just metres away from him, with the untreated sewage twisting its way across the beach. Yet he couldn’t go on. He hadn’t seen any other passages but he had to turn back and find another way.
    He was about to do just that when he heard a voice.
    “Pedro! Pedro!”
    It was Giovanni. The Italian boy had made his way out of the building and now he dropped down and crouched on the other side. His face was filled with horror and disgust. He surely couldn’t see very much of Pedro but the smell would be shocking enough.
    “Devi andare sotto!”
    Almost the same words as before, only this time Giovanni was pointing down at the surface, frantically jabbing with his finger.
    Pedro understood. It was the last thing he wanted to hear. But once again he had to put his entire trust in this stranger. He took a great gulp of air. Then he dived down.
    The filth rose over his face, over his head. He could feel it pressing against his eyes. It was utterly and completely revolting. It was worse than death. He used his hands against the wire mesh to guide himself downwards. It seemed to be a long way and he wondered for how much longer he would be able to hold his breath. He had lost the torch. That didn’t matter. He wouldn’t need it any more. The knife too. Oh God – this was