Tunnels 04, Closer

Chester groaned comically, adjusting the heavy Bergen on his back. "Somehow I just knew this wasn't going to be easy."

    * * * * *

    And run they did, flying through the passages of cherry-red stone, turning through so many lefts and rights it wasn't only the exertion that was making Chester feel light-headed. And it didn't help matters that they were constantly moving up a slight incline, their feet crunching in the fine sand for hour after hour.
    Drake noticed the boy was beginning to flag. "Hold up!" he ordered over the radio. "Right, you can take that respirator off -- we should be far enough now for it to be safe."
    Remembering how ill Will had become, Chester wasn't so sure about this, but Drake didn't show any hesitation as he wrenched the gas mask from his head. Then Chester followed suit, realizing his hair was soaked through with sweat.
    "Drink something or you'll start getting cramps," Drake advised him.
    Chester took the canteen from his belt and gulped down several mouthfuls, then sighed. "Talk about rugby training," he said.

    * * * * *

    After another hour of running, made easier because they could breathe more easily, Drake stopped again.
    "Is that a door? Are we there?" Chester managed to get out as he slumped onto the ground, puffing hard and absolutely exhausted.
    Drake, on the other hand, was hardly out of breath. "Nearly, but this door is welded solid," he said, then shrugged off his Bergen. From one of his side pockets he extracted what appeared to be a string of sausages, certainly to Chester's rather bleary vision.
    "What's that? Food?" Chester asked.
    "Not quite." Drake held it across his chest. "Necklace explosive. It's directional, so the force is maximized, while the sound of the blast should be kept to a minimum." He proceeded to stick it around the bottom of the door in a rough square, then stood up. "Time to get back," he warned Chester. "I'm going to detonate the sausages."
    "I can see where Elliott gets her habit of blowing things up," Chester commented drily.
    They took cover behind a bend in the passage, where Drake used a wireless detonator. There was more of a whomf than a full-blown explosion, followed by the clang of iron on stone.
    "We're in," Drake said. "Weapons at the ready in case someone heard that."
    They ducked through the still-smoking opening in the door and came out in a passage, which led through to a small circular grotto.
    "Yeuch -- what's that smell?" Chester said, pulling a face as he trod across the ground, which was covered in a layer of straw-like material.
    Drake pointed at some low sheds. "Colony pigsty."
    Chester could hear the grunting coming from the iron sheds as they walked through the area. They were halfway across it when a scrawny little piglet poked its nose out of a clump of straw and spotted Chester. It must have got the fright of its life as it squealed plaintively, and bolted into one of the sheds.
    Chester had been equally frightened by the piglet's squeal, and jumped into the air with the shock. "Shuddup!" he snapped angrily at it, then proceeded to step straight into a large heap of pig manure, which squelched unpleasantly under his boot. "Rank," he muttered, as Drake straddled a fence. Chester followed him over, then they passed along a short passage, which opened into a much wider one.
    "This is the main haul -- you must have come this way when they brought you down from the Quarter. See the ruts in the rock over there," Drake said. "It's from all the centuries of carriages that have shuttled back and forth along this route. Strange thought, isn't it?"
    Chester stared at the twin grooves worn deep into the bedrock. "I'm actually in the Colony again," he realized, inhaling the air.
    "Yes, the Skull Gate is up that way," Drake informed him, pointing to the right.
    Chester wasn't listening. All of a sudden, the reek of the over-recycled air hit him. It was the essence of all the thousands of people who lived here in the Colony.
    "I never thought I'd smell that smell again. I prefer the pig pooh, any day," he mumbled. An uncontrollable shudder ran through his body. He was only too familiar with this smell from the Quarter, where he'd spent months locked up in the Hold. It evoked vivid recollections of one of the bleakest and most desolate periods of his life. Things had looked so bad he'd begun to prepare himself for the very real possibility that he might die.
    But he'd never given up on Will. He'd prayed and prayed for rescue, and when by