Tunnels 04, Closer

he had no alternative but to walk, unless he could hitch a lift. Or unless he handed himself into the authorities, which he knew he couldn't do because Will had warned him that the Styx had agents everywhere. The future looked rather bleak and uncertain, but anything was better than staying with mad Martha.
    His joints felt stiff as he put on his rucksack and set off on all fours over the forest floor, grimacing as the dry leaves rustled under him.
    He was some meters away from the shelters when he threw a last glance back at them to make sure she wasn't stirring.
    "Sleep will?" said Martha cheerily.
    As he wheeled around, his hands slid in the leaves and he nearly fell flat on his face.
    She was in the shade of the low-hanging branches of an elder tree. On the ground beside her, feathers were wafting around in the light breeze, and the pink and plucked bodies of three small birds were laid out in a row. Like some obscenely overgrown toddler playing with its ghoulish doll, she was sitting with her legs splayed out in front of her as she worked on a fourth bird. From its size, Chester guessed that it was a wood pigeon.
    "Er, yes," he gasped, watching as she tore the last feathers from its limp corpse.
    "Easy pickings, these dumb Topsoil beasts," she said matter-of-factly, putting the pigeon with the others. "And I found a bumper crop of mushrooms," she added, indicating the small pile beside the birds.
    As she lit a fire, then began to cook the first of the birds over it, Chester could see she was having little trouble adjusting to this new environment. And he wondered if she realized that he'd been about to ditch her.

    * * * * *

    Rebecca Two continued through the industrial area until she came to an open gateway in yet another wall. It wasn't by any means the end of the dual carriageway she'd been following, which seemed to extend for some considerable distance. And, at the very end of it, Rebecca Two was sure she was again catching glimpses of the massive arch, despite the difficulty of seeing through the glassy and overheated air.
    She entered the gateway.
    There was a rumble of thunder as the rain started. She could hear it sizzling as it fell on the hot pavement, and her sister began to move her head. "That's nice," Rebecca One whispered as it splattered her face. She was repeatedly opening and closing her mouth as if trying to catch the drops.
    But Rebecca Two was hardly noticing the rain as it turned into a heavy downpour. She stood in the middle of the gateway, held in thrall by what lay beyond.
    Rows of houses.
    Cars in the distance.
    People.
    "Good God," she exhaled.
    It could have been any European city -- the architecture wasn't exactly modern, but the terraces of houses and shops either side of her were clean and in good repair. She carried her sister through the open gates, looking around her as she kept to the middle of the wide avenue. She heard strains of an opera playing from somewhere. It sounded thin and over shrill, as if it was piped music, and Rebecca Two thought she could spot the source -- an open window further down the way.
    "No lights," she said to herself, realizing that street lamps were redundant in this world of permanent day.
    She moved toward the nearest building. From its appearance she assumed it was some sort of office, with blinds pulled down inside all its windows. By the door was an engraved copper panel bearing a name and some writing. " Schmidts ," she read. " Zahnarzte . Nach Verabredung ."
    "German... a dentist," Rebecca One mumbled, squinting an eye open. "To mend my broken teeth."
    Rebecca Two was about to reply when she turned to see someone. A woman had just emerged from the property next to the dentist's with two young boys in tow. She was descending backwards down the small flight of steps to the pavement as she tried to keep the children covered by her umbrella. She was wearing a cream-colored blouse and a calf-length skirt of grey, and on her head was a hat with a wide brim. She looked as if she had stepped from a newsreel of fifty years ago. Hardly current fashion , Rebecca Two noted. The boys were both no more than six or seven years old, and dressed identically in fawn-colored jackets and short trousers of matching color.
    "Um... hello," Rebecca Two said pleasantly. "I really need your help."
    The woman wheeled around. There was a moment in which she stared in open-mouthed horror. Then she screamed and dropped her umbrella, which was caught by a sudden gust of