Tunnels 04, Closer

this. "What if something's really wrong with me, and I need a doctor? Would you let me see one? And we're going nowhere, aren't we? We don't have any sort of a plan." Indeed, Chester harbored a suspicion they'd been traveling in circles, but he had no way of proving it.
    She was silent for a moment, then nodded. As she peered up at the dilapidated roof, the tic in her eye was going hell for leather. "Tomorrow," she said. "We'll see to it tomorrow."
    Chester had no idea what she meant by this, but after spending the day in the barn, they set off at the start of a mild evening. For once it wasn't raining, which lifted Chester's spirits. He became convinced they must be nearing the coast; there was a definite tang to the air and the occasional squawking gull wheeled overhead. It reminded him so strongly of his family holidays at the seaside, and this made him think all the more about how he needed to detach himself from Martha and get back to his parents.
    The night sky was crystal clear as they walked. Chester was just peering up at the top of a hill, and at the thousands of stars that hung like some glistening and magnificent tapestry above it, when he blundered straight into a hedge. He'd lost sight of Martha until a hand shot out and grabbed his arm, yanking him straight through the hedge.
    As he staggered a few steps and regained his balance, the contrast hit him right away. All he'd known for weeks were the endless fields of crops and rough grassland, but now he was standing on a manicured lawn. It felt so perfect under his feet, and the moonlight made it appear a little like a carpet of dark felt. He scanned around, noticing the borders of flowers and cultivated plants. Martha hissed at him to follow her and they crept around the edge of the garden, passing a greenhouse and then a large shed, in front of which were wooden chairs and a table. Martha changed course for the middle of the garden, and Chester found they were between two colonnades of conifers, at the end of which was a small gate. As Chester went through it, stooping to pass under the branches of a Weeping Willow, his eyes fell on the dark outline of a building.
    "It's a cottage," he whispered as he came to a standstill on the other side of the willow. It looked well kept, but showed no signs of being occupied. There weren't any lights on inside, and the curtains were wide open in all the windows. As they walked around the side of the cottage to the front, there was a small portico above the door with a climbing rose growing over it, and a gravel drive with no vehicles parked on it.
    Chester didn't try to dissuade Martha when she said she was going to break in. The cottage was isolated and there was no evidence of a burglar alarm of any type on the premises. They returned to the rear of the cottage where Martha smashed a pane in one of the sash windows and, opening the catch, slid it up. As he climbed in after her, Chester felt a little uneasy about what they were doing, but he'd had enough of the outdoor life to last him for a very long time. And whether either of them realized it or not, the effects of normal Earth gravity were still taking their toll on them -- particularly on Martha. They needed a place where they could have a proper rest.
    Discovering there was a well-stocked larder and fridge in the kitchen, Chester declined Martha's offer to prepare some food for him. Instead he helped himself to a can of baked beans, which he ate cold. Having looked longingly at the made-up beds with their crisp white sheets in the rooms upstairs, he grabbed a quick shower after he'd managed to turn the boiler on.
    He couldn't believe how much it hurt as the water washed away the grime of many months. Then, as his skin grew used to being clean again and settled down, he remained under the torrent of water, luxuriating in its warmth. He began to relax, feeling as though not just the dirt was being washed away, but his problems with it. Once he'd dried himself, he raided a wardrobe in one of the bedrooms, helping himself to a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, which weren't a bad fit. He caught himself staring into a drawer in the base of the wardrobe.
    "Socks. They're only socks," he said to himself with a chuckle. However, as he sat on the bed to put a clean pair on, then replaced his boots, he was wriggling his toes with a wide smile on his face. He felt so much better. He felt ready to face anything. "Yes! Dry socks!" he proclaimed, as he stood up.
    He returned