Tunnels 05 - Spiral

it was well buried again.
    He didn’t know quite when — or even if — Drake would pick up the signal, but he also didn’t know where else to go for help. He regarded the beacon as a message in a bottle, which he’d just cast into the ocean in the hope that it would be found and that he’d be rescued.
    That the entire Colony would be rescued.

AS MRS. BURROWS ENTERED her quarters, the intercom beside the door was buzzing. She snatched the handset from the cradle.
    “Yes, it’s done,” she said. “It wasn’t easy — I reduced my breathing almost to nothing and moved slower than a snail so she wouldn’t hear me. She didn’t, and it’s a good thing, too, because I would’ve been hard-pressed to explain what I was doing in there.”
    She listened to the caller for several seconds.
    “I will,” she confirmed, moving toward the cradle as if she thought the conversation had come to an end.
    “Bartleby?” she gasped, turning in the direction of the oak desk in the small study at the end of the room. Between the two pedestals of drawers that formed its base, Colly was sitting like a Sphinx, her large amber eyes fixed on Mrs. Burrows. “Yes, it’s a terrible shame, but I suppose he was only doing what any wild animal does — he was following his instincts.”
    Mrs. Burrows twirled her finger around the flex of the handset as she listened to the caller. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there when you arrive,” she said, then hung up.
    With a very human sigh, the Hunter lowered her muzzle onto her forepaws.
    “I know,” Mrs. Burrows said. “But you’ve got so much to look forward to.”

    “Elliott,” Mrs. Burrows said, speaking softly in the darkness.
    The girl was instantly awake, rolling from her bed with her long rifle in her hands.
    “What is it?” she asked urgently. “What’s wrong?”
    “No, it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Mrs. Burrows assured her. “Only Will and Drake have arrived, and I thought you’d want to see them. They’re up in the Hub.” Mrs. Burrows didn’t give Elliott the opportunity to decide whether or not she wanted to come as she switched on the lights to the room.
    Parry hadn’t been misleading them when he’d said that the accommodation was comfortable. Elliott’s and Mrs. Burrows’s rooms were next to each other, the doors labeled gov 1 and gov 2. The quarters had evidently been intended for cabinet ministers, the interiors resembling something you might find in a luxurious ocean liner, with mahogany furniture and brass fittings, but minus the portholes.
    The main room in each quarters was some thirty feet square, with its own en suite bathroom and a small adjoining study just large enough for a writing desk and a couple of chairs. Everything in them — the cupboards, carpets, linen — was the very best that early-twentieth-century Britain had had to offer. The only modern addition to the rooms was the ugly plastic trunking that had been run along the top of the skirting and by the sides of the doors, where intercoms with incongruous aluminum faceplates had been installed, so that each room had a communication link with the Hub.
    “Do I need to get dressed?” Elliott asked. She was wearing a baggy white T-shirt that she’d found in the wardrobe, along with a pair of blue shorts far too large for her.
    “Maybe a bathrobe,” Mrs. Burrows suggested, hugging herself inside hers, which was cut from a thick blanketlike material. Far from being airless, if anything the quarters were rather chilly as fresh air pumped in through vents in the ceiling.
    When Elliott was ready, Mrs. Burrows said, “All set?” and they left the room together.
    “Chester!” Elliott exclaimed, surprised to see him slumped against the wall in the corridor. Elliott’s voice roused the boy, and with much grunting, he hauled himself to his feet. He yawned so cavernously, it looked as though he might dislocate his jaw.
    “Oh, hi . . . sorry . . . I was in such a deep sleep when Mrs. Burrows came to get me,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Only had a couple of hours.”
    They went down the corridor, then turned into a lobby where the elevators were located.
    “
Level 2
,” Chester read through another yawn. He was squinting through one eye at the floor plan on the wall. As Sergeant Finch, with his bevy of cats in tow, had taken them down in the elevator to show them to their quarters, he’d told them that the Complex had six levels in total. He had also told them that all