Tunnels 06 - Terminal

through what had been an area of grass where people once ate their sandwiches on the benches at lunchtime. It was very different now; the burning aviation fuel had scorched every inch of the ground, and the trees were reduced to severe black spikes of charcoal.
    There were more sections of the aircraft to negotiate at the far corner of the square, then, as they entered the road that led from it, a change came over Elliott. She seemed to throw caution to the wind, pulling ahead of Will without taking the usual care to shield him. He didn’t complain but went with it, quite relieved that they were no longer moving at a snail’s pace.
    As they advanced further down the road, it struck Will why the area was so familiar – he’d walked this very same route on many occasions with Dr Burrows, and the large building Will could see was where his father had often taken him at weekends. Sure enough, on the railings were several posters advertising the latest exhibitions, and confirming that Will was right.
    He tapped Elliott on the shoulder. ‘So this is where we’ve been heading all the time?’ he asked her, to which she nodded. ‘You do realise it’s the British Museum,’ he told her excitedly, pointing at the three-storey wing set back around twenty feet behind the railings.
    She’d been staring fixedly at the building, but now turned her attention to the railings, taking hold of them as if she was considering scaling them. ‘How do we get in?’ she asked.
    ‘Let’s go round to the front,’ he replied.
    Elliott began to run and Will had a job to keep up with her.
    ‘Wait a moment,’ he said to her as they reached the corner. ‘What’s the big hurry? And are you really sure this is where you need to be?’
    ‘It is,’ she replied immediately.
    Will took her to the main gates. Although they were closed, there was a smaller pedestrian entrance to the side, which allowed them to enter the museum grounds. Despite the fact that everything was in pitch darkness, Will had Drake’s lens over his eye, which rendered the scene as clearly as if it was daylight.
    As Will followed Elliott onto the forecourt, the strong connection with his past buoyed him up. This museum, with its impressive Greek-temple facade, was something he knew so well, and was so dear to him.
    For a moment Will was transported back to happier and more certain times. Many of his earliest memories were from excursions to museums, particularly this one, although Dr Burrows had had his own agenda for each visit and made little or no provision for his son, rarely stopping to explain any of the exhibits to him. But as Will had grown older and more independent, he’d left his father to go off and do his own thing, only meeting up with Dr Burrows again by the entrance when it was time for them to return to Highfield.
    But as the wind blew and all the rubbish on the museum forecourt was whipped into chaotic animation, it looked so desolate. No more was the place bustling with tourists as he remembered it from sunny Sunday mornings, with the constant squeal of London cabs pulling up to drop off or pick up people.
    ‘They’re like the lights in the Colony,’ Elliott saidabruptly, pointing at the lampposts dotted around the grounds. Other than the fact that they didn’t have the glowing luminescent orbs atop their iron posts, she was right; Will could see the similarity. He was about to agree with her when Elliott came to a stop, holding her head as if she was listening to her inaudible voice again.
    She began to run towards the middle of the three doors at the main entrance. As she reached it, she was pulling on it and rattling it with such force that the sound was reverberating all around the forecourt. She was wasting her time because it was firmly locked. Then she tried the other glass doors, making just as much noise.
    ‘Hey!’ Will hissed. ‘Are you trying to draw attention to us or something?’
    He could see that she was frantic to get inside, her eyes darting back and forth over the entrance as if she couldn’t believe that one of the doors wasn’t open.
    ‘Are you sure this is where you want to go?’ he asked.
    ‘We’ve got to break in,’ she babbled, kicking the glass panel at the bottom of the door. ‘Or blow our way in.’
    ‘Stop it. For God’s sake calm down, Elliott,’ he urged her, shaking her by the arm. ‘We can’t do that. Let’s try over there.’ He pointed to the side wing of the museum at the far end of the