Tunnels 06 - Terminal

inside and was greeted with a view of a shadowy shop interior that was straight out of a different century.
    On the shop counter of polished dark wood were chocolate truffles on silver platters, and stands of lollipops of all different colours. He examined one of these lollipops – it was quite unusual in that the top spun around on the stick as he flicked it with a finger. Stuffing it in his pocket, he turned his attention to the shelves beyond the counter, which housed numerous jars of wonderful-looking sweets. Bonbons , he read on one of the jars, and had put his Sten on the counter and was about to climb over to get to them when he happened to glance at the wall behind him. On the shelves there was the most amazing range of what looked like chocolate bars, box after box of them, and enough to keep someone supplied for a good few years.
    ‘The mother lode!’ Will laughed, rubbing his hands together in glee. Turning from the counter, he walked slowly beside the shelves as he helped himself to the different bars.He had no idea what was written on the wrappers, so began to tear them open to sample chunks. ‘Mint,’ he said to himself, as he tasted one bar with a picture of an iceberg on the packet. The bars were all rather soft from the heat, but he didn’t mind in the least.
    ‘This is too good to be true,’ Will said as he reached the end of the shelves and his gaze alighted on the crates of bottles stacked there. He picked one out that had a clear liquid in it and banged the bottle top down against the edge of the counter so it flipped off. The cap hardly had time to hit the floor before Will took a big swig of the fizzy contents.
    ‘Ah, that’s so good!’ he exclaimed, his eyes rolling in ecstasy before he promptly downed the rest of the bottle. ‘Lemonade!’ He immediately grabbed another two bottles and popped off the lids. ‘Elliott’s not going to believe this,’ he said, rushing back towards the door with his bounty.
    As he exited onto the pavement, he stopped dead on the spot.
    There was a small figure standing there in some kind of protective suit, a gun in its hands. The barrel was shaking, but the weapon was pointing in Will’s direction.
    Blast it! My Sten! Will thought to himself, kicking himself for leaving it on the counter. But it wouldn’t have done him much good right now. He slowly raised his hands with the bottles still in them, the chocolate bars he’d been holding under his arm falling all around his feet.
    The suit was an opaque white and appeared to be made from some type of plastic. The figure’s head was totally enclosed in a cylindrical helmet with a flat top, and there was a filter at the neck from which Will could hear a low hissing noise. The helmet was clearly being fed with a constant supplyof oxygen or air from the cylinder slung over the figure’s back.
    ‘Who are you?’ Will asked, as his mind raced, wondering how anyone could have been left alive in the metropolis. He squinted at the rectangular area of clear plastic in the helmet, making out the frightened young eyes peering back at him. It was a young boy – probably no more than ten years old.
    At least it wasn’t a Styx, Will consoled himself. ‘You’re … you’re just a kid, aren’t you? What on earth are you doing here?’ he asked.
    The child made no response, but kept the gun pointing at Will.
    ‘Can you understand me? Just keep calm,’ Will said, trying his hardest to keep calm himself in the circumstances. ‘I’m not armed,’ he added. He suddenly realised that this was a ludicrous statement to make, with his bottles of fizzy lemonade still held high in both hands.
    The boy’s arms were shaking as he held the gun.
    ‘Look, can’t you understand me? We’re not going to hurt you,’ Will said again in exasperation.
    The boy began to gesticulate wildly with his handgun. It was an odd-looking weapon, a Broomhandle Mauser, similar to the German side arm from the First World War. And it was unwieldy for a child, which was probably why the boy needed both hands to keep it levelled at Will.
    The boy stepped nearer to Will, jabbing the Mauser at him until the muzzle was less than a foot away from his face. There was sheer panic in the boy’s young eyes, and it was difficult for Will not to notice how tightly his finger was gripping the trigger. That wasn’t good.
    There was the slightest sound, like a gust of wind. Then the click as a safety catch came off.
    Elliott was there on the