Tunnels 06 - Terminal

happening back out there on the surface?’ He laughed with the improbability of it all. ‘We’ll both get out of this world?’
    She nodded.
    But Will had thought of something. ‘We can’t go. And no way can you go either – because of the virus. We’d take itstraight through with us. We’d kill everybody!’
    ‘I have to …’ Elliott began.
    Will was adamant. ‘No, you can’t. Remember what Werner said – the virus is everywhere down here because the birds are spreading it.’ At this point his eyes fell on the bushman. Will stuck his finger in the air, much like his father had been apt to do when he’d had a brainwave. ‘Wait a moment – I’ve got an idea.’
    ‘You have?’ Elliott said.
    ‘Yeah, I’m the man!’ Will proclaimed, puffing his chest out and strutting around in a kind of victory dance because he was so pleased with himself.
    This expression was completely lost on Elliott. ‘You’re the man? What man?’
    ‘Yes, I am . I am the man!’ Will said, a big grin on his face. ‘What we do is send Woody over to the pyramid to get us all the decontamination gear we took there – you know, when Jürgen was worried that we’d crash in on a load of Woody’s mates and give them the lurgy.’
    ‘And we set it up in front of that,’ Elliott said, indicating the silver square as she caught on.
    ‘Yep, and we make sure we take every precaution under the sun before we step into your mirror. And you make Woody understand that he’s to stay put and not to try to follow us through.’ Will was still finding this all a little difficult to believe. ‘And if this square is really what you think it is, I can be home in, like, the click of my fingers. And I can be there to help Chester and Parry and …’
    ‘I believe that we can really help them, if it’s not too late,’ Elliott said. ‘Because what I have to do is connected to this blood in me, to my father’s blood. I know that somehowit’s connected to the Styx.’ She paused, before she added, ‘And the Phase.’
    Will just nodded.

 
     
     
    Chapter Twelve

    ‘ T his one?’ Mrs Burrows asked, as she came to a door on the worn stone staircase.
    The First Officer frowned as he stopped beside her and considered it. ‘I seem to remember it was blocked up. Let’s try further up,’ he suggested.
    After another short flight on the claustrophobic stairwell, there was another landing with an identical iron-framed door of old worm-eaten wood. But when the First Officer turned the handle and attempted to open it, nothing happened. ‘Stand aside, please,’ he said self-importantly to Mrs Burrows, limbering up his arms and taking a moment to prepare himself. Then he stepped back and, like a charging rhino, threw himself at it with all his might.
    There was a splintering sound and the door did open, but only to butt up against a solid brick wall. The sloppily applied mortar between the joints of the bricks had the appearance of toothpaste, suggesting that the wall had been built from the other side.
    ‘Humphhh,’ the First Officer said in disappointment. ‘Please stand further back,’ he told Mrs Burrows.
    ‘Stop coming over all policeman with me, will you,’ she muttered a little crossly.
    He took no notice of this, again stepping back as far as he could on the tiny landing, and then launching his not inconsiderable bulk at the wall. He did this for a second time. And a third.
    ‘Losing your touch, dear?’ Mrs Burrows asked him with a smile on her face.
    But then, on the fourth attempt, the wall suddenly gave way. After the First Officer had clawed the bricks out to enlarge the opening, he discovered a layer of new plasterboard, which he broke through as if it was a sheet of paper.
    ‘Modern bloody building materials,’ he muttered, as he and Mrs Burrows finally stepped out into a room.
    ‘Where are we? What can you see?’ Mrs Burrows asked.
    The First Officer described what was there – how it was obviously in the middle of an extensive refurbishment. All the surfaces had fresh plasterboard on them, and from the cables everywhere on the walls and dangling from the ceiling it was evidently being rewired.
    ‘So someone’s doing some improvements,’ Mrs Burrows said, as she went straight to the window. It was still light outside, although it was raining so heavily and the sky was so overcast that everything appeared dull and grey. She sniffed. ‘This place is familiar,’ she said.
    ‘Gladstone Street,’ the First