Chapter 4

God! What a way to wake you up! Is it really a quarter to six already?

That’s no wake-up-it’s-breakfast-time alarm. That’s a siren.

Fire? In a place like this?

Whatever it was, I was very soon well awake. The room lights had turned themselves on dimly, too, and were slowly brightening.

My God. What a place.

The siren wailed down into silence.

A speaker somewhere in the ceiling came to life.

‘Please leave your room immediately. Follow the yellow flashing arrows in the corridor. Do not use the lifts. Do not wait to pack your luggage. Please leave your room...

This place even knows the right language for its guests, room by room...

I was already out in the corridor, moving away from the lifts, following the yellow flashing arrows. My kitbag was in my hand, I’d never unpacked it.

I realized suddenly that I was the only one in the corridor. I was either ahead of everyone else, or behind them. I began to rush, thinking I must be late.

I can’t be. I was ever so quick.

People began to appear, and I realized why I was the first. Everyone else had children with them, on this corridor at least. And I seemed to be the only one who’d only thrown a few clothes on carelessly. I had no socks or underwear on, and my shirt was flapping out.

A woman appeared, carrying a baby, walking slowly with a toddler in tow. I picked up the toddler. He started bawling, but his mother looked very grateful.

The yellow flashing arrows led us down a side corridor, and then onto a flight of stairs. People were already descending from higher floors, and as we went down we were joined by people from lower floors. The stairs seemed endless.

The corridors seemed endless, too, on L floor. But it can’t have been more than a hundred yards. Adrenalin. Crisis psychology.

What’s the crisis, anyway? Surely not fire.

Suddenly the stairs were going down a plain shaft, with no side corridors. Then the walls were plain concrete, and there were no more flashing yellow arrows, but we hadn’t missed the way: there was no other way. Then we were at the bottom of the stairs, in a wide, low, bare concrete tunnel. We passed through a set of huge, heavy steel doors that looked like something out of a film set for a space ship. Why would spaceships have huge, heavy steel doors? Surely they should be as small and light as possible? Beyond them the corridor was much higher, with walls, floor, and ceiling of shining metal. There were shower heads in the ceiling.

It’s a shelter. O God, is this it?

I knew already.

What incredible luck to have been in this hotel.

O God! Cathie!

The toddler was still bawling. The corridor passed through another set of space-ship doors, and was bare concrete again. Then through a set of relatively ordinary-looking solid steel doors, and we were in a vast, dimly-lit hall. There was no direction to go. Everyone was just drifting to a halt, or wandering aimlessly about. I put the toddler down. His mother thanked me. The toddler clung to her leg and looked at me with tearful eyes, but he had stopped bawling.

I looked back at the doors through which we had come. People were still streaming in. I looked around and tried to estimate how many people there were, but with no vantage point it was impossible. The size of the hall was also very hard to estimate in the dim lighting.

The flood of people coming in was diminishing. I walked to the entrance and peered down the corridor. The last few people were all infirm in some way, or had small children in tow.

After the last people had arrived in the hall, I watched to see if the doors would close themselves, or whether there would be someone to do it. The lights in the corridor went out, and I couldn’t see the doors at the far end. The doors at the entrace to the hall did close themselves.

Now what? Is anyone going to tell us what’s going on?

Apparently not.

It’s not very warm. In fact, it’s cold.

I rummaged in my kitbag and extracted my jumper and put it on. Then some socks. I wanted to put a pair of underpants on, so I set off in search of a lavatory.

I followed the wall from the entrance. It curved gently, and I wondered if the hall was circular, but after about sixty yards the curving wall ended in a right angle junction with a straight wall. The curving wall was bare concrete; the new wall was polished metal. In the angle, a few inches from the walls, a thick steel hawser rose vertically out of the floor. Above me, it disappeared into utter blackness above the level of the suspended lights.

The lavatories were quite close to the corner, but I almost walked straight past them. The doors had no handles, visible hinges, or engaged / vacant signs at all. They were simply a door-sized area of the same material as the rest of the wall, with a quarter inch crack around them. They opened at a push at the right hand edge. In the dim light, the etched images of a man and a woman were barely visible.

Inside, they were very plain. The door hinges weren’t visible from that side either. The door was locked by rotation of a simple handle at the edge, which also served to pull it open. There was a bench at the back with an unlidded oval hole in it. All the surfaces were the same polished metal, which resulted in a disturbing mass of dim, blurry reflections. Just as in the main hall, no ceiling could be seen: everything faded into utter blackness beyond the light, far above.

There was no toilet paper, and no washing facilities.

I looked down the hole, but there was absolutely nothing to be seen. The light didn’t reach anything at all.

A small child could fall down there, quite easily.

I wondered what would happen to one that did.

More out of interest than out of any biological need, I peed. The golden parabola disappeared into an abyss, soundlessly.

I put on a pair of underpants and left. I was fascinated to know more about both upward and downward directions, but had the strong feeling I’d have plenty of time.

Back in the hall, things hadn’t changed. People were still milling around, talking excitedly, or looking bewildered.

Where are we going to sleep? What are we going to eat? How long are we going to be here? What is happening? Is anyone going to tell us anything? Or is everything going to be like those lavatories, find out for yourselves?

No-one seemed to be organizing anything, and I could see no notices.

There were no announcements.

I decided to continue exploring.

There were five lavatories, all just like the one I’d been in.

Only five? For all these people?

All vacant! People don’t know there here. They haven’t found them. Some people must be desperate by now.

For a moment I thought of shouting out that they were here, but I decided I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

The next feature I reached was a narrow, open passageway, with a ceiling at about ten feet. It curved sharply, and out of sight from the entrance, was a stout floor-to-ceiling turnstile. I was able to turn it, but it was designed to let people in the opposite direction. Beyond it, the passageway curved back sharply out of sight.

There were four such passageways at about twelve foot intervals, all identical. Coming out of the last one, I met a boy coming in.

‘Hey! Mister! Is this the gents? There’s no sign, but I can’t find one anywhere!’

I explained to him where the lavatories were, and what they looked like. He dashed off.

English child. I wonder how many English people there are here? How many people altogether? I still don’t have any idea. Hundreds, anyway.

The metal wall met an identical one at another right angled corner. Another hawser rose into the gloom. I followed the new wall.

Four more curving passageways.

A queue. Beyond the queue, above their heads, I could see the curved concrete wall. There were five lavatories in this corner too, and they had been discovered.

There was no hawser in this corner.

I followed the featureless concrete wall, and was soon back at the entrance.

So that’s our prison. A quarter circle, or something like that, maybe eighty or ninety yard radius. Toilets. No other facilities, unless they’re somewhere away from the walls. Or down the second lot of curving passageways.

Walking directly back to the passageways, I realized how crowded the hall was. I noticed one family, sitting huddled together in the middle of the floor, all crying. Further on, two young men were arguing about nuclear weapons. In English.

The turnstiles at the end of the other passages wouldn’t turn in either direction. I sat down in the end of the last passage I’d tried, to consider, but I didn’t have much to go on.

They must make an announcement soon.

I was tired, but it was too cold to sleep.

The other turnstiles turn, but the wrong way. These don’t turn at all. Presumably, they’re locked, but when they’re released, they’ll be the way to sleeping, eating and washing facilities, and the other four will be the way back. Then why are they so far apart?

Anyway, I reckon I’m in the right place.

Why is this place such a funny shape? What’s going on, anyway? Is it all out war? Or have we been taken prisoner in some bizarre plot? Don’t be daft. This is a shelter. There’s a war going on, or about to begin I suppose.

What’s happening in Burnfield? How are Cathie, and Mike, and Jill, and June? Interesting to see how I do care, quite a lot, how June is.

Pretty much like I care about Mike and Jill.

But the feeling that Cathie was in danger gave me a quite physical anguish.

Two days ago we scarcely knew each other. It seemed an eternity ago.

I had a vision of a small face at an upstairs window, embarrassed at being caught watching me kissing Cathie. Only twenty four hours ago, or so.

What is the time, anyway? It was half past four. How long have we been down here? I hadn’t the slightest idea.

I woke up chilled to the bone. There was a man trying to turn the turnstile. He addressed me in an incomprehensible tongue, when he saw that I was awake.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Do you speak English?’

‘A little. You think like me, I think, yes?’

‘I expect so.’

At that instant there was an audible click. The man disappeared through the turnstile and round the curve in the corridor before I’d really come to.

The turnstile was locked again.

I suppose it is the thing to do. It feels odd, not to say foolhardy, to go through a turnstile without knowing where it goes, without knowing that it’s what we’re supposed to do. We have to trust the people who made this place, I suppose, though. We did when we followed the yellow flashing arrows; when we allowed the doors to close behind us. But why is no-one telling us what to do now?

The turnstile unlocked after about ten seconds, and I went straight through. Round the bend in the corridor was a straight section, with a hatchway to one side. As I came to the hatchway, a canvas bag was pushed into it from the far side. I looked into the hatchway, but all was shrouded in gloom. I took the canvas bag, presuming it was meant for me, and continued along the passageway. A curve, a turnstile, a curve... and I was out into a vast hall exactly like the first one.

Well, almost exactly like. There were only about twenty or thirty people in this one, and despite the dim lighting I could see the whole room, apart from whatever might be above the lights. The only difference I could see was that the steel entrance doors were almost at the near end of the concrete wall, whereas in the first hall I’d estimated that the doors were pretty well half-way along the wall.

As I gazed about, another man came out of the passageway behind me carrying a canvas bag just like mine.

Everyone in this hall had just such a bag. In fact, apart from the clothes they stood up in, it was all they had. I felt like the odd man out, with my kitbag in addition.

Most people seemed to be investigating their canvas bags. I decided to do likewise. It contained a sleeping bag, of the cheap, zip-two-together-to-make-a-double, nylon and polyester variety; a plastic flask with about a litre and a half of water in it; a plastic box with a clasp-fit lid; and some plastic bags containing what looked like towels.

I opened the plastic box. Inside it were two cartons which could have come from a Chinese take-away, and a knife, fork and spoon.

The food wasn’t bad at all. It too could have come from a Chinese take-away.

Without thinking why, I put the empty cartons back in the box. I noticed that it was still warm inside. I looked at the box: it was double walled.

By that time, there was beginning to be a crowd in the hall, all with the same canvas bags; and the passageways were each issuing newcomers at ten or fifteen second intervals.

There has obviously been a general realization in Hall One that it’s the way to go, even without any word from Hall Two.

I investigated the packages of towelling. The first one contained a towelling shirt, somewhat large for me; the second a pair of baggy, fly-less trousers with an elasticated waist; the third was actually a towel; and the fourth contained a vest, a pair of unisex knickers and a pair of long socks.

At the bottom of the bag I discovered a small packet containing soft toilet paper, a bar of soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush.

The realization came to me that we were expected to sleep on the floor of the hall. Looking around, I could see other people acting on the same realization. I unrolled my sleeping bag, put my kitbag into my canvas bag, and lay down to sleep, using the canvas bag as a pillow.

I was exhausted, and despite a turmoil of worries about my friends, my family, Cathie, the world in general and the future, I was soon fast asleep.

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