Categories > Original > Sci-Fi > Ward Below
He was supposed to find his own way out. That must be it. At least, he assumed that was the idea. It had been surprisingly easy to survive down here in the tube stations and tunnels, easier than he would have thought, though his stomach was aching for something other than the little pre-wrapped tidbits in the vending machines. He could deal with that. There were hundreds of the little refrigerated boxes; at least he wouldn't starve. What was also beginning to irk him was that even though he knew where he was, he was profoundly lost. Oh the stations were marked and he was beginning to know some of the tunnels on sight due to the graffiti and mason work or various other architectural giveaways, but that was not the problem. The problem was that not just the finish line had been sealed off. He'd gone back and tried the exit to every station he'd gone past and had started looking into all the others, ticking them off on his map one by one and he was nearly out of registered stops. That would leave him the old unused Victorian tunnels and those passages deliberately blocked off for safety reasons. He began to wonder if the orange cones and "keep away" signs were a ploy as well. He stuck his head into a few of the construction sites since those seemed the least likely to come down on his head. He was met with only abandoned tools and scaffolding, dust beginning to gather on the untouched equipment. Ward began to wonder if this were really a joke or not?
He hadn't seen a single living thing (unless you counted moths, spiders and the odd rodent) since he entered the tunnels. By his reckoning he'd been down here over a month. No one had come down as far as he could tell. There were no janitors, no conductors, no rail men, no passengers, not even any vagrants. There seemed to be nothing and no one besides him. It was becoming a little disconcerting.
He kept trying to get up into the stations, all of which he found barred or blocked in some way. A few of the older ones seemed to have suffered cave-ins or collapses at some point for piles of bricks and stones, huge and old, blocked the doorways. He wondered if it would be wise to try to dig his way out but the fallen blocks were too big and too heavy to be moved by his bare hands. It would have to be thought about and returned to later. Some of the stations were only blocked by bars or curtains of chain, one of the railway stations on the other side had windows set high in the walls near the ceiling. Pale sunlight filtered down in dusty shafts to the polished tile floor through the grit on the dirty windows in the clearstory high above. The station had been spotless, yet empty. The clock at the far end read 3PM, a high time of traffic for the tubes. However, not a soul showed their face to even wax the floors. All the booths and shops were walled off by the same doors and bars that blocked his passage into the station. Even if he could get past the barrier, evidently he would not be able to get out of the stations.
Ward began to wonder if something had happened.
The next few nights were uneasy. All exits had proved impassible and therefore utterly useless. He broke open one of the vending machines and used the nickels and dimes inside on every pay phone he could find. He was met with only the empty, staccato beep of a disconnected telephone. He was cut off and completely alone. He tried not to let that bother him. He'd been alone all this time, hadn't he? At least he had no fear be being attacked. There were positive angles to being alone down here- for one he would not have to go to work and he needn't worry about keeping up appearances for the BBC. He was quite sure no one was watching him now. If there were cameras still running, the film was playing to a blind audience. He still taped scraps of paper over some of the security lenses that read: "Please come and get me. -Ward". He was ready to be done with this but in his heart expected no outside aid. No help would come, at least not from the surface. If he was going to get out at all, he would have to do so himself. Tucking the map into his back pocket and as many packs of crackers and beef jerky as he could fit in his hip pockets he struck off down the black tunnels.
It was possibly the longest hike he'd ever taken. He walked quickly, his long legs spurred on by the possibility of escape back into sunlight. He went to sleep on the benches each night aching with exhaustion and awoke stiff but eager to be off. The trains were kept in a station yard and with any luck that yard- indoor or outdoor- would be his passage back to the surface. He knew he'd struck the correct path when the tracks began to slope steadily up and up and he had to use the wooden ties as if they were stairs. No luck. There was no light at the end of this tunnel, only a sealed metal door. Evidently this exit was no longer in use. It figured. Ah well, he had time. There was no rush. He would just try another one. Turning, he began the dark descent back toward the last station. He never bothered with the remaining glow sticks. He didn't need them as long as the emergency lights shone. They must be conserved in case of another blackout.
He tried several station yards till he was done. Several of the passageways appeared to be blocked just as the first had been. He assumed these must lead to outdoor station yards and therefore had been closed in order to keep out the elements or for some similar reason. Light shone under those doors and fresh currents of air wafted through the cracks. He tried opening them but was again brought up against the limits of human strength. The doors were simply too big and too heavy and most likely chained from the outside.
There were a handful of indoor station yards. Those provided him with a few more vending machines and dead pay phones but that was all. The trains slept silently where they stood, unmanned, unmoving. To make matters more discouraging, every single door was locked and not a person could be seen. The entire tube system seemed to be deserted even though Ward's brain kept returning to the dim hope that there were people about, but they were all conveniently at a station across the city where he was. He had only to find them, or an unlocked door, and all would be well. Even though he could never quite believe himself, he tried anyway.
Every station explored, every tunnel combed through, Ward betook himself to a station bench and sat down to think. He'd been over every stretch of track in London including the Victorian tunnels and those marked for construction and condemnation and found nothing. All the phones were dead, all the entrances blocked. He was, essentially, sealed in. Those were all the drawbacks to the situation. The positive aspects were that the lights were on, the water was still running in all the bathrooms with ample soap and towels in all the dispensers, there was still lots of food left in the various vending machines. However, it would not last forever and Ward didn't fancy living on rats. So his time limit was when his food supply ran out. There were hundreds of machines and only one of him so there was no rush. There wasn't any need to panic yet. With this in mind and a hot cup of tea settling in his stomach, he lay down and found himself able to sleep.
Some hours later he awoke to deafening roar of metal clacking on metal, the violent rush of wind, and a speeding weight so great that it's passage made the station shake. Ward's cry of alarm was lost in the noise as he jumped and fell off the bench. Wide-eyed in astonishment he sat and gaped as a train sped past, it's shape reduced to a white blur with an orange stripe. Once it had passed, it's shape became a distant light in the tunnel followed by the vague "clackity-clack" of it's own wheels. Ward could have cried for joy. The tubes must have opened up again, there would be people coming down soon and he could get out. He checked his watch. 3AM. They must be doing a test run. The morning commuters wouldn't be down for another two or three hours yet. Too excited to sleep, Ward decided to celebrate by getting cleaned up in the men's room before the risk of being discovered presented itself. He was getting pretty grungy. His hair- grown out to his shoulders to begin with- was getting really long and embarrassingly curly. He also needed a shave. His green and brown striped T-shirt was unstained as were his blue jeans, but both were getting stiff with sweat and dirt and were beginning to stink. Hopefully he'd be able to wash them later. For now, he settled for washing himself as well as he could at the small porcelain sink. This accomplished, he went back to sleep hoping to be wakened by the trample of human feet.
He awoke some hours later on his own feeling rested for the first time in a long while, if still a bit stiff from the molded bench cushions. Stretching, he checked his watch thinking it must still be early for there was no one yet in the little tube stop. 10AM. Long since past time for the morning commute. Had he missed it? Had he slept through it all? Looking around, Ward rather doubted this. Nothing had been disturbed, the waste bin was no more full nor empty than it had been when he went to sleep. There was no evidence of either restroom having been used, no fresh chewing gum or recently snuffed cigarettes lay on the pavement. No one had come. It occurred to him belatedly that the train had only zoomed passed and had not stopped. Of course. This station wasn't active yet. It must have pulled in elsewhere. Encouraged, Ward grabbed a bag of pretzels and set off down the tracks, listening carefully for the roar of an approaching locomotive.
He hadn't seen a single living thing (unless you counted moths, spiders and the odd rodent) since he entered the tunnels. By his reckoning he'd been down here over a month. No one had come down as far as he could tell. There were no janitors, no conductors, no rail men, no passengers, not even any vagrants. There seemed to be nothing and no one besides him. It was becoming a little disconcerting.
He kept trying to get up into the stations, all of which he found barred or blocked in some way. A few of the older ones seemed to have suffered cave-ins or collapses at some point for piles of bricks and stones, huge and old, blocked the doorways. He wondered if it would be wise to try to dig his way out but the fallen blocks were too big and too heavy to be moved by his bare hands. It would have to be thought about and returned to later. Some of the stations were only blocked by bars or curtains of chain, one of the railway stations on the other side had windows set high in the walls near the ceiling. Pale sunlight filtered down in dusty shafts to the polished tile floor through the grit on the dirty windows in the clearstory high above. The station had been spotless, yet empty. The clock at the far end read 3PM, a high time of traffic for the tubes. However, not a soul showed their face to even wax the floors. All the booths and shops were walled off by the same doors and bars that blocked his passage into the station. Even if he could get past the barrier, evidently he would not be able to get out of the stations.
Ward began to wonder if something had happened.
The next few nights were uneasy. All exits had proved impassible and therefore utterly useless. He broke open one of the vending machines and used the nickels and dimes inside on every pay phone he could find. He was met with only the empty, staccato beep of a disconnected telephone. He was cut off and completely alone. He tried not to let that bother him. He'd been alone all this time, hadn't he? At least he had no fear be being attacked. There were positive angles to being alone down here- for one he would not have to go to work and he needn't worry about keeping up appearances for the BBC. He was quite sure no one was watching him now. If there were cameras still running, the film was playing to a blind audience. He still taped scraps of paper over some of the security lenses that read: "Please come and get me. -Ward". He was ready to be done with this but in his heart expected no outside aid. No help would come, at least not from the surface. If he was going to get out at all, he would have to do so himself. Tucking the map into his back pocket and as many packs of crackers and beef jerky as he could fit in his hip pockets he struck off down the black tunnels.
It was possibly the longest hike he'd ever taken. He walked quickly, his long legs spurred on by the possibility of escape back into sunlight. He went to sleep on the benches each night aching with exhaustion and awoke stiff but eager to be off. The trains were kept in a station yard and with any luck that yard- indoor or outdoor- would be his passage back to the surface. He knew he'd struck the correct path when the tracks began to slope steadily up and up and he had to use the wooden ties as if they were stairs. No luck. There was no light at the end of this tunnel, only a sealed metal door. Evidently this exit was no longer in use. It figured. Ah well, he had time. There was no rush. He would just try another one. Turning, he began the dark descent back toward the last station. He never bothered with the remaining glow sticks. He didn't need them as long as the emergency lights shone. They must be conserved in case of another blackout.
He tried several station yards till he was done. Several of the passageways appeared to be blocked just as the first had been. He assumed these must lead to outdoor station yards and therefore had been closed in order to keep out the elements or for some similar reason. Light shone under those doors and fresh currents of air wafted through the cracks. He tried opening them but was again brought up against the limits of human strength. The doors were simply too big and too heavy and most likely chained from the outside.
There were a handful of indoor station yards. Those provided him with a few more vending machines and dead pay phones but that was all. The trains slept silently where they stood, unmanned, unmoving. To make matters more discouraging, every single door was locked and not a person could be seen. The entire tube system seemed to be deserted even though Ward's brain kept returning to the dim hope that there were people about, but they were all conveniently at a station across the city where he was. He had only to find them, or an unlocked door, and all would be well. Even though he could never quite believe himself, he tried anyway.
Every station explored, every tunnel combed through, Ward betook himself to a station bench and sat down to think. He'd been over every stretch of track in London including the Victorian tunnels and those marked for construction and condemnation and found nothing. All the phones were dead, all the entrances blocked. He was, essentially, sealed in. Those were all the drawbacks to the situation. The positive aspects were that the lights were on, the water was still running in all the bathrooms with ample soap and towels in all the dispensers, there was still lots of food left in the various vending machines. However, it would not last forever and Ward didn't fancy living on rats. So his time limit was when his food supply ran out. There were hundreds of machines and only one of him so there was no rush. There wasn't any need to panic yet. With this in mind and a hot cup of tea settling in his stomach, he lay down and found himself able to sleep.
Some hours later he awoke to deafening roar of metal clacking on metal, the violent rush of wind, and a speeding weight so great that it's passage made the station shake. Ward's cry of alarm was lost in the noise as he jumped and fell off the bench. Wide-eyed in astonishment he sat and gaped as a train sped past, it's shape reduced to a white blur with an orange stripe. Once it had passed, it's shape became a distant light in the tunnel followed by the vague "clackity-clack" of it's own wheels. Ward could have cried for joy. The tubes must have opened up again, there would be people coming down soon and he could get out. He checked his watch. 3AM. They must be doing a test run. The morning commuters wouldn't be down for another two or three hours yet. Too excited to sleep, Ward decided to celebrate by getting cleaned up in the men's room before the risk of being discovered presented itself. He was getting pretty grungy. His hair- grown out to his shoulders to begin with- was getting really long and embarrassingly curly. He also needed a shave. His green and brown striped T-shirt was unstained as were his blue jeans, but both were getting stiff with sweat and dirt and were beginning to stink. Hopefully he'd be able to wash them later. For now, he settled for washing himself as well as he could at the small porcelain sink. This accomplished, he went back to sleep hoping to be wakened by the trample of human feet.
He awoke some hours later on his own feeling rested for the first time in a long while, if still a bit stiff from the molded bench cushions. Stretching, he checked his watch thinking it must still be early for there was no one yet in the little tube stop. 10AM. Long since past time for the morning commute. Had he missed it? Had he slept through it all? Looking around, Ward rather doubted this. Nothing had been disturbed, the waste bin was no more full nor empty than it had been when he went to sleep. There was no evidence of either restroom having been used, no fresh chewing gum or recently snuffed cigarettes lay on the pavement. No one had come. It occurred to him belatedly that the train had only zoomed passed and had not stopped. Of course. This station wasn't active yet. It must have pulled in elsewhere. Encouraged, Ward grabbed a bag of pretzels and set off down the tracks, listening carefully for the roar of an approaching locomotive.
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