'It's an idea,' Culver agreed. 'If we push it through near the top, one of us can stand and still hold onto it. Let me have it.'
'No, you come down with me and hold the light.' Strachan pulled the spring out, then bent it into a curve.
They took deep breaths and allowed themselves to sink. The rats outside were thumping their bodies against the grille, aware that their prey was just beyond the thin barrier. Teeth gnashed at the wire as it was threaded through.
The other end came back a few notches lower and Strachan quickly twisted it around the part still connected to the torch base. He gave the loop a testing tug then straightened, his fingers still holding on.
Culver checked the improvised lock before rising himself.
'It looks good,' he said, after taking a breath.
Yeah,' Fairbank commented. The only question is, who hangs onto it while the rest of us get clear?'
'Or how long will it take for the water to cover whoever that person is,' Culver added, noticing that Strachan was stooping to maintain the hold, his chin touching the water's surface.
‘You two go,' Strachan said. ‘Ill hold it for as long as I can.'
Culver and Fairbank glanced at each other and the latter shrugged. "Who's arguing?' he said. He offered the blade to Strachan. ‘You want this?'
'No. When I climb that ladder I want to get up fast. That thing's going to get in the way.'
'Anything you say.' Fairbank reached out for a rung, the heavy blade gripped precariously between his teeth.
*You sure?' Culver said quietly to Strachan as Fairbank climbed.
'Get going, they're getting impatient out there. I can feel the clever buggers pulling at the grille with their claws. Thank God they need air and can't keep it up for too long.'
Culver briefly clutched the engineer's shoulder as he pushed by him. 'Okay. See you up top.'
'Culver?'
The pilot turned, one hand on a rung above his head.
What the fuck are these monsters? How could they have grown like this?'
Culver shook his head. 'Maybe Dealey has more answers.' He began to climb.
Above, Jackson was pushing at a fine wire mesh that covered the top section of the shaft. It swung open easily and he went through. He found himself in a space about five feet high, louvre-type struts on either side, the roof slightly curved. Strong metal bars crossed the wire mesh from side to side, giving a firmer base to stand on. He could hear the rain outside as he listened at the opening, but could see nothing. It was strange to realize it was night time out there, for the last few weeks had been a world of constant artificial light. Kate joined him and breathed in the wonderful night air, its clean dampness so much fresher than the air inside the dark tower.
There were five separate strutted sections, each no more than a foot wide, and Jackson pushed at one, testing its strength. 'I think I can kick them out,' he said to Kate.
'Hurry then,' she replied, moving aside to give him room.
Jackson lay with his back against the metal bars and kicked with both feet. The struts he had aimed at held, but he felt them shift with the blow. A second, more concentrated kick splintered them. A third created a gap. He aimed higher next time and repeated the process.
Progress on the ladder had come to a halt, the space at the top of the shaft too confined and the mesh, despite the bars, too weak to support them all. Dealey, just behind an engineer whose head and shoulders were poking through the opening above, looked down into the well and felt nauseated. They were an awful long way up. He closed his eyes, resting his head against a ladder rung, his fists clenched tightly around the uprights. He was already wondering how they would get down on the outside.
At the bottom, Strachan strained to keep a grip on the wire loop beneath the water, twisting his head every so often to suck in a breath, the level now well past his chin. The rats outside were frantically scrabbling at the grille and several had managed to widen the gap at the lock side and were pushing their claws through, excited by the blood tingeing the water around them.
Strachan tensed even more when he felt something catch the wire loop on the other side. The loop jerked as razor-sharp teeth bit into it. It snapped.
Strachan wasted no time. He lunged for the ladder as the door began to swing away from him.
Just ahead of Ellison, who was above Fairbank and Culver, the engineer who had earlier announced that he couldn't swim clung to the ladder, his lips moving in silent prayer, eyes gazing through the rungs at the rough concrete directly in front of him, refusing to look either up or down, and wondering if he should have mentioned that he couldn't stand heights either. More brilliant light suddenly filled the upper levels of the tower, followed closely by the deep, rumbling thunder which seemed to shake the very ladder he rested on. He pressed closer to the wall. The thunder faded and a new noise caught his attention. A scraping sound.
Set in the wall beside him was a rectangular air duct, covered, as was the one now below water, with a metal grid. Beyond the grid, he assumed, were the filters to purify the air that was sucked through. The scraping seemed to be coming from inside.
He peered closer, nervous of looking but too nervous not to. He thought he heard movement inside.
Thankful that the metal grid covered the opening, he looked even closer, squinting his eyes to see into the small, regular-patterned holes.
Lightning from outside invaded the upper part of the tower again, not quite penetrating its depths, but creating enough reflected light for him to see.
It seemed that a hundred yellow-gleaming eyes were staring out at him, black, hump-shaped bodies crammed into the tiny space behind them. As one, they leapt forward, crashing into the grid and rattling the metal in its mounting.
The engineer howled in fright, reflexively backing away. His foot slipped from the rung, his hands lost their grip. He fell outwards, his cry continuing to a higher pitch, ending only when he plunged into the murky waters below.
Strachan felt, rather than saw, the descending body. He squeezed against the ladder, shoulders hunched and body tensed. A foot caught him a heavy blow on his scalp and he went down, only his tight hold on a rung saving him from falling to his knees.
He felt movement around his legs, smooth bodies bumping against them. The small, confined chamber abruptly exploded into a violent, thrashing cauldron of motion and sounds. The fallen engineer's gurgled shrieks merged with the high-pitched squealing of rats.
Strachan tried to heave himself upwards, but something held his leg. Teeth punctured his thigh.
He pulled, using all his strength, mouth open wide but only a thin, keening sound emerging. He began to rise and then another weight attached itself to his lower body. The pointed jaws closed on the loose parts below his groin and, as he rose, inch by inch, he could feel them tearing away, a fraction at a time, tendons and blood vessels stretching, separating, bleeding. He moaned at the men above to help.
Fairbank had tried to grab at the man who had fallen from just above him and in the process had lost the precious blade. He studied the seething foam below with consternation, blood spurting from the froth in scarlet geysers.
Culver looked down into Strachan's wide, pleading eyes, the pupils completely surrounded by whiteness. The engineer was screaming, the sound too soft to be heard over the clamour. One hand gripped a rung while the other reached towards Culver, fingers outstretched and twitching, a gesture of entreaty.
Culver started to descend, ignoring Fairbank's warning not to.
Strachan sank lower, forcing Culver to climb down further.
He crouched on the ladder, legs bent, clinging with one hand and reaching for Strachan with the other.
Their fingertips touched and slipped into each other's palms. They gripped.