Owen said, pointing to the gable of a building which backed on to the river. On the wall there was a blue neon sign. “Look at it,” he said. “The shape is a fleur-de-lis!”
Cati looked. The sign did indeed seem to be a fleur-de-lis if she closed her eyes and squinted. “Come on, Owen,” she said. “That’s just a bit of old advertising. For a shop or something.”
“There is no shop around here. Nothing else either,” Owen said quietly. “Look more closely.”
“I can’t see anything.”
“Concentrate.”
Cati stared until her eyes hurt, but could still see nothing but the glowing neon tubes of an advertising sign. Then suddenly, “The sign is made from magno,” she breathed.
“Yes,” Owen said, “and look at the wall. The stonework is newer than the rest. It has to be the entrance to Hadima.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try and blast it open.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Cati gulped.
“No,” Owen said cheerfully, “I’m not sure at all. Take cover!”
Cati had barely time to dive behind a rock as Owen raised the gun and fired. A glass bulb filled with magno shot from the end of the gun and arced towards the wall just below the sign, where it burst with a crash and a gout of blue flame. Cati peeped out. The wall was blackened, but otherwise there seemed to be little damage. Owen pulled another glass bulb from his belt.
“How many of those do you have?” Cati asked.
“Three.” He fired again. This time the mortar binding the wall cracked a little. He fired the third projectile and the cracks deepened.
“One left,” he said. This time he moved much closer before firing. He recoiled from the heat of the blue flame which flicked back and almost enveloped him. As it died down, he ran forward. The wall was severely cracked and stones had fallen out in places, but there was no sign of it having been breached.
Owen sighed with disappointment. “We’ll never get through it. Even with a hundred shots.” He turned away, and as he did so, there was a low rumble and the ground below his feet moved.
“Earthquake!” Cati shouted.
Before Owen had a chance to move, the whole world shook. He grabbed at the wall, then looked up in horror. Great pieces of masonry were falling all around him. He tried to move, but the ground was shaking too violently. Another earth tremor, much stronger this time! In the nearby town he could hear the sound of car alarms going off. He glanced up again. The whole wall was about to fall on him!
Owen felt a strange sensation around his feet. The path he stood on was covered with water up to knee height. Water was pouring up the river, topped with dirty yellow foam. A geography lesson about underwater earthquakes causing a tsunami came into his head.
“Owen!” Cati shouted above the roar of the water. Then a wall of water hit him. In seconds, he was tumbling, being driven upstream, bouncing along the riverbed. Once again he heard Cati call his name and thought he felt her hand grip his, but he could not hold on. Her fingertips glanced against his and then she was gone. With one great shuddering breath he filled his lungs and the water claimed him.
Owen couldn’t say how long he was underwater. His lungs burned and his body ached from being hit by stones and boulders. He knew that he could no longer hold his breath, that he had to exhale. He felt consciousness starting to slip away, and as it did so a distant memory formed in his mind. How as a baby he had been with his father when his car crashed into the harbour. How his father had rescued him. He could almost feel two strong hands closing around his waist…
Then, with a bone-shuddering impact, the water threw him against the stone sides of the river, pushing him higher and higher. Weakly, Owen reached out, seeking any purchase. Just as his strength was fading, he found something to grip. Scrambling with both hands, he tried to lift himself to safety.
Not until a fresh wave of water caught him did he manage to get his hands and then his elbows on to the edge of what was the opening to a tunnel. He drew one gasping breath after another. But even so he might have fallen back had not a great surge lifted and propelled him into the tunnel itself. The water followed him in and rose to the level of his neck. He forced himself further into the tunnel on his hands and knees, scrambling upwards, until finally he was beyond the water’s reach.
Panting, Owen heaved himself upright and lay back against the wall. There was a faint light coming from up ahead and he could see that the tunnel was big enough to stand in. He got to his feet, his clothes soaking. The water surged towards him again, so he turned and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
The tunnel walls were slimy and the stones underfoot were slippery, but there was enough light and the going got easier as the tunnel widened. Owen could feel fresh air on his face. The tunnel suddenly curved to the left and opened out. Owen stepped out of it, feeling the autumn sunshine on his face.
He looked around and saw he was in a small courtyard. It was enclosed by small shops and outbuildings, but it was obvious that no one had been there for many years. Doors sagged off their hinges and the windows were opaque with dust and cobwebs. Several old cars lay abandoned in the centre of the courtyard, cars which were perhaps thirty or forty years old. Beside them was an old lorry with canvas sides. Both of its doors were open, as though it had been abandoned in a hurry. There was a stillness to the place. Owen had the feeling that no one had disturbed the silence there for many years.
He walked cautiously around the courtyard. There was a shop selling old-fashioned mountaineering gear, the ropes now mouldy and useless. Another sold camping gear, a rotted tent erected in the window. Next door the shop advertised auto spares, puncture repair kits and things that you might need on a long journey. A small shop whose front had collapsed had stocked tinned food. Cans had spilled out over the courtyard. This was a place where people stocked up for a long journey, Owen realised. And he had a good idea where that journey might lead.
The final shop seemed older than the others. The big window was completely obscured with dirt. Owen wiped it with his sleeve to peer inside and revealed a big gold G printed on the glass. He wiped again, revealing other letters. They looked familiar. He held his breath as he wiped the rest of the glass, revealing a name. J M Gobillard et Fils. The same name that was on the mysterious chest in his bedroom!
Owen stepped back to get a better look at the shop. There didn’t appear to be any door and when he looked through the glass he saw only darkness. Then he realised there were wooden doors beside it, double doors large enough for a car to get through.
He hesitated before taking hold of the big rusted bolt which held the doors closed. It screeched loudly as he forced it open and Owen glanced nervously around the courtyard, feeling an air of disapproval in a place which had lain undisturbed for so long.
With one final effort the bolt slid back. Owen swung the doors open and found himself looking into an opening. The ground was battered and rutted, the walls were scarred and scraped. Graffiti in strange languages covered the notched plasterwork of the walls, and huge broken lamps hung from the ceiling. A battered wooden sign pointed into the tunnel. Owen traced the letters with his finger. Hadima.
This was the entrance to a road, one which led down into the darkness. As Owen stood
