MORNING SERIAL
HE had fallen into a disturbed sleep and woke with a violent start.
‘Christ!’ rasped Tom. ‘What’s up?’
‘Sorry! Sorry! Me dreaming, that’s all,’ Rees blew into his cupped hands.
‘You all right, now?’ muttered Eric, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
‘Aye! Dreamt we wasn’t here!’ Rees shivered. ‘Bugger waking up like that! Like waking up from a fit!’ he shuddered and eased Gwyn’s head on his lap.
‘You’ll give us all bloody fits – keep that up!’ growled Tom.
‘My fucking legs are dead,’ groaned Eric. He switched on his lamp, hoping its bright, white light would somehow lessen the awful numbness of the black, wet cold, and was transfixed. ‘The water! The water! Look! It’s gone!’
The three lamp beams skitted around, flitting off the wet rock.
Water still dripped everywhere, but the pond had gone and the rail track was in sight.
‘They’ve got a hole through!’ shouted Tom. ‘We should hear something!’
‘Quiet then! Let’s listen,’ said Eric.
Huddled together, staying perfectly still, they listened. Nothing.
‘Eric – you’re the youngest – give ’em a tap on the rail – get a bit of life back in your legs. The sledgehammer’s by there, behind you,’ laughed Tom.
Eric eased Gwyn’s legs off his lap, groaning as he straightened out his legs. ‘God almighty! I’ll never walk proper again!’ He found the hammer, crawled to the rail and hammered out a steady beat that rang out sharp and clear.
They listened. Nothing. Eric tried again. They listened, but again nothing.
Tom shone his light to the other side of the track. ‘Less droppers over by there, Eric – let’s make a tidy place to sit.’
Tom and Eric set about tipping stones off their sides and laying them flat.
Tom found a strand of shiny detonator fuse wire, rolled it up into a ball, ‘Waste not, want not,’ and put it in his shirt pocket.
Eric put a length of broken timber across the back of the rough stone platform.
Boys of Gold by George Brinley Evans is published by Parthian at £4.99 www.parthianbooks.com