THE H-BOMB GIRL by Stephen Baxter (beach books txt) 📕

He stuck his head out of the heap. “What’s up? Coffee cold?”

“What are you up to?”

“My patriotic duty. This is my Inner Refuge.”

“Your what?”

“Look.” He crawled out and lifted back the mattresses. They had been heaped up on doors, which had been taken off their hinges and leaned against the wall. Jimmy was proud of his workmanship. “See, there’s a bit of two-by-four nailed to the floor so you have something to prop up the doors. Then you pile up mattresses and stuff on top. The angle of the doors has to be exactly sixty degrees to the floor, for maximum protection.”

“Who says?” Bernadette asked.

“The government,” Joel said. “He’s getting all this from one of their leaflets.”

“Come inside.” Jimmy beckoned Laura, and she followed him under the doors.

Inside, it was like being in a little hut. Jimmy had spread sleeping bags over the floor. “I have torches and a lamp. I’m supposed to collect fourteen days’ worth of food and water. I made a start.” He showed her bottles, canteens, cans of beans and Spam. “Even got a camping stove. Of course I’ll need less, now that Little Jimmy won’t be in here with me.”

“But what’s it for?”

“To keep out the bombs,” Jimmy said. “And the fall-out. Which is something to do with radiation. Fourteen days in here, you should be OK.”

“Where do you go to the toilet?”

He grinned. “I’ll have bottles. Empty cans. We got by, in the bomb shelters in the war. Or course we weren’t down there for fourteen days at a time. Look here.” He found an old tin cigar box under a heap of cans.

“What’s in there?”

“Our birth certificates. Mine, anyway. I had to give Little Jimmy his. My marriage licence, to Jimmy’s mother, God rest her. Our ration cards and identity cards. Though I kept my old one from the war. Bank book, driving licence. All for when it’s over, you see. The fourteen days. And things start to get organised.”

Laura looked at all this stuff. Here was Jimmy’s whole life in a tin box.

Huddling fearfully under the doors, it was hard to remember this was the Jive-O-Rama. A place where you came to have fun. Now it was a place infected by fear and dread, like everywhere else.

“They’re here,” Agatha said.

They scrambled out of the refuge. Laura heard engines rumbling outside, heavy vehicles rolling up.

Shadows crossed the stairs, and a torch flashed.

Laura heard a familiar growl. “Is that little baggage down there? We done enough running around for one stupid kid.” The Minuteman, trapped at the top of the stairs.

Everybody was agitated but Agatha. She just stood there like a shadow.

“Agatha,” Laura said. “Which way?”

“Like before. Come on.” She turned to lead the way out the back. Laura saw that the hardboard was already off the hole in the wall.

Bernadette said, “They’ll dig us out. This time they mean business.”

“We’ll go on,” Agatha said.

“Where?”

Agatha wouldn’t say.

Seconds left.

“Move it,” Big Jimmy said.

Joel grinned at him. “I thought you trusted the government.”

“Not that much. Look, I take as I find. Agatha is a good woman who needed somewhere to hide, and that’s enough for me. And when the Army comes breaking down my door hunting for kids—well, I know which side I’m on.

“Enough chit-chat. You lot, get down the hole. You and you,” he said, pointing to Bert and Mickey, “stay sat there. I’ll get some more coffee. We’ll hold them up.”

Bert and Mickey shrugged and sat down.

There was a clatter of boots on the stairs. A gruff male voice called, “Hello? Anybody here?”

Jimmy’s eyes were popping. “Go, go!”

Agatha had already disappeared into the hole. Laura hurried after her. Bernadette, Nick and Joel scrambled behind.

Laura looked back. Just as Joel was putting the board back over the hole, she saw scuffers and squaddies coming cautiously down the stairs into the club. The soldiers had ugly looking rifles under their arms.

Jimmy walked forward, arms wide. “Gents. What can I get you soldier boys? Jukebox, sixpence a throw. How about Adam Faith, ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’?”

One of the soldiers lifted his rifle butt and hit Jimmy in the belly. Jimmy went down as if his bones had turned to water. Mickey and Bert lunged forward.

That was all Laura saw. Joel pushed her away. “There’s nothing we can do.”

She stumbled off into the dark. She heard angry shouts, and the thud of fists and rifle butts hitting flesh.

They huddled in the dark of next door’s cellar. Agatha had a torch. Their faces floated in its light.

Bernadette said, “So now what? They’ll find that hole in the wall as soon as they finish with Jimmy and the boys.”

“We go on,” Agatha said. “I told you.”

She led them to the back of the cellar, and pulled out a loose brick. Something small and furry jumped out of the hole, and went squeaking off. They flinched, all except Agatha, who seemed to be used to rats.

“What’s through there?” Laura hissed.

“Another cellar. Next door.”

“And then what?” Joel asked. “Another cellar, and another?”

“Yes,” Agatha said, matter-of-fact. “We’ll work our way west. Towards the city centre. There are other deep places there. More cellars. Storage places under warehouses.”

“Like the Cavern,” Nick said.

“Yes. And sewers.”

“Sewers. Oh, cracker,” Bernadette said.

“There have been traders coming into Liverpool since Roman days,” Agatha said. “Smugglers too. There are all sorts of cellars, tunnels. Bunkers and air-raid shelters from the war. The place is a warren. Most big cities are, underground.”

Laura asked, “And then what?”

“That’s up to you,” Agatha said. “At least you will have options.”

She led the way.

Laura followed her. “Agatha. What about my mum? She’ll be scared out of her wits. When can I go home?”

Agatha turned to her, her face silhouetted by her torch. “Don’t be stupid,” she said.

The phone in Laura’s pocket, heavy and alien, began to ring again.

Chapter 18

Wednesday 24th October. 11 p.m.

Writing this by candlelight. Stub of pencil from my blazer pocket. Didn’t think to bring a pen from school.

Haven’t seen daylight since about three. We