The Levitating Village
Chapter Eleven - The Pyronauts
The sky was red. It was red with the reflection of fire dancing on the water vapour that constituted the thick grey clouds above. It was like a sight that was perhaps once seen when the Earth was forming; the dotted landscape of pitch fires like volcanic eruptions that thrust its deadly ash into the forming atmosphere. Even the Country Club was on fire. It could be seen for miles around.
I mused over the overheard conversation in the Folly. I wanted to be surprised when I died. Not have it written out in list form, ticking one off as they went. And what Trent had put into motion with Marshall those few weeks ago, what they presumably thought was a quick and easy distraction to get themselves rich from property development, they hadn’t foreseen this. But my list of options from this point were thin. Evidence was gone. I had only one other thing to do now. Clearing my name was going to be difficult or impossible without evidence. I was sure I would get the blame for the fires too, so all I could do was do what I should have done already; do something for someone else. I ventured back to the Archaeologist’s Camp, Dick Felsch’s current residence, on the edge of the Village. He stood there, coffee brewed and in his hand, as though expecting me. I sauntered up to his campfire, where there was placed a hewn log as a makeshift bench. Night crept on.
“You left in a hurry. Room for one more?” I asked.
Dick looked up at me, “I thought you were in custody?”
I shrugged, “I was. Things have changed.”
“How so?”
The sky threw out claps of thunder suddenly; a light drizzle started. I poured myself a coffee from Dick’s pot.
“You see the fires?” I said, pointing to the distance with a move of my head, “They’re all deliberate. The Villagers to a man are scourging the land. Starting again. They’re all descendants of the original plague victims, you know.”
“I did know. I may look like a scruffy eccentric hippy, but I am an academic first. I know a lot of the history of this Village. I also know what else happened in this Village. I’ve been here since before the Village rose. I’ve been digging up the past since then. The Villagers ignore me, like I’m a wild animal. I give them that impression. It’s allowed me to stay here for that long. I seem harmless, see? I also know what is in the planning for this Village. Sir William Marshall wants to build on the Village. Real estate. It would be worth a fortune. That’s why you were sent here; to get the papers signed to start work on the housing estate.”
“So what’s the structure below the Village then?” I asked.
“It’s part of a complex of tunnels and rooms built during the war, when the Village was evacuated. It was built by the MOD towards the end of the war for some purpose.” said Dick.
“A bunker?”
“Yes. It was abandoned when the war ended. The Villagers returned, none the wiser. It has been hidden ever since.”
“Wow. You do know a lot about this Village.”
“I used to live here many years ago.” revealed Dick, “I moved here with my family. I became fascinated by the Village’s history. But we left, and I vowed if I ever could I would return and dig up the history of this once secluded and quiet Village. So I became an Archaeologist and returned with a crew. I’m the only one who remained behind. There are many more things to discover about this place. See, if the Village hadn’t lifted, if the newspapers hadn’t created the furore, if the tourists hadn’t come along, this Village and its people might have been born and died with very few people knowing of its existence. For instance, did you know there was a Convent over there in the times of the Norman Invasion? Very few people do.”
“And there are things down there, in that Bunker that I need to find. Remember you promised to help me down there?” I reminded Dick.
“I remember. If you’re determined, I’ll go one better than helping you down there. I’ll come with you.”
Dick and I abseiled down the rocks to the underneath of the Village, “There’s a vent down there, about ten feet below us.” said Dick, amongst the tinkle of falling debris, “It’s too thin for me to get through. But there is an escape hatch at the bottom. If you can get through there, you can open the hatch for me.”
Loose clumps slipped from under our feet. The structure was of pock-marked concrete. It gave me the impression of a monolith, an ancient structure placed to be a thing of worship. There were clips hammered into the concrete, an indication Dick, or people like him, had come down this far before. The hatch was small. And dark. And terrifying. But I had come this far. I couldn’t give up now. I scraped my way into the tight hole. Soon I was all the way in, and it made me claustrophobic. Dust and vermin droppings caked my nose, eyes and face in a grey pancake.
The hole eventually came out into a storeroom that had obviously not been used in decades. The drop was less than six feet, but the force of the pushing and the landing, like the vent was giving birth to a thin rake like child in a dusty and grey suit, caused intense pain in my side, enough to keep me cringing on the floor for a good five minutes. I scrambled to my feet and searched for this hatch. I found it under a mouldy crate in an adjacent store room. I opened it painfully. Dick slipped inside. Then the light went out. That or I was knocked unconscious. I seemed to have a habit of blacking out.
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