Samantha had ended up sharing with Zoë and Isobel. She'd have preferred to
go in with Jamie and Victoria, but then she'd have had to retract her
accusation that Victoria snored. She'd realised at the time how stupid that
was, but she'd never been one to back down.
She felt even stupider now. She'd dozed for a while, woken, and despite
her fatigue hadn't managed to get back to sleep. The bed was uncomfortable
and the room chilly, but that wasn't the main problem. Her efforts to avoid
Victoria's imaginary snoring had brought her slap up against Zoë's all too
real nightmares. And just in case Samantha did manage to block out the sound
of Zoë thrashing about, Isobel seemed to have started talking in her sleep.
Samantha's throat felt dry, too. 'Basic' was too generous a word to
describe the amenities here, but water shouldn't be beyond them.
She slipped out of her bed, and tried to make her way to the bathroom as
quietly as possible. The floor soon put paid to that idea. Every step she
took gave rise to a different chorus of creaks. If Isobel and Zoë were still
asleep after this, it certainly wouldn't be thanks to her.
It was only when she was on her way back after her drink that she realised
she'd maligned the other two. The voices, and at least some of the other
sounds she was hearing, weren't coming from their direction at all. Someone
elsewhere was talking. She strained to make out the words; a few muttered
phrases like "too late now" and "within the hour" caught her attention.
She was turning the words over in her head, wondering whether to wake the
other two, when she solved the dilemma by blundering into someone's bed and
falling headlong on top of them.
"Let me go," Zoë's sleepy voice muttered. "I'll tell you everything-- Oh,
it's you, Sam."
"Zoë, something's going on."
"Something's always going on. Can't someone else fix it? I'm tired."
"Listen, will you?"
They listened, but whoever had been talking wasn't doing so now.
"You're imagining things," Zoë said.
"I heard voices!" Samantha protested, her own voice rising.
There was a creak from Isobel's bed as she sat up. "Shut up, you two," she
said. "Can't you have your pillow fight in the daytime?"
"This isn't a pillow fight."
"Then I don't want to know what it is." Isobel yawned ostentatiously.
"Whatever you're playing at, keep the noise down. Some of us are trying to get
some sleep."
"Well, you shouldn't be." Samantha climbed off Zoë's bed and put her hands
on her hips. "There's things going on round here. We may be in trouble."
"Go away."
Samantha felt her way to her own bed, pulled on such clothes as she hadn't
already been wearing, retrieved her torch, and took her leave. In moments,
she was back again.
"Now what?" Isobel asked drowsily.
"Someone's locked us in," Samantha hissed. "I tried the door at the top of
the stairs. It's bolted on the other side. Told you something was going on."
"No rest for the wicked," Zoë said. "Come on. Let's go and wake the others."
In the event, 'the others' meant Gia. Jamie had woken at once, but had
refused to countenance disturbing Victoria's sleep. Neither would he hear of
leaving her on her own, if there was a possibility of danger, so it had been
agreed that he should stay with her.
"Where did you say the voices were coming from?" Isobel asked.
Samantha crossed to the area of the bathroom door and shone her torch about.
"Somewhere round here," she said.
"Perhaps the pipes conduct sound," Gia suggested.
"Doesn't help us," Isobel said. "We can't fit down a pipe."
"Except maybe Zoë," Samantha said. She ducked a thrown pillow. "Sorry, I
couldn't resist. So the door's out and the pipes are out."
"That man Henry said we shouldn't open the windows," Zoë said. "Not that
we'd fit through them, either. I suppose there ought to be a fire escape
somewhere."
Isobel snapped her fingers. "The laundry chute. It's out on the landing.
Come on."
She led the others out onto the landing.
"Here we are," she said, indicating a metal hatch.
"You're not seriously thinking of climbing down there?" Gia asked. "It
could be a sheer drop and you'd break your neck."
"That wouldn't necessarily be a problem," Zoë said thoughtfully. "If you
spreadeagled yourself against the sides of the shaft you could probably slow
yourself down enough."
"I hadn't thought of that," Isobel said. "I wonder if perhaps--"
"Oh, come on." Samantha's slender reserves of patience seemed exhausted.
"Let's get it over with."
Before the others could stop her, she'd lowered herself into the shaft,
feet first, and disappeared from view. The other three exchanged glances,
though since Samantha had taken the torch with her it was a bit difficult
to pick up subtle nuances of expression.
"Now what?" Gia asked.
"Well," Zoë said. "I didn't actually hear any crashes or screams."
"Good enough for me," Isobel said, and climbed through the hatchway.
The chute, rather than the precipitous drop Gia had predicted, turned out to
be at an angle and easy enough to slide down, though Isobel found herself
wishing she'd been wearing trousers rather than a miniskirt. At the bottom,
it opened out into a cavernous room lined with what, in the light of
Samantha's torch, looked at first like rusting instruments of torture.
In hardly any time, she was joined by Zoë and Gia, the latter's jumpsuit
making strange squealing noises against the metal surtace of the chute.
"Whatever's all this stuff?" Zoë asked, looking over the machinery with
her usual curiosity. "Logically, the room at the bottom of a laundry chute
would be the laundry, but these aren't like any washing machines I've seen
before."
"I think that's what they are, though," Gia said. "Unless they're some
primitive attempt at a mainframe."
"You could be right. They used paper tape in the old days, didn't they?
Perhaps that's what these rollers are for."
"Don't be stupid," Samantha said. "That's a mangle."
"Mangle. A machine for rolling and pressing linen and cotton clothing
after washing." Zoë shook her head. "It sounds terribly old-fashioned. But
shouldn't it have a handle to turn?"
Gia bent over the mangle. "No. Look, there's a pulley here for a belt
drive. The other end of which would have to be somewhere over here. Can we
have the torch over this way a bit, please, Samantha?"
"Excuse me," Isobel said. "But before you two start taking all these
machines to bits, didn't we come down here to investigate those voices Sam
was hearing?"
"You make it sound like I'm some sort of maniac," Samantha retorted, her
temper rising. "When I'm stuck in a deserted laundry with a couple of mad
scientists--"
"Don't shout," Gia said. "When you shout, you make the torch wobble. Oh,
and I'm an engineer, not a scientist."
"While we're on the topic of shouting," Zoë said. By now, only her legs were
visible; the rest of her was lost to view behind the rusting hulk of another
gigantic laundry engine. "If sound carries well enough in this building that
Sam could hear a normal conversation all the way up in the tower, then we
ought to try and make as little noise as possible. But that's by the by.
More importantly, is this an inspection hatch and how does it open?"
Samantha pointedly aimed the torch in the opposite direction.
"I don't know," she said. "And I don't care. Now stop mucking about and
follow me."
"We don't have to do anything just because you tell us to," Gia said.
"Fine, then. Stay down there in the dark, see if I care. Coming, Isobel?"
"Like a shot," Isobel said.
They headed for the door, Zoë and Gia reluctantly following.

Despite Henry's prophecies of doom and missing floors, the area surrounding
the laundry room didn't seem to have been affected too badly by the building
works. The corridors might have been run-down and unlit, with paint peeling
away from the walls, but they were all structurally sound.
No sooner had the group emerged from the laundry than they heard the
distant murmur of voices again. With every sound echoing off the bare walls,
it was difficult to tell which direction to go, leading to lengthy pauses at
each turning, and whispered arguments.
At the fourth or fifth junction, they listened as usual.
"I can't hear anything," Isobel whispered, after a while.
"Whoever it was must have finished whatever they were doing," Gia suggested.
"And returned to wherever they came from." Zoë paused in thought. "Or should
that be 'whenceever'? I'll have to ask Victoria, she knows about these
things."
"I don't care." Isobel shivered. "It's chilly down here. Let's get back to
bed."
Zoë yawned. "I can get behind that plan."
Samantha turned to face them.
"What a load of wimps you are," she said. "What d'you wear that T-shirt for
if you don't mean-- eep!"
Her torch fell to the ground and went out. In the darkness, there was a
muffled shriek and the sound of a scuffle.
"None of you move," a menacing voice said. "Or sweetie-pie here gets it."
Another torch snapped on. Slowly, it swept across Isobel, Zoë and Gia.
"What d'you know?" the voice continued. "A load of girls."
The torch beam swung round, to show Samantha, struggling in the grip of
two black-clad and apparently faceless figures, with one arm twisted behind
her back.
"'Girls'?" Isobel scowled. "Of all the sexist attitudes..."
"Shut it. Or your friend gets her arm broken."
Samantha's captor must have taken that as a hint to twist her arm a little
further, because she gasped in pain.
"Same goes for if you try to run away. Hands on heads, and walk forward
slowly. Turn left at the end."
"Don't do it--" Samantha began, before her captor clamped a hand over her
mouth.
"Do it," the man repeated coldly.

In the dark, with only brief flashes of torchlight, it was impossible to
see how many of the men there were, but the number certainly wasn't less than
four. Stiffly and unwillingly, they found themselves marching through chilly
passages and deserted rooms.
"In here," said the only man who'd spoken, pushing open a door.
The group stumbled through the door. On the other side, a staircase led
down into what, in the torchlight, seemed to be an abandoned and empty cellar.
"Down the stairs and against the wall."
Step by step, feeling their way in the uncertain light, Zoë, Isobel and Gia
descended the stairs and were pushed against the far wall of the cellar. A
moment later, Samantha was with them.
"I'll get you for this," she muttered, massaging her arm.
"Keep quiet and stay put," the man said.
"Shan't." To prove it, she took a step forward.
"You're not doing yourself any favours, girl."
"Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?"
"We'll make quite sure you don't squeal on us. That's what."
"You're gonna kill us? Go on, then. Kill me. See if I care." She folded her
arms defiantly.
It was impossible to see the figure's expression, but there was a thoughtful
pause.
"If you want," it said. There was a nasty metallic click as some kind of
weapon was cocked.
"No!" Zoë shouted, throwing herself in the direction of the sound. The torch
spun round and went out; there were a few nasty thumps and groans; and then
the torch lit again, to reveal Zoë, on her knees, with an unmistakeable pistol
pressed to her head.
"I think we'll have to kill 'em," one of the other figures said.
"You can't!" a third, more familiar, voice protested.
"Can't we?"
"Look, just tie them up. We'll be gone before first light, and if they tell
anyone there won't be any proof. If you kill them, what's going to happen
when the police find the bodies?"
"Yeah, maybe. If you can get us some rope."
The formalities of tying four young women to the water pipes were quickly
completed. Their captors departed at once, leaving them in a cold, dark and
damp cellar with no light whatsoever. To begin with, they tried calling for
help, with no apparent result. Having grown tired of that, they continued to
talk, mostly to keep awake.
"Who were they?" Isobel wondered out loud.
"I think one of them was that man Henry," Gia said. "The one who persuaded
them not to kill us."
"Makes sense," Samantha said. "He probably just didn't want to clean up the
blood."
"As for the rest of them, I didn't get a good look at them. Did you?"
"No. I think they were wearing balaclava helmets. Or they weren't human."
"Oh, they definitely weren't," Zoë said. "Not completely, anyway. The one
who knocked me down was much stronger than a human. Cyborgs, perhaps, like
the guards at International Electromatics."
"Did he hurt you?" Isobel asked. "How do you feel?"
"Just bruises, where he grabbed me. And I feel groggy, sleepy and
forgetful."
"No change there, then," Samantha said. "Any luck with those ropes, Gia?"
"None." Gia wriggled again, to no avail. "We need an escapologist."
"Then next time I'll make sure to invite Jo," Zoë said. "But that isn't
going to help us now."
"We could try shouting for help again," Samantha suggested.
"We've tried till we're hoarse," Isobel complained. "And it's demeaning."
Gia kicked the pipe she was tied to. Three quick beats; three slow; three
quick.
"SOS," Samantha said. "Nice try, but no-one's gonna hear that, either."
In frustration, she kicked at the pipes behind her, hard. There was a
horrible cracking noise, and her feet suddenly felt very wet.
"Did you just..." Isobel looked down. "Oh no. Tell me you haven't just
broken the water main."
"I didn't mean to!" Samantha protested.
"So now, instead of being tied up until someone comes to rescue us, we're
tied up until we drown," Gia said, looking at the water rising around her
feet. "Nice work."
"Well, at least Sam'll drown before we do," Isobel said. "Sorry, Zoë. I
think you're at a disadvantage here."
"We might not drown," Zoë said thoughtfully. "Hypothermia may get us first.
It all depends on the rate of flow."



Chapter 4: I Don't Care Where The Water Goes

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