Tunnels by Roderick Gordon Page B

Because it's been so quiet, we've all assumed he's gone somewhere, but he could still be in the cellar. If he hasn't eaten for two whole days, he might have collapsed." Will rose from his chair. "I'm going to take a look," he said decisively to Rebecca's back.
    "Can't do that. No way," she said, spinning around to face him. "You know he doesn't let us go down there without him."
    "I'm going to get the spare key." With that, Will hurried out of the room, leaving Rebecca standing by the sink, clenching and unclenching her fists in her yellow rubber gloves.
    He reappeared seconds later. "Well, are you coming or not?"
    Rebecca made no move to follow him, turning her head to look out the kitchen window as if mulling something over.
    "Come on!" A flash of anger suffused Will's face.
    "Fine… whatever," she agreed as she seemed to come to again, snapping off her gloves and placing them very precisely on the drainer at the side of the sink.
    They went to the cellar door and unlocked it very quietly, so their mother wouldn't hear. They didn't need to worry, though, since the sound of a barrage of gunfire was coming thick and fast from inside the living room.
    Will turned on the light and they descended the varnished oak stairs he had helped his father fix into place. As they stood on the gray-painted concrete floor, they both looked around in silence. There was no sign of Dr. Burrows. The room was crammed with his belongings, but nothing was that different from the last time Will had seen it. His father's extensive library covered two walls, and on another were shelves housing his "personal" finds, including a railwayman's lamp, the ticket machine from the disused railway station, and a careful arrangement of primitive little clay heads with clumsy features. Against the fourth wall stood a workbench, on which his computer sat, with a half-consumed candy bar in front of it.
    As Will surveyed the scene, the only thing that seemed out of place was a wheelbarrow filled with dirt and small rocks by the door to the garden.
    "I wonder what that's doing in here," he said.
    Rebecca shrugged.
    "It's funny… I saw him taking a load out to the Common," Will went on.
    "When was that?" Rebecca asked, frowning thoughtfully.
    "It was a couple of weeks ago… in the middle of the night. I suppose he could have brought this in for analysis or something." He reached into the wheelbarrow, took some of the loose soil into his palm, and examined it closely, rolling it around with his index finger. Then he held it up to his nose and breathed in deeply. "High clay content," he pronounced and sunk both hands deep into the soil, lifting out two large fistfuls, which he squeezed and then released, sprinkling them slowly back into the barrow. He turned to Rebecca with a quizzical expression.
    "What?" she said impatiently.
    "I was just wondering where this could have come from," he said. "It's…"
    "What are you talking about? He's obviously not here, and none of this is going to help us find him!" Rebecca said with such unnecessary vehemence that Will was left speechless. "Come on, let's go back upstairs," she urged him. Not waiting for Will to respond, she stomped up the wooden steps, leaving him alone in the cellar.
    "Women!" Will muttered, echoing a sentiment his father often imparted to him. "Never know where you are with them!" Rebecca in particular had always been a total mystery to Will — he couldn't decide whether she said the things she did on a whim, or if there was really something much deeper and more complex going on inside that well-groomed head of hers, something he couldn't even begin to understand.
    Whatever it was, it was no use worrying about that now, not when there were other, more important things to consider. He blew dismissively and rubbed his hands together to get the soil off, then stood motionless in the center of the room until his inquisitiveness got the better of him. He went over to the bench, flicking casually through the