Eventually, as they moved onwards through the tunnel it widened again, and to his relief the level of the water dropped first to their waists, then their thighs, and then it reached only as high as their calves. He turned to check on Esme but as he did there was a low rumble from behind them. He pressed the torch icon and they plunged back into darkness. He sensed Esme move closer to him. A flicker of light appeared in the gloom from what he was guessing were the headlamps of Plato and Nietzsche. The Thinkers were in the tunnels and they were coming up fast behind them.
He took hold of Esme’s hand and she gripped it hard. They were heading downwards when they should be heading upwards towards the surface, but they couldn’t double back to the storm drain with Plato and Nietzsche standing between them and escape. The Thinkers were getting closer – he could almost make out the men’s voices. Esme came to a halt – she put a hand on his forearm. There was a gathering noise of rushing water ahead of them. They must be about to hit the Fleet. He turned the torch back on. There was no point creeping in the dark now. They had to move faster. A wash of white light flooded the wall, and behind them there was a shout of alarm from one or other of the Thinkers.
In the darkness, he sensed a sudden and dangerous kind of emptiness, and he reached for Esme. She teetered in mid-air for a second, before he hauled her back from the void.
It was lighter as the tunnel came to an end, run-off and sewage pouring over the lip into a broad torrent ahead of them. The stretch of water had to be twenty metres across and moving at a rate of knots.
‘We’ll never make it,’ Esme said. Dismay was all over her face as, sparking blue, a shot pinged off the stonework beside them, then another and another. She put her arm over her head, as if that would be enough to block the bullets. The Thinkers behind them still had their submachine guns.
‘We have no alternative,’ North said, tugging her towards the edge. At least in the Fleet they’d have a chance, otherwise they were about to get very dead. Who knew where they would end up – if the water would carry them under, or carry them away? The chances of making it across had to be negligible but it was all they had. He felt her resistance, the drag of her feet, and understood.
‘Trust me,’ he said.
‘We almost drowned the other day in that car. We’re not going to get that lucky again.’
‘You and me, we make our own luck,’ he said, taking a firmer grip on her hand and pulling her with him as he leapt into the space beyond.