Scratch Deeper by Chris Simms Read Free Book Online Page A

impression.’
    â€˜Until,’ Cropped-hair said, ‘he had a go at the Cornbrook. On his own. Now that is a serious mooch.’
    â€˜Epic,’ Hidden Shadow concurred.
    â€˜What is it?’ Iona asked.
    â€˜A drain,’ Cropped-hair replied. ‘Runs for over five clicks, from Cornbrook—’
    â€˜The Metro stop going out to Salford Quays?’ Iona asked.
    â€˜Yeah, near there. Runs below the city to come out near Ardwick.’
    Iona tried to gauge distances in her head. Easily over five kilometres, like they said.
    â€˜It is,’ Cropped-hair elaborated, ‘a shit-fest of massive proportions. Probably the toughest drain in Manchester.’
    â€˜Parts where you’re knee-deep in fester,’ Hidden Shadow added. ‘Methane releases, the lot. All manner of debris to wade through.’
    â€˜And the tunnel is never more than four feet high,’ Cropped-hair said. ‘So you’re bent double the entire way.’
    The impact of their words – and the images they created – was causing Iona’s pulse to speed up. ‘If I were into betting, I could be tempted into believing you’ve also been down it.’ She smiled.
    â€˜Down it?’ Hidden Shadow grinned. ‘We were the first to complete it. That thing is our bitch.’ He held up a hand and Cropped-hair gave him a high-five. Lowering his arm, he looked at Iona. ‘This is all off the record, right? Anything we’ve done?’
    She nodded. ‘Within reason, of course. But if you mean exploring tunnels, it honestly does not concern me.’
    He leaned to the side and whispered something to Cropped-hair. The other man looked dubious and murmured a reply. Hidden Shadow whispered something else. ‘Come on,’ he said more loudly. ‘It’s cool.’
    Cropped-hair gave a reluctant nod.
    Hidden Shadow turned to Iona. ‘You want to see the inside of a storm drain?’
    â€˜Now?’ She looked around. ‘I don’t think . . . I mean, my shoes – I’m hardly –’
    He grinned. ‘We don’t mean actually going down one.’
    Cropped-hair sniggered as he produced his iPhone. ‘Watch this.’ He selected a file, started the footage playing and handed her the device. ‘There’s sound, if you can hear it above the noise in here.’
    The title, Bunker Storm Drain, faded from the screen and a drumbeat started up. The view was outside, looking across a concrete channel about ten feet wide. Stinging nettles and brambles drooped over each side. The picture zoomed in on a semi-circular opening at ground level. A hand appeared in front of the camera, thumb raised.
    The image cut and was replaced by the outline of a figure directing a powerful lamp up the low tunnel. He was wearing waders and had a bandana over his face. Iona could tell it was Hidden Shadow. The camera swung round to show a thick layer of litter on the floor. It homed in on a lump of matted fur – a cat maybe, or the remains of a fox. Whatever it was, it must have stank. Iona was wondering where the second light source was coming from when Cropped-hair said, ‘Many cameras have built-in spotlights. Burns battery power, but can be useful.’
    As Hidden Shadow started making his way forward the song’s tempo increased, synthesizer notes now layered over the frantic drum rhythms. The footage cut to another section of tunnel. A tripod had been set up with the lamp now mounted on it. Hidden Shadow was thigh-deep in sludgy water, pointing out the complicated-looking brickwork forming the rim of a circular opening in the wall. The liquid seeping over its edge was lumpy and orange. More was oozing between the bricks in the smaller tunnel’s roof.
    â€˜What’s known as a shrinker,’ Hidden Shadow said, peering at the screen from across the table.
    Iona glanced up.
    â€˜Wide opening, gets narrow the further in you crawl. Bummers to back your