“You haven’t been around for a while,” Jack muttered, his low, rusted voice cutting through the silence like something heavy dragged across concrete. “I was beginning to think you’d built yourself a cabin on the surface and forgotten the rest of us down here, among the rust, the mould, and whatever still moves in the dark.”
Harvey allowed himself a tired smile.
“Really? And where exactly do you think I could’ve disappeared to, Jack? If I’d found an island, I’d have taken you with me.”
A man standing in the shadows spoke without looking up.
“Kensington Gardens… I heard there’s still an empty bench near the fountain. If you don’t mind the rain.”
A few weary chuckles echoed through the checkpoint.
“Maybe Hyde Park.”
“Or the London Eye,” Jack added, shaking his head. “Perhaps one of the pods is still turning.”
No one was truly laughing.
There was no room for humour in the Tube anymore.
Sometimes, though, people pretended to laugh because pretending was easier than admitting what they had become. Old jokes, worn-out memories, and pointless conversations kept a fragile routine alive.
And in a world that had lost almost everything…
Routine was another word for survival.
If you enjoyed this glimpse into The London Tube, you can read the first three chapters for free and discover more about Harvey Hunter’s journey beneath the ruins of London at www.thelondontube.co.uk.
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