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This is the coalface, feeding the furnaces that drive the Underworld. You’re in the belly of the beast now, girl.”
    She was tempted, sorely tempted to remind him her name was Susan, but a silent truce seemed to have quelled the hostility between them and she was in no position to break it.
    A series of ramparts and ladders weaved their way toward the floor of the vast cavern.
    “ So what do we do here?” asked Susan shivering, her arms wrapped around her thin clothing in a vain attempt to keep warm.
    “ Nothing.”
    “ You’re not going to do anything?”
    “ There’s nothing to do except lay low,” replied Harrison.
    “ But my sister-”
    “ Wherever your sister is,” added Harrison, cutting her off. “She’s a lot better off than either you or I are right now. Your sister’s a big girl. She can look after herself. If she can’t, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it, so quit stewing.”
    Susan was not impressed, but she bit her tongue and followed along.
    Wolf whistles and cheers broke out sporadically as the miners became aware of the beauty above them on the walkway. The attention made Susan feel distinctly uncomfortable.
    “ Looks like you’re going to be popular down here,” said Harrison, taking off his trench coat and wrapping it over her shoulders. The cardboard boxes full of ammo weighed down the pockets of the coat, pulling it taut over her shoulders.
    “ Thanks.” It felt nice to be both warm and covered from wandering eyes.
    After about two hundred feet, they turned off the main walkway and into one of the numerous side tunnels disappearing into the rock. Each one had a name, like street names, only the tunnels were exclusively labelled with the first name of dead presidents and their wives. Harrison turned into Jackie-42. After a few twists and turns, passing by numerous alleyways, hatches and doors, Harrison knocked on a polished metal door set into the solid granite bedrock.
    “ Bugger off,” came the muted reply from the far side of the alloy door.
    “ Hey, Brains,” Harrison called out. “It’s me. Harry.”
    “ Bugger me,” came the reply as an awkward looking old man struggled to open the door. “Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation from the Pope? Come on in.”
    Susan was relieved to get out of the caves and into the safety of a home. A fire burnt in the centre of the room, throwing out heat and warmth, casting shadows on the rocky walls. A soft whistle sounded from the lid of a pot sitting on a grate over the open fire. Steam rose up from a small weight on top of the lid. It hissed in a slow, steady plume that dissipated well before it reached the lofty ceiling some thirty feet above. Vials of liquid bubbled away in the corner of the roughhewn cave, carrying a dark brown fluid through a series of distils and finally into a small vat.
    “ You still dragging around that ancient artillery piece?” asked Brains, referring to the shotgun.
    “ Yeah, it's a real chick magnet,” he replied grinning. Susan glared.
    “ Please, sit down,” the thin man beckoned, trying not to laugh.
    Brains certainly looked the part, Susan thought. Thick, coke-bottle glasses hid his eyes, making them seem small and recessed. With a few slivers of grey hair still clinging to the sides of his head, he had the stately demeanour of her grandfather. Arthritis had set in, causing the old man to move slowly. His limbs seemed stiff. The graceful, fluid motion of his youth had been replaced with a coarse motion that made each action appear difficult and stressed. Perhaps that’s how he got the nickname Brains, Susan wondered. To her, at least, he seemed to move like one of the fabled Thunderbird puppets of yesteryear. So it seemed his ageing motion and his keen intellect had affectionately labelled him as a marionette in the eyes of others.
    “ How much do you owe this time?” asked Brains.
    “ Hey,” replied Harrison, sitting in a worn armchair. “You don’t call. You don’t