“That is understandable,” Tom nodded. “Can you stand, do you think?”

  “If I must,” the elderly woman muttered.

  Near the door a man in his thirties with a hoodie and loose headphones raised his hand clumsily. “I can help too,” he said. “If you…need someone to hold onto?” There was something solid in the way he squared his shoulders, even though his face was pale with leftover fear.

  “Thank you, young man.”

  “I’m—uh—Sam.” he said, then cleared his throat. “Sam Collins.”

  “Margaret Mason. And this is my husband—Arthur. Arthur stop gripping the railing like it’s the last decent man in London.”

  That earned an offended grunt from the man named Arthur, and a brief smile from Tom that he couldn’t quite hide.

  “Tom Harris,” he also introduced himself. “All right, Mrs. Mason, let’s get you up.”

  Tom braced Margaret’s left with a firm hand beneath her elbow, while Sam slid in on her right and offered his forearm. Tom thanked Sam with a quick nod.

  “On three,” tom murmured and they lifted her up together.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, gripping them both with shaking hands for a second longer, until her legs finally had found themselves. “Truly, thank you.”

  Sam’s gaze went right to Arthur. “Mr. Mason?” he asked gently, offering his help. “Do you want a hand, sir?”

  “I can stand,” he cut in, pride flaring through the tremor in his voice.

  Arthur put his hands on his knees and pushed. He stood up for a second out of pure stubbornness, but then his legs wobbled sharply. He stumbled to the side, one foot sliding out from under him. Tom stepped in and grabbed him by the upper arm and shoulder, holding him up before he could fall. Arthur’s breath caught as Tom steadied him back onto both feet.

  “Arthur!” Margaret’s voice snapped, fear breaking through the scold.

  Arthur swallowed, gasping for air. “I’m—fine,” he rasped, but his hand was still clinging onto Tom’s sleeve like a lifeline.

  Tom looked at Miss Riley in the center of the room. The pull of responsibility outweighed his desire to stay with the Masons and ensure that they get down safely. He was responsible for the children and Miss Riley needed him to help her.

  “Can you stay with them? Just…keep them steady?” Tom turned to Sam.

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  “Yeah, sure. No problem.” Sam nodded and moved closer to the elderly couple. “I’ve got you, both of you.”

  Miss Riley was with the children, counting them silently, and attempting to maintain her composure as panic crept in around the edges. Their eyes met as Tom stepped closer.

  “Mr. Harris could you please count them again?” she asked under her breath.

  “On it.” Tom ran his eyes over the children, tapping each head lightly as he counted. “One, two, three…” Twenty-four. The number sat in his chest like a stone and a buoy at the same time. “Twenty-four, no one is missing.”

  “All right,” Miss Riley sounded relieved. “Here is the plan. We are going to leave this room and go down the stairs in pairs. I’ll be at the front,” she looked at the older couple for a second, trying to find the best fitting place for them. “Mr. Collins please stay with the Masons in the middle. And Mr. Harris, you’re at the back, make sure no one gets left behind.” she said looking him in the eye.

  Sam gave a steady, quick nod. “Got it.”

  Margaret gave a thankful nod, and Arthur didn’t argue either.

  As planned Tom went to the back. His heart was still racing from the shaking, but having a plan, even if it was just ‘go down the stairs and get out of the building’, made him feel better.

  Miss Riley opened the door and the room was instantly filled with chilly air rushing in from the stairwell. It wasn’t just a dop in temperature. It was a slow exhale of air that seemed to have been imprisoned somewhere deep and dark and was not entirely pleased to be disturbed. The air rolled over Tom’s face, carrying the smell of dust edged with something sour and metallic, making him swallow twice.

  The light dropped a shade. The steps descended in a narrow spiral, clinging to the wall as always, but the shadows between them appeared thicker, as though ink had been poured into the spaces in between.

  “It’s darker,” on of the children at the front whispered.

  “The emergency lights might not be functioning,” Miss Riley offered the simplest explanation. “That’s fine. We can still see.”

  She turned to her class after all of the children found their pair. “Okay, just follow me. We’re going down slowly, and we’re going to be fine.”

  With one hand on the rail, Miss Riley descended first, leading them through the darkness like a thread. Shoes scuffed at the doorway as the first pair went through. The sounds changed as soon as they entered the stairwell, with each step bounding off the stone and returning to them too loud and too close. Mr. Collins remained with the Masons in the center, the rest of the calls trailed behind, crammed closely together. After letting the final children go by, Tom counted them once more out of habit before entering the stairwell himself. As they descended, he tried not to imagine the tower swaying again.

  They’d already made it one turn down and the clock room was no longer visible above them. The world had shrunk to an iron rail on one side, a spiral of narrow steps the fell away beneath their feet, and stone pressing on the other. Shadows gathered between the steps.

  “Remember,” Miss Riley called over her shoulder, her voice echoing oddly in the closed place, “one hand on the–“

  The sound came first. Not the groan of the tower or the wail of the sirens. A distinct sound, woven in between them. A dry, craping skitter that moved quickly up the shaft, like tiny claws on metal.

  Miss Riley slowed. Children bumped into each other their shoes squeaking as the line suddenly bunched up.

  “What was that?” Callum whispered.

  “Keep going,” she began. “It’s probably…”

  Something hit the bottom of the spiral and the whole stairway shook. A small scream shot up the line. Mrs. Mason grabbed the rail with both hands, one of her sticks fell down a step, clattering loudly.

  “Everyone keep calm!” Tom called, trying to prevent two dozen children panicking at the same time in a tight stairwell. “It’s just…” The words died in his throat; a she was cut off by the terrible sight ahead.