They were confronted by a large train tunnel, completely fenced off and padlocked tight. Inside the tunnel was darkness. It was completely abandoned and small sounds echoed throughout. The whole place felt wrong—a structure made for life devoid of it. Robin stepped forward, looking at the fence and, specifically, the bottom of it. He saw that there was indeed a layer of concrete that spanned the width of the tunnel, just like Martha Hobson at the Visitor Centre had said, making it impossible to dig under the fence.

Sally tapped him on the arm and pointed up. He looked to where she was pointing. “There’s the camera.” There was a small nondescript box on the top of the tunnel with a red light blinking on it. Robin suddenly had the feeling of being watched.

“There really is no way you could get through here,” Robin said.

And Sally nodded. “This isn’t what we’re here for, though. I guess we’ll try and get round the side.” With that, she crossed in front of the tunnel, looking at the hedges that lined the entrance. With a shrug, she reached out her hands and started to hack through. She disappeared.

Robin looked back at the tunnel, into the same nothingness he saw inside of Standedge. Train tracks worn into the dirt disappeared into the dark. He thought of the rugged face he’d seen. He imagined it—must have. But as he looked, the likelihood of that was in flux. He shivered involuntarily and hacked his own way through the bushes.

He emerged into a clearing of trees and bushes, all bare of leaves. The cold weather had already cleared them, and after a second, he understood why. A thick and cold wind smacked him in the face, almost blowing him over. He shielded his eyes, and when it was over, he blinked away the cold.

“Jesus,” Sally said, clutching her coat and wrapping it around herself. She reached out in front of her to rest her hand against something, and through the skeletons of bushes, Robin saw the side of the railway tunnel. It was uneven and just gave the impression of a rocky hill. The surface was jagged but complete—there were no gaps, just a hill. Solid. No hint of a way through. “Well, let’s see if our mystery mapmaker has good intel.”

They started to walk—slowly and steadily, charting a course as close to the edge as they could. There was an incredible amount of undergrowth to contend with, and if it had been the height of summer when the leaves were lush, it would have been impossible to traverse. Over the next twenty minutes, they searched in silence—following the hill.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sally said, as she snapped through a bare bush.

“You want to know how old I am?” Robin said, smiling.

Sally looked at him before continuing. “Well, I do now. But no, not that.”