The wiring on the wall looked new but the glowing lamps themselves looked to have come from another century with their misted glassy bulbs and crude metal cages. They weren't as bright as our modern lights but were more than enough for me to turn off my torch.
The deep echo grew louder. Was it an engine? It sounded like one.
The tunnel walls grew wider with the change in lighting and the whole place felt more like a corridor of an old university wing than an underground tunnel honed out of stone.
Ahead I saw the telltale strip of a doorframe and quickened my step. The door was metal, not too dissimilar from the ones out at the beginning of the shelter tunnels, but clearly well maintained. The paint on the handle and at the very bottom of the door had been rubbed away from use.
I wiped my hand on my trouser leg then gripped the handle and pulled the door open.
