Was this death? Amy thought. It sort of felt like it. It was pitch black, she could see nothing at all. Doh! Maybe that's because your eyes are shut, Amy Pond, she chided herself. Was that her name? It felt right, so it must be. Coughing, she blinked open her eyes. Nope, still couldn't see a thing. Oh my god! She was not only dead, she was blind! No, that didn't make sense. Think, Amy, think!

"I can see being blind in death if you were blind in life. But, after you die?" Amy thought out loud. "That would be so un-cool." She felt for a pulse. She seemed to have one. "Apparently I am alive. That's a good sign." She coughed again. Something in the air was irritating her throat. Like a million dust particles. "Besides, do dead people talk to themselves? Do they cough? Do they bruise? No, don't think so...then again," she shrugged and winced at the pain that brought her, "how would I know?"

A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Oh jeez." Amy said, heaving a dramatic sigh, "Now I'm starting to sound like the Doctor. Rory will never let me live that down...If I ever see him again." Somehow, she knew he wasn't with her. How did she know that? Where the hell was he, anyway? "And where am I?" She asked herself.

Then, Amy realized that her voice seemed to be echoing back to her. Like a biblical flash of lightning in revelation, she abruptly remembered. The tunnel, the two men, the explosion. "Hello?" She croaked in a pause of coughing. "Is anyone there?"

There was something she was forgetting. Something really important. Oh, yeah. A giant rat. How could she forget something as important as that? The blast must've really scrambled her brains.

"OK, maybe I should shut up now." Amy whispered. The idea of being buried alive with something that could eat her wasn't all that appealing, to put it mildly.

Silence hung in the air, like the dust from the explosion. Amy coughed again, worrying all the while about the noise she was making. She carefully checked her body over. Miraculously, nothing seemed to be broken. Though Amy was sure she was going to have some really spectacular bruises tomorrow. And, judging by the wet trickle rolling down her cheek from her forehead, probably from a cut, she'd be sporting a few sticking plasters, as well.

Slowly and as silently as possible, Amy tottered to her feet. And nearly fell over. While probably not broken, her right ankle wasn't quite wanting to support her weight. It also hurt like hell. Feeling it with her hands, it didn't seem too swollen, so it might not be a sprain. Still, if she had to run...lots of luck with that.

Taking a deep breath of determination, Amy lurched herself forward. And immediately tripped on a brick. It sent her stumbling headfirst. He hands instinctively reached out for something to grab onto. They met with a curved, slimy brick wall. Her hurt foot landed in something soft, squishy and extremely stinky. Amy swore out loud. A single word, which was quite appropriate for the situation she thought wryly. Leave it to the Doctor to take them somewhere in time before the developments of hand sanitizer and modern sewage treatment.

Then Amy tensed, suddenly fearful that the rat might come squealing at her from the darkness. Yet, as the seconds ticked by, there was no sound. Not even a shifting of rubble or drip of water. It was like existing in a vacuum. Or a tomb.

Feeling tears of fear, pain and frustration starting in her eyes, Amy deliberately forced them back. There must be a way out! Trying hard not to think about what was getting on her hands, she methodically began to feel her way around the walls. There was no way of telling which direction she was facing, but it was better than just sitting there feeling sorry for herself. She felt her way down the wall, only to find her way suddenly blocked by a pile of rough stone and brick. She went back the other way. The same thing.

A half hour later, Amy had to face a terrible fact: both ends of the tunnel had apparently caved in. She was trapped in the dark, in the sewers of Edwardian London, with no way out.

Gulping down a sob, Amy rested on a pile of rubble. She said softly, "Oh Rory. Doctor. Please. Please find me."

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