Chapter Thirty-seven

Darwin, Australia

10.FEB.2283

The plan required waiting until the next storm hit the city. During wet season in Darwin that meant less than a day.

Thunder, Prumble hoped, would mask any noise or vibration caused by their activities. Skyler didn’t cherish the idea of emerging from the sewer below Nightcliff to a circle of guns trained on his face, and readily agreed. To pass the time, he suggested they head up through the garage to the roof, where they could watch the sky.

A spectacular sunset greeted them—crimson and sapphire, broken by wide swaths of purple clouds. Wet season, for all its faults, knew how to paint a canvas.

Despite the show, the Elevator pulled at Skyler’s gaze. “The subhumans are changing, I think. Mutating, or … something.”

“Heard that, too,” Prumble said. “Newsubs, right? Packs of them picking away at the edge of the city. Some say as far in as the Narrows.”

Skyler let out a long sigh. The pile of problems amassed in the last few weeks felt like being buried alive. “How long do you give us?”

Prumble stared at the horizon, his leather duster whipping in the breeze. “You shall outlive me, by a good—”

“I mean all of us,” Skyler said. “Humanity.”

“Oh.” The giant man considered the question. “I suspect we’re getting our just due, for what we did to old Mother Nature.”

Skyler cast his eyes downward, nodding solemnly. “She does hold a grudge, doesn’t she?”

“I’d wager,” Prumble said, “ten years. The population here shrinks by the day, and construction Up There could only make a snail proud.”

Skyler picked up a stone and hurled it over the edge. “You never know. We’re tenacious buggers.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps.”

Their talk turned to less depressing matters, until an angry morass of clouds loomed a few kilometers away. Lightning danced within the purple puffs.

“I think it’s time,” Prumble said.

Skyler agreed and led the way back to the panic room.

Two hours later they reached the barricade.

Six iron grates, spaced a half meter in succession, blocked the tunnel. The gaps between the bars in each grate were just big enough for Skyler to push his hand through.

“This is going to make a hell of a noise,” he said, reaching through the first grate. With extreme care, he pushed a brick of plastic explosive against the second barricade. A loop of duct tape on the back joined it to the bars.

The process was repeated for the first grate.

“We’re under Ryland Square here,” Prumble said. “Not even to the wall yet. And there’s a storm. It will be okay.”

“I’m worried more for my own ears,” Skyler said. “We should move as far back as we can.”

The spindle of fiber optic cable held fifty meters of the orange wire and Skyler planned to use all of it. He poked two laser-initiated blasting caps into each brick of explosive and plugged the optical connectors into a hub on the end of the main cable.

“Let’s go,” he said. Prumble picked up the extra supplies and headed back the way they’d come. Skyler followed, rolling out the cable while walking backward.

Storm water swelled into the old tunnel, creating a knee-high brook of babbling rainwater in the bottom of the tube. The sound had an oddly soothing effect on Skyler, so long as he ignored the smell of excrement and urine.

When the cable ran out, Prumble handed him the trigger mechanism. A simple metal box, the size of a deck of cards, with an on-off toggle and one red button. Skyler moved the switch to “on” and set it on the ground, intending to activate the device with his foot. He plugged his ears and looked at Prumble. “Here goes—”

“Wait,” Prumble said.

Skyler pulled his fingers out of his ears. “What is it?”

The big man looked like a child on the verge of tears. His lower lip quivered.

“What is it?”

“Once you blow the grate,” Prumble said, “you’ll need to get in there quick. In case they do hear it.”

“So?” Skyler said.

“So,” he said, “so this may be goodbye.” Prumble stepped forward and engulfed Skyler in a crushing bear hug.

Face mashed into the faux leather of Prumble’s coat, Skyler waited for the hug to end before speaking. “It’s not goodbye, okay?”

“Don’t underestimate the danger you’re walking into, Skyler.”

“It’s not goodbye,” he repeated. “It’s see-you-soon, if anything. I’ll get this done and bring the crew back, and we’ll spend our days playing cards at your quiet little café, drinking to the good old days.”

Prumble pressed his lips into a thin line, as if he’d taken a bite of lemon.

He’s holding back tears, Skyler realized.

“You better, you bastard,” Prumble finally said with a melancholy laugh. “Whatever happens, I’ll either be there or leave word for you.”

“Good.”

“I’m serious, Skyler. If you leave me to rot alone in this city, I will hunt you down and sit on you.”

Skyler shook his head and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “A fate worse than SUBS,” he managed, laughing.

The big man grinned, nodded, and did his little jig. “Cover your ears,” he sang, and danced over to the detonator. With a total lack of grace, he performed a spin and then stomped down on the switch.

The world shook.

Skyler felt, more than heard, the explosion. His clothing buffeted and a wave of hot wind slammed into him. Bits of metal and concrete splashed into the water just meters away.

“Get going,” Prumble said when the shrapnel died down.

Skyler gripped the man’s arm again. “Thank you. For everything. You’re a true friend.”

“Don’t get all weepy on me, you girl. Into the mouth of hell with you.”

Two bricks of plastic explosive turned out to be overkill.

All six iron grates lay in twisted ruin, skeletons of rust. The concrete around the blast area showed cracks, groundwater already dripping through.

“Can’t allow shit like this in the city, eh Russell?” Skyler said, aloud, the sound echoing along the tunnel. Blackfield wasn’t so paranoid after all.

The walkway along the side of the sewer tunnel had collapsed in the explosion. With no other option, Skyler grimaced and stepped into the stream of dark water. Fluid rushed his combat boots, shockingly cold.

Teeth chattering, he nevertheless took his time in navigating around the wreckage of the barricade. With all the other injuries he’d incurred, the last thing he figured he needed was a nasty gash from a rusty piece of bent iron.

Prumble had given Skyler the satchel that contained two additional bricks of explosive, plus the required blasting caps and triggers. He held the bag to his chest with one arm wrapped around it, needing his other arm free to hold his rifle, which also served as his flashlight.

Safely beyond the barricade, Skyler walked along the side of the sewer for another fifty meters before coming to a tiny alcove with an access shaft. The circular tunnel led straight up into darkness, an iron ladder along one side. Skyler put a foot on the bottom rung and stepped up, testing the ladder with his weight.

Satisfied, he slung the bag of explosives over one shoulder, then slung his rifle over that. He tightened his gun strap and arranged the gun so it pointed straight up, allowing him to climb with both hands while still able to see. On the second step he paused and triple-checked the safety, wanting to avoid shooting himself in the chin. The vision of such a comical end to his journey made him chuckle softly in the darkness and stench.

The ladder ended at a manhole cover that had been welded shut. Prumble had warned him about this. When the new sewer was built, this one had been largely sealed off.

Skyler clung to the ladder and listened for a while. Through the finger-sized holes in the steel disk, he could hear the faint sounds of Nightcliff’s yard. The motors of cargo cranes turning. A loud clang as a container met asphalt. Or so he imagined.

He debated using some of the plastic to open it, but an explosion within Nightcliff’s walls, at surface level, would not go unnoticed. With a sigh he climbed back down and continued along the sewer tunnel.

After another hundred meters the tunnel began to curve to the left and slope upward. Exhausted, Skyler rested for five minutes before starting to hike up the incline. A cold, clammy sweat covered his body. He mulled the irony that, after getting his leg gashed and his rib cracked and his head pummeled, the biggest ache he suffered would be from his feet. Walking, he thought, would be the death of him.

Skyler moved on when the roaches began to become curious about his boots. The insects crunched under his feet as he stalked up the tunnel. He wondered how far the ocean was now.

At the top of the slope, Skyler emerged into a cavernous underground room, built of odd angles and many sides. His light could only faintly illuminate the far side. The walls were lined with tributary tunnels. A junction, Skyler realized. Every old sewer tunnel under Nightcliff must meet here.

He counted four access ladders coming down from above, and resigned himself to try each. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to be out of the stink and darkness.

The first two proved sealed, but the third manhole gave slightly when he pushed on it.

Stifling his sense of relief, Skyler pushed the manhole up with every ounce of strength he could muster. The cover weighed at least fifty kilograms. Combined with his awkward hold on the ladder, he found it almost impossible to lift. He paused and realigned himself on the ladder, bracing one foot against a chip in the concrete on the other side of the shaft to free up his second hand.

With a grunt he pushed upward with both arms, lifting the cover a few centimeters. His foot slipped a bit against the concrete before gaining purchase again. Skyler couldn’t risk holding up the cover and studying the surroundings; he’d fall if he didn’t hurry. So he devoted his strength to sliding the cover aside.

Pitch darkness loomed above. Skyler flipped off his flashlight and let his eyes adjust before climbing up and looking around.

The manhole put him behind a brick building, under an awning that blocked the sky, in a wide alley that appeared to be devoted to storing broken machinery. A few tractors and old trucks were parked at the dead end, covered in years of dirt, dust, and rain. Everything that might have been useful was removed long ago.

At the alley entrance, Skyler could see only the side of another building, one story tall and lined with dark windows. Out from under the awning, he looked up and studied the night sky. Storm clouds filled it from edge to edge, but he could see the cord of the Elevator, and the tower that protected its base. The landmark gave him his bearings. He was on the western side of Nightcliff fortress, near the seaward wall. The old Platz mansion would be north and east, if he had it right.

Skyler surveyed the building in front of him. Though it was dark, he could see through the dirty windows just enough to recognize rows of bunk beds. He glanced down at his wet, filthy clothing and back at the window. A Nightcliff uniform would be a damn useful upgrade, and if not for the disguise then at least for the smell.

He walked around to the back of the barracks, intent to stay away from the central yard of the fortress. He moved casually. It would do no good to bump into someone if he was sneaking about. Better to act like he belonged there.

The back door to the building didn’t budge when he turned the handle. Skyler pressed his ear to it and listened, but no sound came from within. Perhaps Blackfield had moved all his men to orbit?

Skyler waited for a thunderclap and kicked the door in. He rushed inside, gun held at the ready. He flipped the flashlight on and found the room to indeed be empty. The bunks were in disarray, vacated in a hurry. Without stopping, Skyler jogged to the front of the building and locked the front door.

From a window next to the door he could see a portion of Nightcliff’s cargo yard. A water hauler sat on one of the four landing pads, its engines stirring up an angry mist even at idle speed. Workers rushed back and forth underneath the aircraft, detaching a blue water container.

The other three pads were empty. Skyler could only see one guard, standing on the far side toward the Elevator, leaning against a pylon with his arms crossed and head down.

“How vigilant,” Skyler muttered.

He turned to look for a spare uniform but the howling engines of another aircraft brought his attention back to the yard. A bulky craft came into view over the eastern fortress wall.

Skyler recognized it. Kantro’s ship. A fat-bellied craft with little range, often used to bring fresh soil from abandoned farms just beyond the Aura. Skyler came back to the window to watch. Kantro was a friend, and a friend would be useful.

As the craft came over the wall, a large group of Nightcliff guards poured out of the control tower. Twenty men and women, at least.

Inspection? At least I’m not the only one they pick on. The size of the force was excessive for a search, though.

Those who were armed raced toward the last landing pad in the row and began to surround it. The others streamed out toward the barracks. One turned and waved toward the control tower window, high above the yard.

Skyler followed the guard’s wave up to the controller’s perch. Numerous faces crowded the window there, pointing at Kantro’s vehicle.

A guard burst through the door to the barracks, eyes wide as saucers. He didn’t even glance at Skyler as he raced to a locker and removed a pistol. His fingers shook as he fumbled a clip of ammo into the weapon.

“What’s going on?” Skyler asked as the man ran back toward the door.

“Newsubs got aboard a scavenger ship,” he barked as he sped out the door toward the surrounded pad.