The driver shook his head. “I can’t turn around now. We’re stuck in the middle of an automotive pile-on. The only way I could drive out of here would be if I had an aereocar.” He thumbed toward the door. “Everybody out. I’ll make my way back to the temple.”
“Should we lock up?” I started to ask, but then I realized that it didn’t matter whether or not we locked the doors. If looters wanted to tear the car apart, they would. We were out of the car with our gear in under a minute.
As the driver set off toward the Peninsula of the Gods, I glanced around to get my bearings. We were at the southern-most tip of Edlewood Inlet, at a juncture in the road that would take us either toward Croix, toward the Junk Yard, or toward Darktown. Unfortunately, to get to the Sandspit, we’d have to pass through the crowds ahead.
“Which way should we go? We don’t want to get caught by the Devani.” Actually, getting embroiled in any sort of riot sounded like a bad idea. “We need to get to the Sandspit as soon as possible.”
“Damn, Jason’s waiting for us.” I motioned for everybody to move off the road. We took cover beneath the awning of a food market, where I pulled out my phone to call him. “Listen, there’s a riot. Yes, that’s the one, all right. We’re heading on foot to the Sandspit. We’ll have to go by the burrow-lanes because the streets are dangerous. Do you think you can make it safely?” I paused while he talked. Then, “Are you sure? All right, we’ll meet you there. But try to get into UnderBarrow until we get there. The zombies are bad news.”
As I tucked my phone away, my side twinged. I hadn’t put on any All-Heal in a while and was feeling it. “Let’s head for UnderBarrow. If we’re lucky, the zombies won’t be paying attention to the hidden stair. But the Sandspit’s going to be a bitch with them wandering through it. Obviously, the rogue magic isn’t killing them because they’ve found their way into the streets.”
Hans pointed to the sky. “Sky-eyes. There are a lot of them up there tonight. But they’re focused on the riots, I think. We better get moving. The storm’s getting worse.”
He was right. The snow was coming down so fast and hard it was difficult to see. My legs were icy cold, but I pulled my duster tighter, trying to stave off the chill. I caught sight of a burrow-lane behind a mini-mall.
“That way.” As I led them into the narrow lane, the sounds and shouts behind us became muffled.
“I know several shortcuts that can get us to the Sandspit quicker. But we have to go through the Tunnels.” Montran’s voice cut softly through the chill.
I caught my breath. The Tunnels were dangerous. Lyon and his group were headquartered down in the underground labyrinth that had been part of underground Seattle in the distant past. I shifted, easing the stitch in my side.
“There’s one problem with that. The only entrance I know that leads to the Tunnels is at the corner where the Bogs meet the Sandspit. We’re headed toward the Sandspit, so how would going through the Tunnels get us there?”
Montran gave a little shrug. “There’s more than one entrance, you know. I happen to know of a hidden entrance about one block away. We can get there by going through the burrow-lanes and be there in less than five minutes.”
I felt like an idiot. Of course the Tunnels would have more than one entrance. It made a lot more sense than thinking the only entrance was a hidden one tucked away in the Bogs.
“Well, that works” was all I said. Then another thought crossed my mind. Jason’s old mentor was hiding out down in the tunnels. Terrance, or Bodie as he called himself, was a spy for the Crystal Guardians, a watchdog group run by the Greenlings. He had deserted the Cast, faked his own death, and gone underground in the Tunnels to keep an eye on the Order of the Black Mist. It occurred to me that he might be able to help us. But then I realized how much time it would take to find him. And once the zombies started attacking people, they would multiply. A lot of innocent victims could die in the time we took to go hunting down Terrance.
“Let’s go. Montran, please lead the way.”
He nodded, turning to jog down the burrow-lane. We followed, and with our numbers, none of the Broken or bogeys bothered us as we silently raced by as the first hints of dawn streaked past the clouds.
The Tunnels were a scary place at best. While they weren’t frightening in the same way a haunted house was, or fighting an Abom was, their spookiness was born of the history surrounding them. And there were monsters down here. My first time down was so bad that I had hoped to avoid a repeat.
Montran led us through the burrow-lanes, toward the walls enclosing the Junk Yard. He turned off onto a dead-end lane, and we jogged along to the very back. There, a grate covered a manhole from years gone by. As we watched, Montran reached down. A small click broke the silence as the grate slowly swung upward. The manhole cover opened like an iris aperture in one of the UnderSubs that dove into the watery depths of the ocean.
“See the ladder? That leads down to a passage that leads to a major thoroughfare in the Tunnels. Thrill seekers use this entrance when they want to chance danger or some equally stupid pastime. A lot of university students are hazed by being required to journey from here to another entrance about ten blocks north. I’m surprised you didn’t know about it,” Montran said, shining his wrist light down into the hole. The rungs were solid steel and led down into the darkness.
“I never had much to do with the Tunnels. Aboms don’t know about them. At least I’ve never encountered one who did. I prefer to spend my spare time relaxing rather than seeking out any more danger than I already have in my life.”
I glanced at the sky. It was still snowing. It hadn’t stopped for hours, and the silvery light that hinted we were near dawn was clouded by the frozen flakes. I was cold and wet, and I needed a hot shower. I really, really needed a shower. Behind us, as the sounds of rioting echoed in the distance, shouts and screams grew louder, filtering through from blocks away.
“Do you think Jason’s okay?” I turned to Hans, trying to ignore the ever-present pain in my side.
He pressed his lips together, thinking. After a moment, he said, “Well, the riots aren’t near the center of Darktown yet. He should be all right.”
I nodded. There wasn’t much we could do about Dream Wardens anyway. Or Jason. “I guess we just have to hope for the best.”
Montran motioned for us to line up. “I’ll go down first. Hans, you go second. Then Fury, Tymbur, and Greta. All right?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “It looks clear. No bogeys around. My guess is that they heard about the rumble going on and decided to see if there’s any easy pickings to be had.” I glanced at my phone as I brought up the GPS. The sounds of the crowd were echoing louder. The riots appeared to be moving toward both the Trips and the Junk Yard and we were near enough to get caught in the tangle if we waited much longer.
The thought of the Devani marching into the Trips turned my stomach. Hundreds of line workers and factory lifers would be caught on their way to work during shift-change, which was coming up in less than an hour. The riots would spill into neighborhoods filled with kids, and the golden soldiers wouldn’t think twice about taking out their aggression on children.
The Devani didn’t give a damn about age or ability. A seven-year-old was as viable a target to them as a twenty-year-old. And I had seen them treat the elderly with the same violence as they attacked burly-boys.
“Damn it.” I eyed the manhole, wrinkling my nose. “How do we always seem to end up underground? Lately I’ve spent more time under the earth than on it.”
“Well, hang on for another round,” Montran said, lowering himself onto the ladder. “You’re about to go again. Hurry up. Don’t dawdle.”
“Hold on one second.”
I shaded my eyes. In the silver pre-dawn light, I could see smoke rising from a couple blocks over, but there was no way of knowing what was going down. I wanted to call Tam but electronics and UnderBarrow didn’t mix. Nothing worked within the confin
es of the Sandspit.
Deciding that I had to do something, I texted him and “I miss you, stay safe” as we headed down into the Tunnels. I wasn’t sure when I’d see him again. I tried not to think if but the word lingered in my thoughts. With a deep breath, I pushed away the fear and glanced up at the sky. It seemed like a million miles till dawn. With a prayer that we wouldn’t meet Lyon along the way, I swung over the edge.
Chapter 17
As we descended through the narrow passage, I tried not to think about Lyon. The truth was, he scared the hell out of me. I had thwarted his plans in a big way and I shouldn’t have been surprised by the attack, but somehow, it hadn’t crossed my mind that he might come after me. But now that we were headed right into his home turf, my stomach knotted with the thought that next time, I probably wouldn’t come out alive. Not if his thugs caught me while I was alone.
I scrambled down the ladder and jumped off to the side. As I glanced around, I realized that the passage here looked very little like Tunnel Pike, where Lyon kept court. Instead of a tidy brick passage stretching fifteen feet overhead and wide as a city street, we were in a tunnel that was about ten feet high, with one side raw, compacted dirt and protruding tree roots.
The pungent scent of mold filled my nose, sour and tangy. I grimaced, trying to keep from swallowing the scent, which was so thick it filled my throat.
The brick walls here were weathered, looking like they could easily crumble away, and the lighting here was even dimmer than it had been in the other entrance. But at least we didn’t have to go through an abandoned sewer entrance first, let alone a vortex that acted as an alarm system.
“I thought you said this was a major thoroughfare in the Tunnels. It looks more like a back-end burrow-lane.” I scratched my head, trying to puzzle just how far we were from the Sandspit.
Montran snorted. “I said this passage leads to a major thoroughfare. We’re not taking that route.”
“Of course we aren’t.” I realized I was stepping in a puddle of slime and eased to the side, trying to scrape off the sole of my boot on the wall.
“So which way do we go?” Greta asked as we came to a juncture that split off in three different directions. She didn’t speak much, but when she did, her voice was steady. I felt surprisingly comforted knowing she was with us. A Valkyrie had to be able to kick serious butt and be able to hold her own in rocky situations.
Montran paused, eyeing each passage for a moment. “To the left. This runs directly beneath the Junk Yard and will take us into the Sandspit. There’s an exit shortly after you cross the borders that leads to the southeast corner, beneath Malloy Avenue. The exit comes out through one of the sewer grates there. We’ll have to duck into the sewer tube near the end, but it shouldn’t be too bad. I hope.”
He didn’t sound all that convincing, but nobody argued with him as he turned into the left passage. The passage narrowed and debris began to litter the floor. The tunnel here was crumbling, and as we continued along, the piles of bricks became more frequent, leaving gaping holes in the walls. As we skirted the mounds of broken brick and rubble, I pulled up my Trace screen. The last thing we wanted was to be surprised by any Aboms that might take a notion to join the fray. It also occurred to me that if Lyon had summoned the Abom I’d been chasing, he might be hiding a few more around the area. But the screen was clear.
As the tunnel curved, bending to the right ever slightly, a large heap of rubble blocked our way a few yards ahead. We would have to go over it, rather than skirt around. The walls were compacted dirt from where the brick had given way, and on one side, there appeared to be rounded holes carved through the dirt, large enough for someone, or something, to crawl through.
I tapped Montran on the shoulder and nodded to the openings. “Look.”
He motioned for us to stop, and sniffed the air. “Something’s been through here. It smells like decay.”
“Zombies, by any chance?” Hans asked.
Tymbur moved to one side and began a low incantation. Hans and Greta took up positions near the openings, watching for anything that might come through. Montran held up the ankh that was hanging around his neck, studying it. Another moment and he dropped the chain.
Montran shook his head. “No. No ghosts or zombies. Some sort of insect, I think.”
I stared at the holes. They were a good four feet in diameter. With a shudder, I said, “I really don’t want to meet the bug that created those passages. Let’s get moving.”
He frowned, studying the holes in the dirt. “I’d say some form of cockle-roach. Giant ones. They’re meat-eaters as well as scavengers, so be cautious. The last thing we need is a standoff with one of those.”
Cockle-roaches had evolved from their ancient kin the cockroach—which we still had plenty of. But cockle-roaches, thanks to the magic running rampant after the World Shift, had evolved a spine. Oh, they still had their exoskeletons, but they now had bones inside their bodies too, supporting their enlarged structures. They were tougher and meaner, but still had no real intelligence. But like most insects, they worked together via a hive-mind.
Greta and Hans approached the pile of debris first, with me coming next and Montran and Tymbur bringing up the rear. Cockle-roaches were meat-eaters, and they were most certainly alive. If we encountered them, better those who were adept at fighting be in front.
The lowest point on the heap of bricks and stone was about chest high, at least for someone Han’s height. For me, it was almost neck high. Hans cautiously picked his way to the top, peering over, with his hammer ready.
“Oh crap!”
The debris pile exploded with him on it as three cockle-roaches shook off the bricks from where they’d burrowed beneath it. I slapped my hand against my hip, bringing my whip to bear. Greta had her sword ready and without hesitation, she dove into the pile of bugs.
They swarmed at her as Hans rolled to his feet. He came in from behind as I scanned for the cockle-roach farthest from either of them. I raised my whip and brought it solidly down on the back of the gigantic bug. Normal whips wouldn’t touch the hard shell of the creature, but my whip was far from normal and it split the exoskeleton just enough for me to see the mealy white flesh beneath. The cockle-roach turned as I hit it again, focusing on amping up the flames that were shooting off the lash. This time, the whip bit deep, splitting the shell fully in two and cleaving the cockle-roach in half. A stream of steaming guts poured out, stinking up the passage as its legs scrambled for a few seconds before they stopped twitching and it lay, dead.
I turned to see how Greta and Hans were faring. Greta had been bitten by one, but she had skewered it with her sword, pinning it to the floor. The cockle-roach was still attempting to skitter away but it was only damaging itself further. I motioned for her to stand back. I brought the whip down over its head, severing it from the body. As Greta retrieved her sword, Hans managed to stun the remaining bug with his hammer, and Greta moved in, finishing it.
We stood there, panting, while Montran and Tymbur kept watch for any more that might be in the area. My side was burning, but I was more concerned about the deep puncture the cockle-roach had left on Greta’s hand. As I examined it, Hans once again crawled up the debris pile and warily peeked over the edge.
“They’re all gone, I think.” He dropped to the other side, gingerly poking into the rubble with his hammer. Nothing else emerged.
“Greta was bitten. Cockle-roaches carry germs. I don’t have anything on me for infections, just for bruises.” I glanced over at Tymbur. “You have anything?”
He shook his head. “No, but Montran, don’t you?”
“I have a few simple healing spells. It might stanch any infection she may have brewing in there. Give me a moment here and I’ll cast it on her.” He shifted through his pack, coming out with a small silver caduceus.
“I didn’t know priests of Hades were versed in healing.” It seemed odd to me, given he was in the service of a god of the
Underworld.
“A witch who cannot hex, cannot heal. And one who cannot heal, cannot hex. The same with the priesthood of all gods of healing and death. We must balance the energy on both sides. They are two faces of the same coin.” He took hold of Greta’s arm and placed the caduceus on the bite, murmuring soft words. “To cleanse, to mend, to bind, to heal. By the power of Hades I command thee.”
A faint golden light flowed from his fingers into the caduceus, and melted into her skin like butter on a hot sidewalk. She caught her breath, her eyes widening, before she relaxed.
“How does it feel?” Montran asked.
“Not as hot. It feels like it might actually be healing up.” She let him bind it up with a bit of cloth from his pack, then Hans motioned for us to join him.
Once we were all on the other side of the rubble, we could see where the cockle-roaches had been hiding, burrowed deep under the debris pile. I saw something glistening inside the hole left when they dislodged the pile and cautiously moved closer.
“Cripes. Look.” I used my dagger to shift around a pile of dried fecal matter to show an oothecae—an egg sac. About the size of a handbag, it was a dark reddish-brown.
“Let me take care of it.” Hans readied his hammer, but I stopped him.
“Not so fast. What’s beneath it?” There was something shiny and it wasn’t the cockle-roaches’ egg sac. I gently levered the oothecae aside with the tip of my dagger, then tried to catch whatever it was with my blade. I really didn’t want to climb in there. Who knew what germs filled the air in that fetid hole.
As I drew the object back to me, I realized it was a necklace of some sort, surrounding the vertebra of someone’s neck. I guessed it was a woman, but we wouldn’t ever know for sure and I had no inclination to tell the authorities about what we found. Gingerly, I slipped the necklace away from the bones and tucked it in my pocket. We could examine it later. Maybe there would be an inscription and we could take it back to whoever the dead woman’s relatives might have been. But given we were down in the Tunnels, chances were she was a runaway or loner.
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