Sawyer

by Theresa Beachman

  Ann knelt at the head of the Chittrix. Its mouth hung open, needle-like shards of teeth glinting with lethality even in death. She pressed her gloved fingers into the side of the alien’s neck. Sawyer dropped down on his haunches beside her. As she pressed, slits appeared.

  His stomach lurched. “Gills?”

  Anna nodded. “But it can still breathe air too. It can choose. There’s a flap it can move across the gills to seal them off when it’s in the air. That’s how it bellowed at us when it was out of the water. It needs proper air-breathing lungs to do that.” She stood and went around to the back of the Chittrix and lifted what Sawyer assumed was a wing. She stretched her arm, drawing the spiked fin to its full extent.

  “Retracts into a groove along the spine when in the air, expands and helps steer them like a torpedo when in the water.”

  Sawyer straightened. “Shit.” He ran his palm across his face and took a breath. “They’re always one step ahead. How are we supposed to keep up with this speed of evolution?”

  Anna’s voice was hushed. “Right now? I have no idea.”

  Boots thumped onto the metal landing behind them. Sawyer glanced over, his heart aching just a little to see Julia, her usually beautiful features pale and pinched. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and make it all better. He rubbed his hands along his thighs, keeping them under control.

  Julia walked up to them, her steps unfaltering.

  She cleared her throat, and when she spoke her voice didn’t waver. A sharp burst of pride lanced through Sawyer. His girl was strong.

  “Fox is dead.”

  13

  Julia headed to the main communications room with Sawyer. Garrick had called an emergency meeting, hoping to deflect the unrest spreading through the base like wildfire. A long stretch of the corridor was empty, and Sawyer caught her hand as they walked, but she slipped her fingers away from his grasp, needing some distance from him. She kept her eyes straight ahead, her jaw clenched.

  They passed small groups of people muttering in low voices and exchanging harried glances. People were panicking. A Chittrix attack and now Fox was dead. Julia hurried into the room, tension gnawing at her stomach.

  The main communications room buzzed with agitated voices. As Julia entered a walled bank of TV monitors displaying multiple camera feeds from London and the CB surrounded her. Several screens were blue, still not rebooted after the recent power loss.

  Emma Laing supervised the three tech staff that ran communications. She wore her thick, straight hair piled on top of her head in a loose knot, with two biros stuck in the soft muss of hair. She’d worked in telecommunications before, and had found her way to the base courtesy of a lover high in the government cabinet. She hung over one of the lines of computer stations that circled the room, talking to one of her team members, her face a blaze of concentration.

  A makeshift command table dominated the room between the TV monitors and the computer stations, a jumbled assortment of plastic office-chairs circling the scarred wooden surface. Garrick stood at one end, his head dipped in low conversation with Hardy and Foster. His arms were folded snug to his chest but his grey eyes were calm as he acknowledged Julia and Sawyer sitting down. Anna leaned over the table next to Julia, rifling through an untidy pile of notes and scattered pencils, her blonde hair tied at the back of her neck. Julia snatched a pencil. Having something in her hand felt purposeful and gave her a focus.

  Across the table, Hardy slid his formidable frame into a seat, his jaw set, while Foster perched on the edge, his leg swinging in a rhythmic tic of nervous energy. He winked at Julia through a puffy black eye. Violet was already seated, her fingertips drumming on the beaten surface. When she saw Julia, the scowl she wore broke into a tired smile of acknowledgment.

  Julia squeezed Anna’s arm. Everyone was assembled. Anna looked up and seeing the faces around the table, took a chair on the other side of Julia.

  Garrick raised his hand. “Everyone?”

  Voices stuttered to a halt and a hush descended over the room. Emma left her computer station and settled on the edge of a nearby desk, pulling one of the biros from her hair.

  Anna rapped her paper into a neat pile and quickly brought everyone up to speed on her autopsy of the Chittrix. Silence weighed heavy on the assembled faces as the significance of her words sank in. Julia processed the information, there was probably an entire nest of Chittrix living underneath London, Chittrix that could swim for miles without air as well as fly and run as fast as a goddamn car.

  When she was finished, Anna glanced around the room at everyone, her face grim.

  One man guided what they did now.

  Julia stared straight at him. There was no doubt in her mind who was best equipped to lead these people. “Garrick?”

  Garrick uncrossed his arms and rested his knuckles on the scarred table. “Fox is dead. No matter what any of us thought about him, or the difficulty we may have had with how he ran this base, he’s gone now, and a lot of people are freaked out by that.”

  Hardy nodded in agreement, his full brow creased.

  “We have to think very carefully about how we approach our next steps. In particular who is going to decide how we deal with what’s just happened.”

  “Is that really up for debate?” Foster scowled. “It’s fucking you, man. Anyone going to disagree with me?” Foster swiveled on the desk, scanning the features of everyone present in an agitated challenge.

  “We decide what we do as a team.” Hardy leveled his dark scrutiny at Garrick. He was a man of few words, but he raised one thick arm slowly, his fist clenched as he spoke. “Garrick.”

  Foster’s head bobbed in rapid agreement. He stuck his own hand in the air. “Yup.”

  Sawyer followed. “Garrick.”

  Julia raised her hand in tandem with Anna. There was a long pause, then one after the other, everyone in the room raised their hand in support of Garrick.

  He acquiesced with the briefest of nods. “We’ll run with this for now. At least it will enable us to deal with the Chittrix threat.”

  Foster leaned forward, his fingers tracing shapes on the pitted table surface as he arranged the thoughts in his head. “So we’re going on the offensive with these watery bastards?”

  Anna spoke up. “Now that they know a way into the base, we must assume the one we injured will return with others.”

  Foster beamed. He laid his hands flat, palm side up. “Where do we start?” he asked.

  “And what have we got to go on?” Julia added.

  Garrick glanced at the scenes of devastated London behind him, his face somber. “Not enough. There’s surveillance cameras at the entrance to the basement, but nothing beyond that.”

  He gestured in Emma’s direction.

  “Emma, can you bring up the schematics of the river and surrounding sewers?”

  Emma slipped off the desk and reached behind her. Her fingers skated on a keyboard, and a series of maps appeared on the central TV monitor.

  Julia pressed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose to focus on the maps appearing on the large screen. Images blipped and shifted as Emma flicked through the images faster than any of them could follow. Finally, a map of London zoomed into focus, the rivers running from under the city highlighted in blue. Major Chittrix hives were superimposed on top. The nearest were in the west, in Bath and Bournemouth.

  Emma gestured at the map. “Tributaries of the Thames run directly through and under the base. It supplies our fresh water as well as our hydroelectric power.”

  Garrick stroked his chin. “If we combine this with geological maps of the area...Emma?”

  Emma lowered her head and shaded geological cartography appeared on the screen. “The river that supplies the base runs for twenty miles underground. Until now, we thought that made the river impenetrable, but Anna’s confirmed the one we killed has gills,” she explained.

  The sewers. Julia knew there was a warren of enormous Victorian sewers running under Londo
n. She’d spent much of her free time in them when she’d dated Mike, a geography-research assistant. Urban exploration had been his passion.

  Julia pushed her chair back, needing a clearer view. She walked up to the map and traced it with the tip of her finger, reliving memories of trailing Mike through cavernous sewers dripping with slime and moss. The map of London stretched high above her head, a spaghetti of brown and green, blue tributaries, and dead roads.

  “London is the nearest primary hive for over one hundred miles,” she said to no one in particular, her mind running over the permutations. “Chittrix don’t travel that far on a daily basis. That means the most likely source of the Chittrix we killed is still London.” She tapped her lip. “Logistically, the most likely source is the destroyed hive.” Silence descended on the room in a thick hush as the ramifications sank in.

  “We’ve maintained surveillance on the ruins of the primary hive since the Sweeper was detonated. There’s nothing there,” Garrick said.

  Julia pressed her upper teeth into her lower lip. “Nothing above ground maybe.”

  Sawyer flashed her a sharp glance. “What do you mean by that? They’re enormous. If they were digging out hives underground, we’d see the evidence.”

  Julia shook her head. “Not necessarily. Emma, do we have a map of the London sewer system?”

  Emma nodded “Give me a second.”

  Sawyer shifted in his seat. “Where are you going with this?”

  Julia held up her hand to silence him. She needed to think. In front of her a thin tracery of black lines representing the sewers of London overlaid the first chart. It was all there. It had to be.

  “The London sewer system was built from 1858 onwards by Bazalgette. He’s one of my fangirl engineering crushes from when I was a student,” she explained. “I also used to date a geography Ph.D. student who wrote his thesis on urban exploration.” The corners of Sawyer’s lips twitched, but she ignored him and plowed on. She knew she was different to other women and she wasn’t going to apologize.

  “Balzagette built six main sewers that covered more than one hundred miles within the city. Some of them incorporate London’s ‘lost rivers’, the ones that were built over as the city expanded.” She paused, remembering the cathedral-like vaulted spaces sunk unseen beneath the city. Her hands moved over the map, quickly pointing out the six main sewers.

  “Three are north of the Thames, and three are south. There are approximately four hundred and fifty miles of main sewers connecting the primary six, which in turn are supplied by some thirteen thousand miles of smaller local sewers.”

  She turned to look at the group. “They haven’t dug out a new hive. There’s one already laid out under the city for them. All they’ve had to do is adapt to the new environment, and we’ve seen evidence today they’ve done that just fine.” She touched the sewer line most westerly of the city

  Garrick spoke up. “We can track heat sources using the technology that we have. We just don’t have the tech to track them long range, so we’ll have to get close to try and locate the nest.”

  Hardy leaned forward. “We’re going looking for them?”

  “Yes,” Garrick replied. “They know where we are now. It’s as simple as that.”

  “There’s more.” Julia interrupted. “The majority of sewage in London is drained by gravity. In some places, it needed help from a pumping station. There’s one near to the Isle of Dogs, where the primary hive was located.” She pointed to the peninsula of land on the south side of the city. “Just here. It’s called Crossness.”

  Her hands moved over the map in deft gestures. She had stood up in front of a crowd and educated them for a living once and a small frisson of enjoyment flew through her despite the circumstances.

  “Sewers run from Crossness west across London. They feed into tributaries of the Thames, which then leads to the—”

  “Command Base. Us.” Anna blurted out.

  Julia took a breath. “Whatever way you look at it, the Chittrix have a direct route to our base without ever having to go above ground.”

  14

  Julia snapped the digital map shut and removed the SIG from the holster on her hip. She rechecked the ammunition for the third time. It was all there, just like when she last checked.

  She began to walk again, wading through water that resisted her stride. The air was soupy and thick, fighting her efforts to drag it into her lungs and forcing her to pant. Her eyes burned from the contacts she’d slipped in, reminding her why she preferred glasses.

  They’d left the base two short hours after the meeting, taking only enough time to pull together supplies and equipment. Garrick had asked for volunteers, and Julia had decided to go. She’d spent hours in the underground tunnels of London in her twenties. She knew she could be useful.

  So here she was, trawling through filthy tepid water and trying to ignore the silent call of the river on her body from below.

  Her heart rate fired up another notch.

  This is just reconnaissance. This mission is not about engagement. It’s about location.

  She struggled to swallow, her mouth parched with anxiety. Telling herself these things did not make her feel any calmer.

  A warm hand brushed against her forearm.

  “You okay?”

  Sawyer’s face glowed red from his headlamp but the crease of concern touching his eyes was still clear. She gave him a strained smile. “Fine,” she lied. “You look weird under these red lights,” she added, purposefully changing the subject.

  Sawyer touched the red light above his brow. “Maintains our night vision. Foster found them. God knows where. I’m never sure whether to ask with him.”

  Julia glanced ahead where Foster’s back was advancing up the tunnel with Garrick and Hardy. Their red beams scoured the walls and roof of the tunnel as they progressed.

  “Let’s not lose the others,” she said, amazed at how normal her voice sounded.

  Sawyer’s lips parted as if he was about to speak, but then he turned, his hand dipping into the curve of her lower spine to guide her forward.

  Violet was hot on their tail as they followed the bend of the tunnel around the corner. Here the darkness eased, softened by an artificial pink tone. Julia hurried toward the light. If there was light, maybe there was a way out the damned water.

  The tunnel opened up, widening into a wide, church hall sized space. A concrete platform rose out of the water on her right but the water continued to run alongside to the left. The platform stretched for at least a hundred feet, lined with colored cables of different thickness. Julia spotted strip lighting above, the tinted glass providing the rose glow.

  Power.

  She squinted through her irritating contact lenses. There was a door at the end of the platform.

  Violet climbed out of the water first, her weapon raised as she scanned the concrete ahead. It was empty as far as Julia could see. Garrick quickly followed with Sawyer. Hardy and Foster waited in the water, weapons ready and vigilant.

  Water streamed from Violet’s trousers, and her boots squelched as she took a few steps. “What the hell is this place?” she asked.

  As soon as Foster and Hardy had climbed out Sawyer offered his hand to Julia. She gratefully let him clasp her forearm and lever her out of the water in one effortless pull. She collided briefly with his solid chest and he held her for a split second longer than was necessary, his body crowding hers. When he released her Julia took a deep breath, gathering herself. He did that so easily, derailing her thoughts with just the closeness of his body. She didn’t want to think about what it meant. Relief flowed through her now she was free of the water and the air was warm on her wet skin.

  She glanced up at the lights humming above. Power warmed the air and lit the tunnel. She thought back to the windowless confines of the CB. Who was living down here, and why weren’t they worried about attracting the Chittrix with such an obvious source of human habitation?

  Foster took a few
steps along the platform, his boots grinding on layers of silt. “Scavengers?” he asked.

  Julia glanced up at the ceiling. “Seems a bit organized for what we know about scavengers.”

  “Things change,” Violet said. “People adjust. Everything is still in a state of flux.” She walked briskly up the platform, pulse rifle cocked, not waiting to see if the men were following.

  Garrick jogged to catch up. “V. Wait!” he called in a loud whisper.

  They moved swiftly as a group along the concrete platform. Foster covered the rear, running backward at a steady jog, a whispered stream of invectives fueling his pace.

  Although she was glad to be out of the water, Julia’s skin tingled with apprehension. They were vulnerable and exposed on this platform. The wall gaped with missing bricks, gaps large enough for a Scutter—the dog-sized, scorpion-like aliens that often accompanied the Chittrix—to press themselves through. Julia’s pulse raced as she jogged past each dark space.

  A set of black, double doors marked the end of the tunnel. Here, the water flowed under the wall on their left, continuing in the direction of the sewer. Garrick and Sawyer halted at the door. The air was noticeably warmer and more humid here, a fine mist against Julia’s cheek. A soft hum buzzed in her ears.

  We’re close to the power supply.

  They could either go straight through the doors or drop back into the water and go swimming. Garrick turned, his fingers jabbing at the door then flicking in the direction of his back for the others to follow. Julia’s fingers tightened on her weapon as Violet pushed one of the doors open, allowing her and Garrick to step through.

  It was like stepping into a film set. LED lights burned from all angles. Long corridors of shelves extended as far as a football pitch on either side. Straight ahead more shelves lined a long central pathway.

  Each rack was filled with clear plastic lining and sets of trays rammed with tiny plants growing under the light. Pale roots curled through a watery medium, eerily translucent in the light.