Sawyer

by Theresa Beachman

  Violet touched the leaves of a seedling, her mouth open in astonishment. “These are plants.”

  “No shit,” Foster observed.

  Everything was green, the air redolent with the scent of growth. Julia rolled one leaf between the pads of her finger, releasing the plant’s oil. She sniffed her fingertips. “Wow. Basil.”

  Foster was close behind her. He picked off a few stems, stuffing them into his mouth then spitting them out. “Shit, that’s peppery.”

  Julia walked down the lengths of greenery. “I’ve heard of this. Companies growing micro-greens in disused underground stations for restaurants. Before the Chittrix.”

  Foster nodded, sampling a different handful. “Better,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

  They kept moving forward, walking with weapons raised in anticipation of scavengers. They must have walked for five full minutes, the air rich with the tang of fertilizer. Under the harsh light Julia’s skin tingled with anticipated threat. As they came to the edge of each row of shelving, she kept expecting to find a scavenger with a shotgun trained in their faces. But there was no one.

  Finally, they were faced with a white wall and another set of double doors.

  Pushing through the doors, dim light outlined the only way forward. Stairs.

  Foster let out a long, low whistle that tickled the back of Julia’s neck. “Just gets more exciting doesn’t it?” he said.

  They climbed four flights to the top landing. Four flights up and trying to control her hammering heart, Julia pressed herself into the wall as Sawyer and Garrick pushed another pair of doors open and dropped to a defensive crouch.

  She craned her neck as gothic arches arced above her head, outlined by murky daylight through domed windows. The ceiling was ornate with white plaster curlicues slit by stained glass panels depicting local flowers and elemental weather scenes. Julia had been here once before as a student.

  Crossness.

  They were entering the octagonal upper level of the Victorian pumping station. Below them, Victorian ironmongery painted maroon red and racing green, circled the vast lower level and supported the first floor. The walls were embellished with gilded flowers and trefoils, reminiscent of a church. Below, the extravagant décor contrasted with a tracery of bridges built across the expanse of water that filled most of the ground level. Some, made of solid concrete, looked original. Others were newer, flimsy constructions of scrap wood and pallets that spanned one side of the station to the other.

  Neat rows of makeshift beds skirted the wall on the floor below, some separated by heavy curtains hanging from salvaged poles. At the far end, there was a tiny open kitchen. Two women labored inside, one stirring a large catering-sized steel pot while another stood next to her, chopping.

  Julia’s stomach grumbled. Whatever was in the pot smelled spicy with a hint of fried onions, and her mouth watered. Steam rose in lazy circles from the pans toward the high, detailed ceilings. The silvery echo of running water filled her ears, and Julia wondered if they were using hydroelectric power like the CB.

  Another woman came out of a side entrance, walking toward the kitchen space, a pile of linen in her hands. She swiped hair from her face.

  Sawyer jerked, his shoulder bumping Julia.

  “Beth,” he said, the words a soft murmur from his lips.

  15

  Sawyer started. Fuck. Did he really say her name out loud?

  Julia’s head whipped round. “What?”

  He ran a hand across his face, breaking eye contact before his expression betrayed him any further. “Nothing. I thought it was someone I knew, but it’s not.”

  She frowned, and for a moment he thought she was going to call him on it, but a child’s shout distracted her.

  Below, two young girls, aged about four and seven, skipped into the makeshift kitchen. The woman stirring the pot shooed them out from under her feet with a smile. The girls bounced off each other as they ran, laughing at her rebuke. A length of string stretched between them, tangling them together, their grubby faces scrunched with laughter.

  Sawyer’s heart skipped a beat. There are children living here in the sewers. He rubbed his palm across his eyes. First Beth, and now kids. Nothing was ever simple.

  “We need to let them know there are Chittrix nearby,” Julia said.

  Shit. “There’s Chittrix everywhere. There’s nothing new we can tell them.”

  “The Chittrix in the water, Sawyer. These people don’t know about the ones in the water.”

  He kept his eyes on Julia. If he looked at the girls, he would crumble. “We don’t know what they know or don’t know, and we’re no further along in tracing the damn Chittrix.”

  He twisted away from her. He needed backup, but Garrick was occupied, crawling along the grated metal platform to get a clearer view.

  “Scavengers are too unpredictable,” he whispered.

  Julia wasn’t going to be deflected. She grabbed his arm, her fingers pinching his bicep. “Sawyer. There are children.” She shot him a blisteringly sharp look.

  “I know,” he ground out.

  “Well, let’s do something.”

  “They’re not our responsibility.” God. Even he thought that sounded feeble.

  “The hell they aren’t.” Julia stood up.

  Shit. She was going to get herself killed. His attention flicked to the people below. The women were engrossed in their cooking. He yanked her arm hard, bringing her back down next to him.

  “What’s gotten into you?” she demanded.

  He cuffed the wooden frame beside him in frustration. “Leave it, Julia.” He let out a long, low breath as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Back under control, he raised his head again.

  Violet had shuffled up close. She chewed her lips in indecision. “We could just go down and speak to them?”

  Sawyer scraped his palm across his face. “V, you know as well as I do what their reaction is likely to be if we try to speak to them.”

  Julia took advantage of his split attention, wrestling free of his grip. She bolted to the top of the wrought iron staircase that curled its way down to the lower levels. Voices shouted through the wet air as fingers and arms pointed upwards. One of the women screamed and ran to pick up the youngest girl. Julia descended the first few steps of the staircase, her hands raised in supplication.

  Two shots rang out from a hidden shooter. One struck metal near Julia’s side in an explosion of white sparks; the other buried itself in the soft plaster near her head. She ducked, her hands white-knuckled on the railing.

  Sawyer bolted upwards, reaching her in two strides. He grabbed Julia round the waist and in a controlled snatch he pulled her off her feet, into safety behind the barricade of the stairwell. More shots split the air.

  Julia landed heavily on him, his body absorbing the impact. He rolled instantly pushing her back onto her feet into a low crouch. His hand found hers.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  16

  Icy panic engulfed Sawyer as he ran, the image of Beth seared across his brain. What were the chances of her being alive, let alone here? A billion to one. The desire to escape burned his veins as his feet ran on autopilot, his hand crushing Julia’s.

  More shots plowed into the concrete close by. Crap aim, but it wouldn’t take much for them to get lucky. He yanked Julia to the left, cutting into the maze of illuminated shelving, Garrick and the others close at their heels.

  White light burned Sawyer’s retinas after the dimness of the pumping station. He dodged through the racks of plants, making it impossible for anyone to get a clear shot. Within a minute they burst out the other side of the plant nursery, his lungs protesting in fiery indignation. More shots rang out, and Julia slowed at his side, resisting his momentum. What the hell was she doing? He tightened his grip on her hand, fearful of losing her in the panic. Without hesitation he dragged her toward the black water and jumped in.

  His boots connected with the uneven floor of t
he tunnel as he found his balance in the chest high water. He shook his head, wiping water from his eyes as he searched for threat, but only the rest of his team following him were visible, weapons held close to their chests as they jumped.

  Julia coughed beside him, her eyes wide with fear, her hair plastered around her face. “Move!” he screamed, catching her by the shoulders and propelling her forward.

  Sawyer barreled through the filthy water, pushing Julia with determined violence. She was his number one priority as he headed toward the bend of the tunnel where they’d be out of direct range. Already, his thighs ached from the sluggish resistance of the water and the debris trying to trip him up at every step. Violet was close behind cursing. Garrick and the others fanned out in a semi-circle to his rear.

  Shouts echoed behind them as the doors of the nursery slammed noisily at their backs. Their pursuers were not giving up. Bullets sliced into the water, dangerously close. Sawyer rounded the corner of the tunnel where the safety of darkness beckoned, glancing over his shoulder one last time. A small, disheveled group of men were firing at them. Some were screaming and gesticulating; two were in the water, following.

  Straight ahead was dark forcing Sawyer to click on his headlight. Eroded brickwork sprang into sharp relief under the bloody red light as he waded into the deepening water. Julia panted next to him in short panicked gasps.

  A shot bit the bricks above his head, shattering ancient stone and dusting him in grit. He stumbled, dirty water sloshing in his mouth, the stench of fetid sludge nearly knocking him off his feet. Fuck, they were close.

  “Headlights off,” he hissed at the others. “We’re giving them targets.”

  The red beams surrounding him clicked off instantly, and they were enveloped in inky blackness. Julia’s grip on Sawyer tightened, her small hands managing to grind the bones of his fingers. He fumbled for the wall with his free left hand.

  “Shit. Fucking excellent,” Foster said.

  “Shut the hell up.” Sawyer snapped more abruptly than he intended. Seeing Beth had unnerved him. “Use the wall and keep moving.”

  The blackness pressed against his nose and mouth. Was it his imagination, or was he finding it more difficult to breathe? Julia was shaking, the vibration penetrating his skin, needling into his bones. Damn, he needed to get her the hell out of here and fast.

  They stormed on in total darkness until the angry voices behind them faded then ceased, and no more bullets cut the water. Finally the depth of the water eased and became shallower.

  Sawyer reached up to click his headlight back on.

  “Visiting?” The voice was close, a sibilant hiss in the dark.

  “Shit,” Violet muttered, bumping into Sawyer as red light suffused the subterranean space. Hardy, Foster, and Garrick were a few feet away, waist-deep in putrid water, their weapons aimed downwards. Julia clung to him, eyes darting and her nostrils flaring.

  Sawyer pivoted, raising his weapon. The red beams only penetrated the darkness so far. Staring beyond into the blackness and trying to see something, anything, made his eyes ache. Water rattled from the leaking ceiling, obscuring any attempts to locate their attacker by sound. He slowed his breathing, waiting for the speaker to betray their location.

  Julia was torn from his grasp in one violent movement.

  “Sawy—” Her scream was cut off as she was dragged from him. Murky water closed over her head in a thick rush, and she was gone.

  “Julia!”

  His hands spread wide in the empty water as he dove after her. Desperate, he opened his eyes below the surface, but below was a void, hiding even his own hands from him. He exploded back to the surface where the others had surged forward, panic etched on their faces. He pulled his knife from its sheath on his belt, clutching it in his hands in futility.

  “Julia!” His throat ached from his furious cry.

  Something knocked his shins and a vice-like grip closed around his legs and tugged hard. Unbalanced, his hands shot out scrabbling for purchase on the rough brickwork. His pulse rifle was torn from his back, and his fingernails ripped down the crumbling wall as he crashed into the water, a pair of heavy shoulders connecting with his legs.

  Sawyer drove his knife forward and up, the blade connecting with thick wetsuit rubber. The blade shuddered to a halt, but Sawyer didn’t. Greasy, sloshing water closed over his head, sealing him off from the world above while steely hands squeezed the knife from his grip. He yanked his hands free, scrabbling for the knife handle, but bony fingers found the softness of his throat. His feet scraped uselessly on the slippery stonework as he pushed for the surface, but his assailant had locked onto him, compressing his windpipe.

  His lungs burned, protesting painfully. He gave up trying to stand and curled his legs in front of him in a fetal ball. Ramming with all the strength his oxygen starved limbs could muster he jammed his boots straight into his attacker. Finally, his neck was released, and he burst through the surface, coughing dirty water and gasping for dirty air.

  Julia.

  He shook the water from his eyes. To his left, Violet frantically probed the water, her pulse rifle skating the surface beneath the glow of her headlamp.

  “Can’t see anything,” she barked. “Too dark.” Garrick and the others approached, their faces strained.

  “Sawyer!” Julia screamed from the darkness in front of him where his beam didn’t penetrate.

  Sawyer pulled his handgun from his hip holster and straightened his arms, moving forward. He saw the face barreling toward him in the last instant before it broke the surface. Hard features, silver bubbles streaming from the mouth, and then the dark haired man was on him, and they fell back into the water again.

  Slicing pain cut through his thigh and a hot burst of blood warmed his skin. He rammed the nose of his SIG hard against his attacker and discharged the weapon. Vibration hummed against his ears as the body of the man went limp.

  Sawyer shoved the man away from him and surfaced, spluttering. Strong fingers closed around his collar, and Hardy heaved him backward out the water by the scruff of his neck.

  The corpse of the man surfaced, Sawyer’s knife still embedded in the front of his shoulder.

  “Hell.” Sawyer straightened and spat out filthy water.

  “Sawyer.”

  He spun at the sound of her voice, and there she was, but not alone. A dark haired man was behind Julia, the serrated edge of his hunting knife pressed just above her collarbone. His other hand held her by the neck of her armor, forcing her head down in a gesture of submission. Her chest rose and fell in rasping breaths as she stumbled forward through the water.

  An acid twist of pain turned in Sawyer’s gut as he maintained eye contact with her captor.

  The man jerked his head, indicating behind him. “Weapons above your head. Leven here will collect them from you.”

  Another man, with dirty blond hair, emerged sneering from the gloom and waded over to Sawyer to collect his weapons. Sawyer glared as he relinquished his SIG, realizing as he did so that Violet, Foster, and Garrick had melted into the darkness. Only Hardy stood behind him. He glanced back at Julia. Her eyes were wide with fear and questions. He gave the tiniest shake of his head as Leven scooped the dropped pulse rifle from the water.

  Leven smiled, revealing several gold-capped teeth. “We’ll check you over once we’re out the water, just in case you forgot anything.” Then he moved back to where the first man stood. “Good to go, Darr.”

  Darr nudged Julia in the back. Already off-balance she staggered under the pressure of his weapon.

  Sawyer dug his nails deep into his palms.

  “Okay, you two. Ahead of the lady. Let’s go.”

  Sawyer stepped protectively in front of Julia with his hands on top of his head. Hardy followed, his broad face emotionless as Leven and Darr marched them into the unknown.

  17

  Sawyer watched surreptitiously for any sign of Garrick and the others as they returned to Crossness. But they wer
e nowhere to be seen and ten minutes later they arrived back in the lower area of the pumping station. His clothes clung wet and uncomfortable to his body making his skin itch. He was seriously pissed and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Darr and his men hustled them along a wooden walkway that skirted the water. Hardy glanced down at the man-made lake as they walked along, his expression unreadable. When they finally stopped close to the kitchen area the women were gone, as were the children. The pot of spicy stew had been abandoned and a spoon lay discarded on the floor.

  There was no sign of Beth.

  Darr held them at gunpoint while Leven secured their hands with plastic cable ties. Unreadable eyes of the darkest blue, revealed nothing while he waited for Leven to finish. Darr wore a red bandana around his upper arm, but his trousers and shirt were a filthy shade of grey, probably from repeated immersion in the rank water that surrounded the place. Sawyer realized he might find living underground at the Command Base difficult, but at least he wasn’t living in the sewers like a rat.

  Leven was clumsy and took his time. He fastened the ties around Julia last. She was disheveled, her hair an unruly tangle framing her face but at least she was alive and in one piece. The rest Sawyer would sort out one-way or another. He always did.

  Julia yelped when Leven restrained her hands, and Sawyer lunged, reacting to the pain in her voice. Leven punched him in the stomach without hesitation, his arm juddering from the impact. Sawyer folded to his knees, gasping for air as nausea and pain roiled in his gut. Leven grinned, thick lips drawing back over his gold front teeth as he swept Sawyer for concealed weapons.

  He pocketed the knife hidden in Sawyer’s boot. “You forgot this one.”

  Sawyer grunted, but kept his eyes trained on Darr.

  A red haired man had shadowed them as soon as they’d entered the station, tracing their lurching steps down to the station floor. He now hovered next to Darr. “Beth’s coming.”