Chapter Four

Friday curled herself into the smallest ball she could manage, while still aiming her gun in the direction Striker had pointed her. Flashes of light illuminated shadows around her as laser fire rang out. Dirt fell. Dust billowed. Through the thick cloud, in the hazy flashes of light, she could make out Striker’s back as he crouched a few feet in front of her.

“Snake! Snake!” someone shouted. “It bit me. Fuck. It bit me!” A gut-churning wail went up, echoing off the walls as it traveled down the tunnel.

She stilled as the cry sank in. There were snakes in the tunnel. Slithering, venomous, snakes. In the darkness. With her. Her breathing turned into shallow panting as she fought the very real urge to run screaming. Still. She had to stay still. She had to protect the man who stood between her and Enforcement, as hysteria reigned.

“I’m down, I’m down. It bit my neck!”

“Where is the fucker?”

Another bone-chilling scream.

“What the hell kind of snake is that?”

“Where did it go? Where is it? Can anyone see it? I can’t see it.”

A panicked roar. “It got me!”

“Shoot it!”

“I can’t see it.”

“Where the hell is it?”

Fire blasted out, random and unfocused, as Enforcement agents succumbed to panic. It was agony-filled chaos. Friday concentrated on breathing evenly in an attempt to steady her hands. Focus. She had to focus. Don’t think about the snakes. Don’t think about the snakes…

“Stop shooting!” The order came from farther down the tunnel. It was a dark bark of absolute authority that made Friday shudder. “Get the injured out of here. Pass them back. The rest of you move forward.”

“There it is! It’s huge. Run! Run! It’s above us.” Another shriek filled with agony.

More flashes of blue light. More laser blasts. Friday bit back a cough as dust filled the tunnel and clogged her throat. In the dim glow from the lights attached to the Enforcement uniforms, she watched Striker’s silhouette as he stood. There was a whistle. It might have come from him. The shadow of a man stumbled into sight, his bulk hazy through the dust-filled air. He stumbled. Fell. Sobbing. Wailing. Clutching his neck. Another scream echoed along the tunnel. Someone shouted orders. Shots went off, fired aimlessly. And through it all, her protector stood like a statue.

The fallen man writhed on the ground before them. Why didn’t Striker fire his weapon? Why was he just standing there? He whistled again. The light in the tunnel grew brighter as more men closed in on them. Striker’s silhouette shuddered before he stilled. His arms lowered, and his hand reached for his gun. He rose slightly on the balls of his feet, took aim, and fired. He hit the utility belt on the waist of a dead Enforcement agent. The blast blinded Friday and sent her rocking onto her backside.

The ceiling above the rest of the Enforcement agents began to crumble. They fired blindly, scrambling over each other to get out from under the falling earth. Friday closed her eyes against the biting dust. She wished she could close her ears against the panic and screams of pain as erratic laser blasts echoed through the tunnel.

Striker fired again, hitting a second officer. Another blast. This time it triggered the belt of the man behind as well. Two blasts in quick succession. Friday’s ears were ringing. She shook her head. Dizziness, disorientation—she wanted to double over and retch. A hand grabbed her arm. The air was thick. Unbreathable. A voice at her ear. Distant. Faint, as though she listened through water. “Cover your mouth. Run.”

Striker pried the gun from her grip and grabbed her hand. She pulled the neck of her jumpsuit over her mouth. They rushed forward into blackness as the tunnel fell behind them, crushing Enforcement agents and snakes alike. Dirt and stones rained down. The earth creaked and moved, groaning in protest, pressing in on them.

She stumbled. Striker pulled her up. She ran blindly, her lungs burning, her legs rubber, her heart racing. All the while, the tunnel crumbled behind her. The roar of falling earth was an agonized wail of protest. The earth was angry at having been invaded. It wanted to swallow them whole as punishment for their trespass.

Striker suddenly yanked her to the left. She stumbled, fell against something wooden, and tripped over a step. A door. They’d gone through a door.

“Up. Fast. Don’t quit now.”

He dragged her behind him, moving fast and pulling her along. She fell too many times to count, too high on adrenaline and fear to feel pain.

“Nearly there.” Striker’s voice was an echo in her damaged ears. “There!”

He pushed forward, and suddenly artificial light enveloped them. Friday fell to her knees, panting, desperately sucking in air that was stale and thick but blessedly free from dirt and dust.

Striker threaded his hands under her arms and yanked her up. “Not yet. We need to get out of this building. The tunnel could collapse beneath us.”

They raced up more stairs and out into an abandoned store. Striker scanned the street beyond the windows while Friday bent double and gasped for air.

“Okay, we’re good. Come on.” He motioned for her to follow. Unlike her, he wasn’t out of breath.

They sneaked out into the street, hugging the walls of the buildings, keeping to the shadows. Striker took her hand again to ensure she kept pace with him. His eye restlessly scanned the area as he led her across the road. They were in a suburb full of cheap prefab houses with tiny rooms and even smaller windows. Boxes for storing the poor, out of sight of the rich, where they couldn’t offend.

“In here.” He elbowed the door to a darkened house. There was a crack and the panel gave way.

He shoved her inside and quietly shut the broken door behind them. As he spied out of the window to see if anyone was following, Friday surveyed their surroundings. They were in the main room. The kitchen area was in the corner. The furnishings were sparse, cheap but neat. Someone had tried to care for their home, and it had been invaded. Guilt assailed her.

Striker turned away from the window. “We’re good here for now.”

He strode to the kitchen area, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out two bottles of water. He thrust one at her. “Drink. But spit out the first few mouthfuls. We ate a lot of dirt.”

She followed him to the sink and did as he ordered. Her first swallow of ice-cold water was a balm to her abused throat. Without another word, Striker fetched two more bottles and passed one to her. She sank down the wall to sit on the cool stone floor. Her mind was blank, and every inch of her body began to ache. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. It felt like her eyeballs had been rolled in sand. The grit had worked its way under her comlens and rubbed relentlessly against her eyeball. She made a mental note to take the damn thing out, first chance she got. The lens was useless to her anyway, now that she was disconnected from the grid.

“You did good.”

She snorted. It wasn’t ladylike. She didn’t care. “I did nothing.”

“Which is exactly what I told you to do. Hence the good.”

She opened her eyes to find Striker crouched in front of her. “You could have told me there were snakes in the tunnel.”

He shrugged, but that wicked smile was back. “The only predator you need to worry about is me.”

“How did Enforcement get past the staircase? You said it was rigged to blow.”

“I don’t know. But I’ll make a call and ask a few questions.”

That made her weary body move. Her hand shot out and her fingers curled around his wrist.

“You can’t call anyone. The public communications network and all the messaging systems are being monitored. They’ll be on us within seconds.”

“You have a lot to learn. I keep telling you, I know what I’m doing.”

He reached into his back pocket and came out with a small metal box. He pressed a button on it then put it to his ear. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was—an old phone. A museum piece.

“Those don’t work anymore,” she said when the shock passed. “They haven’t worked for over eighty years.”

The infuriating man winked at her. “Keep drinking, then we’ll clean you up and get out of here.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he suddenly started talking into the phone. Guess they did still work after all.

“We were made. What the hell happened?”

He turned away from her, his focus on the call, leaving her to wonder who her rescuer was, exactly, and if they were going to make it to La Paz in time to save her life.