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Hunter found the trap door to the tunnels without any difficulty, a heavy plank of steel secured with nothing more than a double-end snap and a chain. A ladder led the way into darkness. Hunter’s feet found one rung, then the next. The alarms caught the walls of this chamber and echoed, setting up a pulse in his head.
His pocket buzzed. Gabriel.
Don’t do anything stupid. Wait for us.
If only he knew.
Hunter had expected darkness, but once he moved past the square of light from the hatch, the tunnel swallowed him up. Hunter couldn’t see an inch in front of his face. His hands found pipes, concrete walls, rusted steel supports.
He opened his senses, looking for anything.
God, he’d kill for something to silence those damn alarms.
Water. Water everywhere, locked in pipes, dripping down the walls, puddling under his feet. And gas in these lines, enough explosive potential to level half the city. Sitting on the beach with Kate, he’d had access to a perfect circle of Elemental power, with the sand, the water, the fire, and the breeze. Although everything here was manufactured, this space was just as perfect.
Hunter turned a corner, and the alarms faded. The darkness somehow became more absolute, almost smothering. He could hear himself breathing. He could almost hear his own heartbeat.
His pocket buzzed again.
We’re in the parking lot. Where R you?
Hunter turned the phone off.
He forced his senses farther. Water. Gas. Concrete. The air was stale down here, lacking current. He fed a little power into the water, pressing a hand to the wall where it dripped, begging for direction.
At first, nothing. Then . . . this way.
Another path through darkness. He must have passed below another hatch because the alarms became briefly louder before silencing. Another turn. Then another.
Then the air whispered that someone was nearby.
Hunter froze, his hand finding his gun.
This way.
He turned another corner, moving cautiously. He saw light, the very palest light, just around the next bend in the tunnel.
He kept his gun out and stepped around the edge.
And there they were. Half a dozen teenagers sitting under one lone penlight strung from the ceiling.
They froze when he appeared. Half looked like they wanted to run—and a few looked ready for a fight.
Michael had been wrong. They probably had been living in the tunnels all weekend. Maybe longer. Hunter could feel their hunger, the chill in their skin, their desperation.
And there, at the front of the group, was Noah.
He was one of the ones who looked ready to fight.
He was shivering. “Get out,” he snapped. He rolled a lighter across his palm and put a hand on one of the pipes. “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”
His voice was sharp, but he didn’t sound certain.
He sounded terrified.
“Where’s Calla?” Hunter said.
One of the other kids stepped forward with an ax. “She’s waiting for us to do our part against the Guides.”
