Midnight Sky (Dark Sky Book 2) (17 page)

Sawyer scowled. “Guess not. We did leave them a little infuriated, didn’t we?” He grinned at Nash, who returned the smile weakly.

Gemma watched them, not as amused. Worry creased her features. Sawyer started for the ladder, Nash following him. Gemma grabbed his wrist and pulled him to a stop.
 

“Are you sure we need to do this?”

Nash faced her. “It’ll be fine. We just need to find the map quickly and quietly. Worst comes to worst, I’ll talk us out of it.” His large hand cupped her cheek, one dark thumb smoothing over her pale skin. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise, Gem.”

She bit her lower lip, then pushed onto the tips of her toes and kissed him. I looked away, leaving them to their moment and trudged to the tunnel entrance where Sawyer was waiting. He’d been looking at Nash as well. Our eyes met, and for a minute we shared the same apprehensions.

I handed Sawyer the torch as he descended, then watched anxiously. He made it down the bottom of the ladder without any problems, and nothing attacked him when he backed into the middle of the tunnel. He turned in a circle, looking for threats. Seeing none, he gazed at us.

“Looks clear,” he called, “but we need to move. Come on.”

We followed him, Nash going down the ladder first with Gemma and me climbing after. Riley was the last to descend. He closed the trap door over our heads, but didn’t lock it.

Now underground and out of the cold, I felt some heat sink back into my body. My limbs were still stiff, but if it came to it, I could still run.

Our feet were barely settled in the rocky earth when Nash and Sawyer started walking down the right side of the tunnel. I took out a second torch and handed it to Nash. He nodded his thanks and pulled it open, adding the subtle light to Sawyer’s and showing me the path we were on. It looked like a miners’ tunnel with wooden beams supporting an earthy roof. The walls were curved as though a giant drill had churned its way through. Strung around the tops of the beams were bare light bulbs that shone dim spotlights on the ground in front of them. Some of the bulbs flickered, and a few were dead.

When we passed a circuit breaker with a snarl of wires connecting over our heads, I turned to Nash.

“Are the Stray Dogs run by an Electrician?” I asked. After The Storm destroyed all the power in Westraven, the Electricians fought to return it. When they did, they became the new warlords, replacing the marauders grounded by the Hellions. Anybody who could terrorize and control them was not to be trifled with. Judging from the grave look on Nash’s face, that was what happened.

“No. They forced the Electricians to work for them. You don’t really want to know how.” He looked at me resolutely. “Try not to let on that you’re an engineer. It’ll be hard enough to keep you safe because you’re a woman, but if they find out you’re good with tech...” He shook his head, staring at the ground and fighting his thoughts. 

“Are they really that bad?” I inquired. 

Nash raised his dark eyes. The difference between this man and my friend was jarring. 

“When I said they were rabid, I wasn’t trying to be clever.”

I winced. Nash began walking again, likely to be near Gemma and Sawyer. But I had more questions, so I kept pace with him.

“You’re not like them, though.”

“No,” agreed Nash, though his voice was heavy. “But I wasn’t raised by them. I knew the lines, and tried not to cross them, but...” His sigh was pained. “That doesn’t mean I was a good person. I did bad things. Damn terrible things. Would’ve done worse if Sawyer hadn’t recruited me, or if I hadn’t met Gem.”

He glanced down at me. His smile was sad, but he was looking like the Nash I knew.

“Just be careful while we’re here. I’ll keep you as safe as I can.”

I smiled, squeezing Nash’s forearm. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need. It’s not only for you, Claire. Sawyer would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

Nash slipped away as my hand relaxed. I was still thinking about what he said when Sawyer called him back to the head of our column.

“Which way?” Sawyer asked when we caught up with him. We arrived at a fork in the road, both paths leading deeper into blackness of the mines. Nash studied both tunnels, moving the torch between them. He exhaled heavily.

“The right path will take us into the Runts’ den, but I wouldn’t trust the slaves in there not to turn on us. This,” he raised his tattooed arm, “won’t help very much if anyone remembers me. The other tunnel will lead us to the Alpha den where the Clan is. That’s our best bet for finding a map that’ll lead us to the
Meridian
, but they’ll remember me for sure and be even less inviting.”

“So you’re telling us there’s no good choice here?” Sawyer snarked.

“Basically,” confirmed his quartermaster. “My advice is to go right. We could get farther and it’s less likely we’ll be strung up and flayed alive.”

“Nash,” Gemma said, “I love you, but I really wish you lied to us just now.”

He gave her a sympathetic look, and turned into the right tunnel. 

Our progress in this new tunnel was slower, to be as silent as possible. Yet farther we walked, the more I heard.

A steady murmur of voices echoed through the cavern, still too far to be heard clearly. However, a steady beam of light was glowing in the distance. Like the torch’s light, it was a rusty yellow with shadows flickering over it. Nash and Sawyer twisted the torches shut and handed them back to me. I slid them into their holsters on my belt. Sawyer lifted his flintlock, Gemma’s hand curled around a knife, and Nash slipped on his brass knuckles.

The big marauder took the lead and held up a hand to halt us. I pressed my back to the wall, watching him as he padded down the cavern and turned to the left, where the strongest light was coming from. His hands were still clenched at his sides, but his shoulders were more relaxed. He beckoned us forward, and we hurried to follow him.

We huddled around the marauder, each of us peering past his large arms and shoulders to see the corridor beyond.

Nash called it the Runts’ den, and I couldn’t have picked a better word for it.

While I had lived in a sewer for nearly ten years, at least Garnet’s colony had been organized. There was a sense of production and duty. People weren’t well off, but they were fed, clothed, and had meager homes of their own.

The two dozen people in front of me were so thin I could count the ribs poking out from their grimy skin. Their hair was tangled messes, hanging in coiled clumps around their bony shoulders. Some wore simple, burlap sacks with pieces of twine wrapped around their waists. Others were naked except for the dirt, though they didn’t seem to care about the state of their decency.

There wasn’t a single tent or canopy in the seventy foot den. Thin fabric was draped on the lumpy ground to act as blankets. Pots and pans were tossed around the earth, which smelled like spoiled meat if it had been left out in a stifling summer day.
 

The only semblance of technology was the string of light bulbs hammered into the wooden support beams near the ceiling. I had the feeling these people hadn’t seen the outside world in a long, long time. It chilled me to think there could be more of them spread out under the Barren.

At the far end of the den was another cave mouth, which I assumed would lead to the Alpha den that Nash was trying to avoid.
 

“Anyone asks, I’m bringing you in as recruits,” he muttered to us.
 

Rolling up his sleeve to ensure the snarling dog tattoo on his arm was clearly visible, Nash entered the den.

At first, no one appeared to be aware of our arrival. Each person was fixated on a project–sewing clothes, repairing small, crudely made machines, skinning small animals for food, tending wounds, cleaning stains I didn’t want to think about. There didn’t seem to be any children or seniors. All of the women had lifeless eyes, as if their bodies were working on autopilot while the rest of their minds had disappeared. All of the men had bruises, cuts, and scars.

By the time we made it to the middle of the den, people were noticing us. Almost all the attention went to Nash. He walked confidently, scrutinizing each eye that landed on him. I felt the tension in the room like a physical thing. I could almost smell it with the musty air and sour sweat.

Next came the fear.

They cringed away from his sharp gaze. I wondered what he had done in the past to instill this kind of fear in these scrawny, sickly people. Did they remember him? Or was the Stray Dog tattoo a sign that he was supposed to be superior no matter how long he’d been gone?

For every step forward that Nash took, the people took two steps back. Some of them even skittered away into the cavern across from us. Nash likely saw them, but he didn’t panic. I told myself it would be all right, that we would find a map, see where the
Meridian
was, then get out.

“What the fuck are you Runts looking at?” Nash snarled, sounding completely unlike himself. I almost jumped when I heard him. “Shouldn’t you be going on a scavenging mission?”

The people–the Runts–glanced at each other nervously. They didn’t know what Nash was talking about, but had no desire to cross him or say otherwise.
 

“Answer me,” he provoked. The Runts cringed again.

“S-Sir,” one man with a scraggly beard and worse hair croaked out, “it’s- it’s not Scavenging Day.”

Nash shot a look that almost crippled the man. His eyes widened in fear, growing larger as Nash approached. The other Runts scrambled away, a pair of them even escaping the room all together.

“Says who?” Nash demanded.

“Ryland, sir.”

Nash paused. The name must have meant something to him. “You think Ryland wants you sitting on your ass doing nothing?”

“No, sir, but–”

Nash’s hand flew out with shocking speed, and wrapped around the man’s throat. Without hesitation, he shoved the man toward the wall. He stumbled over discarded pots and pans, his arms wind-milling as he tried to keep himself upright. It didn’t work, and he collapsed onto his backside in the dirt. Nash continued to approach. The man held up his arms and pleaded for him to stop.

My friend didn’t listen. He grabbed the man by the collar of the shirt, hauled him to his feet, and slammed his back against the hard, earthy wall. The Runt’s eyes bulged.
 

“Let’s make this easy. I take you Scavenging. Remind you how it’s done. See if you can impress me. Find me an abandoned ship, or something.”

The Runt started to babble quickly. “There is one! A ship! I–I’ll show it to you! Honest! Just–please, don’t hurt me! Not the Crater! Please don’t put me in the Crater!”

Nash shoved the man again, letting him go. The man curled his arms around himself and bowed his head. In the heavy silence, I heard him whimper.

“Stop whining and move,” Nash growled.

The man did as he was commanded, shuffling along the wall to another door I hadn’t notice before. It was half obscured by clothes dangling on a clothesline and wooden barrels with the panels peeled away from them. He pulled the clothes back and eased inside with Nash close to his heels. Gemma went in after him and I followed her with Riley and Sawyer close behind. None of the other Runts said a word or tried to stop us.

An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. I couldn’t place it, had no justification or reason, but it wouldn’t go away.

The Runt made a sudden left turn that lead us into a larger tunnel. Nash had to duck his head to get out, then suddenly lurched forward.

Gemma followed in the same fashion, and soon there were grunts of pain. Riley and Sawyer tried to get past me, but thick hands shot into the gap and grabbed my shoulders. They yanked me from the tunnel and threw me face first into the dirt.

Coughing and sputtering, I tried to get to my feet. My arms and hair were grabbed, getting a small cry from me as I was pulled up. My head was wrenched back, something cold and sharp was pressed under my chin. I went still, my heart becoming a war drum as I looked at the others.

Eight bulky thugs filled the narrow tunnel. Each had a snarling dog tattooed on their arms, and held my crew at knife or gunpoint. A pair of them forcibly held Nash as his confidence gave way to panic.

Two more men stripped our weapons and tools away. They even took our coats. One of the men let his hand glide over Gemma’s breast, and another leered at me as he clutched my hips to take my utility belt. Nash snarled furiously at the man touching Gemma. Sawyer tried to break free from his captor, stopping only when the knife at his throat bit into his skin.

When we were unarmed, another man stepped into the dim light.

He was in his mid to late fifties, but extremely fit. His shoulders were almost twice as large as Nash’s, his biceps bulging obscenely. Greasy grey hair hung to his shoulders, his beard was bushy and unkempt, and his eyes were a chilling, empty grey. The unbuttoned black leather vest he wore revealed a tattoo of a furious dog with dangerous teeth, a mark identical to what Nash and the bruisers had on their arms. Every movement he made all but screamed “leader.”
 

He locked eyes with Nash, and smiled icily.

“Look who came crawling back to his masters after all,” he sneered. The other Dogs chuckled.

The man stepped to the side, revealing the Runt that betrayed us and the other two who’d escaped from the den earlier. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small chunk of bread. He tossed it to the Runts, who practically trampled over one another to get the loaf. They shoved and fought over it, hurrying down the tunnel until they were out of sight. No longer caring about the Runts, the huge man stalked into the makeshift circle.

“Been a long time, Nash. Bet you thought you were free.”

“Just passing through, Ryland.”

“And you didn’t think to stop by and say hello?” He put a hand over his heart. “That hurts. I’ll have to repay the favor.” His metallic gaze slid to the rest of us. “But first, let’s meet your new friends.”

Ryland stopped in front of Gemma, and I could see Nash fighting his instincts. Wild rage tore through his eyes as Ryland took her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. Gemma showed no trace of fear. Her lips were peeled back in a savage snarl, eyes pinched together with fury. If she weren’t being restrained, I imagined that Ryland would have a serious fight on his hands.