Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) (20 page)

She opened her eyes, and without thinking, looked down. The light from Reggie’s flashlight was a glowing pinprick, and she realized that she was hanging a good five stories above him.

Jack, you lying bastard. Shutting her eyes, she clamped her body around her lifeline.

“You’re okay, Lindsay,” came Jack’s calm voice. “Just lower your hands to the next knot, and ease your way down.”

Stiff with fear, she slowly uncurled one hand from the rope, bringing it down to the next knot, then repeated the process with the other.

“Good work,” Jack said. “Now your feet. Hold on and bring them down together.”

After several shaky seconds, Lindsay managed to comply.

“Okay,” he encouraged her. “You’re now two feet lower than you were. All you have to do is repeat that till you get to the bottom. No problem, right?”

“Right,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on the pitted concrete wall of the shaft. “No problem.”

Her descent was painfully slow, each movement a mental battle between determination and fear, with the former only narrowly winning each round. A time came when there was a draw, and Lindsay hung in the pitch darkness where neither the light from Jack nor Reggie illuminated her. Senselessly she glanced upward to Jack. Not surprisingly, she saw only blackness, and with her head tilted back, her hat dropped off. Damn, her hat would make it down before she did. If she did.

“Bastard.” Somehow the expletive made her feel better, gifting her momentary release from her fear.

“Bastard,” she repeated experimentally and found her hand opened more easily than before. She swore again and her legs slid down the rope. Cursing thusly in self-encouragement, she continued on. Her fear didn’t lose its grip on her—sweat slicked her body and her hands were starting to cramp—but she’d found a way to keep going.

Like the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, she saw the beam of Reggie’s flashlight playing bright and bold upon the wall. Sneaking a look down, she saw he stood only ten feet below her, atop the shattered remains of the missing elevator car.

“You go, girl!” he laughed. “You’re almost here.”

Lindsay slithered the rest of the way in relief. Reggie put one of his huge hands on her shoulder. “You okay?”

“I am now,” she smiled, at first weakly, then in broad triumph. She gave Reggie a hard, strangling hug. “God, am I glad to see you.”

She shook the rope and shouted up the shaft, “Yo!”

The rope wiggled in response as Jack began his descent.

Reggie climbed off the car, her following. She turned to him and found his face serious, his gaze trailing off along the dark corridor that led from the shaft. He switched his gun light on and tossed his flashlight to Lindsay as he pointed the weapon into the blackness.

“What is it?” she whispered. Reggie didn’t answer. Instead he motioned her over to the wall, himself taking cover behind some of the wreckage while he waited for whatever he was sensing to show itself.

For long moment all was quiet save the soft creak of the rope, then from out of the darkness came a man’s voice, sharp and rasping.

“You made a wrong turn, asshole. Better go back.”

“Neil?” Reggie called back. “That you?”

“Who’s that?”

“It’s me, Reggie. Remember me from The Burbs? I got a couple of people with me. It cool if we come down?”

From out of the shadows a figure appeared, and Reggie lowered his weapon as it materialized into a ragged-looking middle-aged man. His long black hair, broadly streaked with gray, was tied back severely, and he was bundled into several layers of mismatching clothes, all of which looked like they were garbage fodder. He carried a battered rifle held together by duct tape, probably more of a danger to him than anyone else.

Neil held up a hand to shield his eyes. “Who you got with you?”

“Jack Cole…and his woman.”

The man stopped, staring up as Jack appeared on the rope, then glanced at Lindsay, his expression hardening into suspicion and distaste.

Jack touched down and hopped from the wreckage to join them. He shot Lindsay a look as clearly disapproving as Neil’s had been, causing her back to straighten. What had she done now? And then he did exactly what Neil had done, turned away and ignored her completely. He even angled himself in front of her, effectively cutting her out of the discussion. Jack was soaking up this submission stuff for all it was worth, and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Yet.

Jack smiled urbanely, as if they’d arrived at an upscale dinner party. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

Neil nodded in wary acknowledgement. “You’re all a long way from Grand Central. What’s brought you down to us?”

“Just renewing old acquaintances,” Jack said.

* * *

Deep below Central Park ran a subterranean offshoot of the Hudson River, its cold waters cutting though a natural cavern to create an underground canyon. Perched on the edge of this dark gorge sat Agharta, its cinderblock huts huddled close to one another in the deep chill. Unlike Sumptown, however, the tiny community was relatively well lit, illuminated by cheerful lanterns that hung outside the homes and several inviting campfires. People were gathered about the fires, talking and joking, and were it not for the gloomy setting, the tiny village would have looked almost homey.

Approaching the outskirts, Lindsay heard the lilting melody from a flute echoing through the chamber, the muffled cooing of what sounded like pigeons, and the giggling of children. Several youngsters were running about the little village in a game of tag, and spotting Neil, they came scampering toward him, obviously delighted at his return and showing no fear of the visitors he was with—except Lindsay.

“Neil! Neil! Who’s them?” A little girl with twin black braids and a pointed chin grabbed his sleeve, and hopped up and down. She was surprisingly clean, her face and hands a pale grey in the light. The other children, too, showed the same shine, a miracle of maternal devotion given the unhygienic conditions.

Neil tugged on a braid. “Reggie and Cole.”

And Lindsay, Cole’s woman. Remember? What was she, a pariah?

“Put your cap on,” Jack ordered over his shoulder.

“I can’t. Lost it in the elevator shaft,” she hissed.

“Figures. No one will talk to you because of your hair. They think you’re a Nazi.”

“A Nazi? Because I’m blonde?”

“Later.”

A couple of children smiled up at Jack, and he crouched to be eye level with them, shaking several small hands and introducing himself. Their clear favorite, though, was the giant Reggie. From the moment he cracked his wide golden smile, they thronged around him, bombarding him with questions.

“You come to talk to Shamba?”

“Where you from?”

“You bring us presents?”

Prezzies. That was it. Gifts had cemented a bond with Mrs. Moore, and it might help ease the hostility here. She was easing her pack off when her chance was lost. Hoisting the girl with braids onto his shoulders, Neil led them to the largest of the cinderblock huts, its front bragging not one, but two lanterns. The kids gathered about them, their dark eyes shining with excitement, and about the village, people approached, wary looks on their gray faces.

“Shamba. We’ve got visitors,” Neil called. “Reggie from the Burbs, and Jack Cole.”

The thick blanket that served as a door lifted away, and an elderly man appeared. Though the years had stooped his shoulders, he was still tall. Like Neil, Shamba was dressed in rags, except over them were displayed a host of necklaces, medals and talismans, and even in his long grey hair were strung beads and ornaments. The entire works clinked together in soft cacophony as he hobbled out of his home, using an old crowbar as a cane. His deeply wrinkled face looked at them, his eyes gentle and benign, an instant balm to Lindsay’s shredded nerves.

The old man studied his visitors, then gave a broad, toothless grin. “Welcome back to Agharta. You must be tired and hungry if you came all the way from Grand Central.”

Reggie smiled. “You got that right, Shamba. We’d be real grateful if you would let us camp here for the night.”

“Our home is your home,” the old man replied, before turning to Jack.

Jack inclined his head respectfully. “Shamba.”

“Hello, Jack. It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you."

“I see you’ve gotten yourself a woman,” Shamba continued, not so much as glancing in Lindsay’s direction.

“I’m a topsider now, Shamba. So is she.” There was a stiffness to the words Lindsay didn’t understand. Where else would Jack live?

“I see. You know you’re always welcome here, Jack, and I’m sure Gali will be very happy to see you, too.”

Jack gave a tight smile, and let the elder lead them to the nearest fire. The smell of a barbecue sent Lindsay’s mouth salivating. Then she saw what was on the spit. A pair of huge rats, each easily the size of a large cat.

There were vinyl cushions scattered about the fire. Jack tossed one out of the circle, and gestured with his head for her to sit. Like a good little dog, she obeyed as he cozied up to the fire, blocking both the heat and a view.

All the villagers were young and dressed in the same tatty fashion as Neil and Shamba, and to her surprise, almost all of them were women. She smiled at a few, receiving sneers and glares in return. She kept her eyes down and tucked her hair down the back of her jacket. She never thought that she’d regret being blonde, but right here and now she knew for a fact that brunettes would have more fun.

Shamba got the conversational ball rolling. “So, what brings you down to us?”

“We’re on our way to Seneca,” Reggie answered.

“Very dangerous place. Why are you going there?”

“We’re looking for the Tecos.”

Lindsay started as someone prodded her on the shoulder, and looking up saw that Neil was offering her a plate of daintily sliced… Lindsay darted a look at the spits and groaned inwardly to see that they were now empty. She accepted it as graciously as she could, though he didn’t seem particularly impressed by her manners. He chin-pointed to Jack.

Happily Lindsay leaned forward and set the steaming plate beside him, hoping that her turn would be overlooked.

“We’re looking to get their help with something,” Reggie said. “They owe a favor to Najib.”

Shamba raised his bushy eyebrows. “Must be serious to call in such a debt.”

Jack picked up the plate and passed it to Reggie. “It is.”

Neil handed Lindsay another full plate, and she followed the ritual of setting it beside Jack. He took it without a backward glance. Another appeared, with only two thin slices on it. She glanced up at Neil uncertainly, and he chin-pointed at her. She forced out a smile of thanks, before realizing he’d already turned away. Jack was chewing on the meat as contentedly as if it were the Colonel’s chicken. Well, the Sumptown oatmeal had proved delicious. She brought the plate up close to her mouth, and gave a nibble. It was…edible. Edible like boiled tree bark.

“Where you get these?” Reggie asked, his mouth full. “They’re good.”

“We started farming them,” Shamba answered proudly. “Pigeons and guinea pigs too, though we still depend on Dyer Pass for the food staples. Their runners bring us that and medicine, and in return we give them medical care, and….”

The elderly leader trailed off as a woman arrived at the fire. She was as young as the others living in Agharta, but held herself in a manner that bespoke of strength and pride. Across her chest was a bandolier of wicked-looking knives, and at her side was holstered a tarnished though clearly operable pistol.

“Hello, Gali,” Jack greeted her, his voice level.

The woman switched her dark gaze from Jack to Lindsay, and though her face betrayed only mild disdain, Lindsay could see the woman’s eyes flash with fury.

“Hello, Jack,” she replied, equally coolly.

Shamba cleared his throat. “I was telling our guests about our trade with Dyer Pass. Why don’t you join us, Gali?”

The woman sat down across the fire from Jack, and instantly a heaping plate of rat appeared for her. Gali waved it away like a queen.

“You’re looking well, Jack. Much better than when I first saw you.”

“For which you’ll always have my thanks."

Gali’s hand came to rest on the butt of her largest knife. “Funny way of showing it. I guess you got over Tasha, huh?”

Lindsay watched Jack’s back stiffen. “I think we ought to change the subject.”

“Awful good rat,” Reggie spoke up. “Yessir, that’s tasty.”

Aside from Gali, who looked ready to toss Lindsay into the chasm, and Jack, who seemed studiously neutral, everybody else around the fire looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Lindsay was no exception. Unlike Sumptown, the people of this community hadn’t warmed to her in the slightest, and the looks Gali was casting her way could have burned stone. She should have kept her head down. Instead, she squarely returned the woman’s gaze.

Back off. He’s with me
.

But what had happened between Jack and Gali? And who the hell was Tasha?