thousand dusty eyes.
“Rich people,” Mieshka remarked.
“Dead people,” said Jo, and turned out the front door.
Through a grimy window, Mieshka saw Jo’s flashlight illuminate a concrete tunnel. It was a stark contrast to the house’s finely finished wood.
Mieshka stepped out into the tunnel and closed the door behind her. It did not make a sound.
Somehow, that was worse than the obligatory haunted house creak. She caught her reflection in the dark, dusty glass as she followed Jo. Her breath misted up in front of her.
“It’s better in the Core. There’s enough people and electricity to keep the place warm. Ish.”
“What keeps the air safe?” she said, trying to remember what she’d read about mines.
“Here? Nothing. Farther in, where there’s more people, there’s ventilation. Need to go deeper for poison gas, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Good. Mieshka hadn’t signed up to be a canary.
Jo turned left at the first split. The house ended, and brickwork swallowed up both sides. On they went, with nothing but their footsteps for company. And echoes. Mieshka looked at everything for the first few minutes, swinging her light around.
Graffiti cropped up on the walls. Some might have been directional signs; others had a ruder nature. Several renegade paintings cropped up, bright as the day they were painted. Without sun, she guessed that the paint wouldn’t fade.
They went through an office building, where Jo directed her down three floors before they left through a hole in the wall. She heard scurrying. Rats? She tried not to think of it.
Eventually, the tunnel opened onto a street, complete with chipped road markings. Light spilled from a building to their left, its heavy stone walls still holding after decades of burial. The windows were barred, and a fluorescent white filled the inside, illuminating racks full of guns.
Mieshka froze, staring at the guns. In one window, a pink neon sign read ‘Mo’s’.
Jo clicked her flashlight off and stepped up to the shop. A bell tinkled as she pushed the door open.
Mieshka lingered on the sidewalk, gripping her flashlight hard. She stared at the guns through the window. The old glass panes made the inside waver if she moved.
She forced herself to relax. Hadn’t she decided to face her problems?
The bell tinkled again as she pushed the door open and held it as a shield while she peered around its edge.
Jo leaned over a nearby counter, chatting with the man behind it. He was almost as big as Buck, with a black handlebar moustache and a shaved head. His hands gestured over the counter as he spoke, fingers thick and calloused. Mieshka stepped around the door, and it closed behind her with another jingle.
Guns were everywhere. All kinds of guns. Even some she recognized, racked under a small sign in the back corner that read ‘Military Issue’. Her mom had shown her those. Showed her how to take them apart and clean them.
She’d never shown her how to shoot.
Repressing the thought, Mieshka joined Jo at the counter.
“People are getting antsy down here,” the man said with a heavy accent.
“Water people?” Jo shifted a shoulder from the counter to include Mieshka in the conversation.
“All people. Worried about the shield. More and more holing up, getting crazier. Business as usual.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, her attention slid from the guns. Was there something wrong with the shield?
Jo’s comment was light: “Cabin fever?”
“Guess you’d call it tunnel fever down here. It takes slower if you have places to run.”
Jo leaned back, jaw working. Her brown gaze slid to Mieshka.
“So, you’re Aiden’s new apprentice,” the man said. His eyes flicked to the transfer mark on her hand.
She nodded. It took her a moment to unclench her jaw. She felt the guns all around her.
“I’m Mieshka.” She held out a hand.
His hand nearly engulfed hers as they shook. “Nice name.” He smiled, a
“Rich people,” Mieshka remarked.
“Dead people,” said Jo, and turned out the front door.
Through a grimy window, Mieshka saw Jo’s flashlight illuminate a concrete tunnel. It was a stark contrast to the house’s finely finished wood.
Mieshka stepped out into the tunnel and closed the door behind her. It did not make a sound.
Somehow, that was worse than the obligatory haunted house creak. She caught her reflection in the dark, dusty glass as she followed Jo. Her breath misted up in front of her.
“It’s better in the Core. There’s enough people and electricity to keep the place warm. Ish.”
“What keeps the air safe?” she said, trying to remember what she’d read about mines.
“Here? Nothing. Farther in, where there’s more people, there’s ventilation. Need to go deeper for poison gas, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Good. Mieshka hadn’t signed up to be a canary.
Jo turned left at the first split. The house ended, and brickwork swallowed up both sides. On they went, with nothing but their footsteps for company. And echoes. Mieshka looked at everything for the first few minutes, swinging her light around.
Graffiti cropped up on the walls. Some might have been directional signs; others had a ruder nature. Several renegade paintings cropped up, bright as the day they were painted. Without sun, she guessed that the paint wouldn’t fade.
They went through an office building, where Jo directed her down three floors before they left through a hole in the wall. She heard scurrying. Rats? She tried not to think of it.
Eventually, the tunnel opened onto a street, complete with chipped road markings. Light spilled from a building to their left, its heavy stone walls still holding after decades of burial. The windows were barred, and a fluorescent white filled the inside, illuminating racks full of guns.
Mieshka froze, staring at the guns. In one window, a pink neon sign read ‘Mo’s’.
Jo clicked her flashlight off and stepped up to the shop. A bell tinkled as she pushed the door open.
Mieshka lingered on the sidewalk, gripping her flashlight hard. She stared at the guns through the window. The old glass panes made the inside waver if she moved.
She forced herself to relax. Hadn’t she decided to face her problems?
The bell tinkled again as she pushed the door open and held it as a shield while she peered around its edge.
Jo leaned over a nearby counter, chatting with the man behind it. He was almost as big as Buck, with a black handlebar moustache and a shaved head. His hands gestured over the counter as he spoke, fingers thick and calloused. Mieshka stepped around the door, and it closed behind her with another jingle.
Guns were everywhere. All kinds of guns. Even some she recognized, racked under a small sign in the back corner that read ‘Military Issue’. Her mom had shown her those. Showed her how to take them apart and clean them.
She’d never shown her how to shoot.
Repressing the thought, Mieshka joined Jo at the counter.
“People are getting antsy down here,” the man said with a heavy accent.
“Water people?” Jo shifted a shoulder from the counter to include Mieshka in the conversation.
“All people. Worried about the shield. More and more holing up, getting crazier. Business as usual.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, her attention slid from the guns. Was there something wrong with the shield?
Jo’s comment was light: “Cabin fever?”
“Guess you’d call it tunnel fever down here. It takes slower if you have places to run.”
Jo leaned back, jaw working. Her brown gaze slid to Mieshka.
“So, you’re Aiden’s new apprentice,” the man said. His eyes flicked to the transfer mark on her hand.
She nodded. It took her a moment to unclench her jaw. She felt the guns all around her.
“I’m Mieshka.” She held out a hand.
His hand nearly engulfed hers as they shook. “Nice name.” He smiled, a
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