Julia snapped the digital map shut and removed the SIG from the holster on her hip. She rechecked the ammunition for the third time. It was all there, just like when she last checked.

She began to walk again, wading through water that resisted her stride. The air was soupy and thick, fighting her efforts to drag it into her lungs and forcing her to pant. Her eyes burned from the contacts she’d slipped in, reminding her why she preferred glasses.

They’d left the base two short hours after the meeting, taking only enough time to pull together supplies and equipment. Garrick had asked for volunteers, and Julia had decided to go. She’d spent hours in the underground tunnels of London in her twenties. She knew she could be useful.

So here she was, trawling through filthy tepid water and trying to ignore the silent call of the river on her body from below.

Her heart rate fired up another notch.

This is just reconnaissance. This mission is not about engagement. It’s about location.

She struggled to swallow, her mouth parched with anxiety. Telling herself these things did not make her feel any calmer.

A warm hand brushed against her forearm.

“You okay?”

Sawyer’s face glowed red from his headlamp but the crease of concern touching his eyes was still clear. She gave him a strained smile. “Fine,” she lied. “You look weird under these red lights,” she added, purposefully changing the subject.

Sawyer touched the red light above his brow. “Maintains our night vision. Foster found them. God knows where. I’m never sure whether to ask with him.”

Julia glanced ahead where Foster’s back was advancing up the tunnel with Garrick and Hardy. Their red beams scoured the walls and roof of the tunnel as they progressed.

“Let’s not lose the others,” she said, amazed at how normal her voice sounded.

Sawyer’s lips parted as if he was about to speak, but then he turned, his hand dipping into the curve of her lower spine to guide her forward.

Violet was hot on their tail as they followed the bend of the tunnel around the corner. Here the darkness eased, softened by an artificial pink tone. Julia hurried toward the light. If there was light, maybe there was a way out the damned water.

The tunnel opened up, widening into a wide, church hall sized space. A concrete platform rose out of the water on her right but the water continued to run alongside to the left. The platform stretched for at least a hundred feet, lined with colored cables of different thickness. Julia spotted strip lighting above, the tinted glass providing the rose glow.

Power.

She squinted through her irritating contact lenses. There was a door at the end of the platform.

Violet climbed out of the water first, her weapon raised as she scanned the concrete ahead. It was empty as far as Julia could see. Garrick quickly followed with Sawyer. Hardy and Foster waited in the water, weapons ready and vigilant.

Water streamed from Violet’s trousers, and her boots squelched as she took a few steps. “What the hell is this place?” she asked.

As soon as Foster and Hardy had climbed out Sawyer offered his hand to Julia. She gratefully let him clasp her forearm and lever her out of the water in one effortless pull. She collided briefly with his solid chest and he held her for a split second longer than was necessary, his body crowding hers. When he released her Julia took a deep breath, gathering herself. He did that so easily, derailing her thoughts with just the closeness of his body. She didn’t want to think about what it meant. Relief flowed through her now she was free of the water and the air was warm on her wet skin.

She glanced up at the lights humming above. Power warmed the air and lit the tunnel. She thought back to the windowless confines of the CB. Who was living down here, and why weren’t they worried about attracting the Chittrix with such an obvious source of human habitation?

Foster took a few steps along the platform, his boots grinding on layers of silt. “Scavengers?” he asked.

Julia glanced up at the ceiling. “Seems a bit organized for what we know about scavengers.”

“Things change,” Violet said. “People adjust. Everything is still in a state of flux.” She walked briskly up the platform, pulse rifle cocked, not waiting to see if the men were following.

Garrick jogged to catch up. “V. Wait!” he called in a loud whisper.

They moved swiftly as a group along the concrete platform. Foster covered the rear, running backward at a steady jog, a whispered stream of invectives fueling his pace.

Although she was glad to be out of the water, Julia’s skin tingled with apprehension. They were vulnerable and exposed on this platform. The wall gaped with missing bricks, gaps large enough for a Scutter—the dog-sized, scorpion-like aliens that often accompanied the Chittrix—to press themselves through. Julia’s pulse raced as she jogged past each dark space.

A set of black, double doors marked the end of the tunnel. Here, the water flowed under the wall on their left, continuing in the direction of the sewer. Garrick and Sawyer halted at the door. The air was noticeably warmer and more humid here, a fine mist against Julia’s cheek. A soft hum buzzed in her ears.

We’re close to the power supply.

They could either go straight through the doors or drop back into the water and go swimming. Garrick turned, his fingers jabbing at the door then flicking in the direction of his back for the others to follow. Julia’s fingers tightened on her weapon as Violet pushed one of the doors open, allowing her and Garrick to step through.

It was like stepping into a film set. LED lights burned from all angles. Long corridors of shelves extended as far as a football pitch on either side. Straight ahead more shelves lined a long central pathway.

Each rack was filled with clear plastic lining and sets of trays rammed with tiny plants growing under the light. Pale roots curled through a watery medium, eerily translucent in the light.

Violet touched the leaves of a seedling, her mouth open in astonishment. “These are plants.”

“No shit,” Foster observed.

Everything was green, the air redolent with the scent of growth. Julia rolled one leaf between the pads of her finger, releasing the plant’s oil. She sniffed her fingertips. “Wow. Basil.”

Foster was close behind her. He picked off a few stems, stuffing them into his mouth then spitting them out. “Shit, that’s peppery.”

Julia walked down the lengths of greenery. “I’ve heard of this. Companies growing micro-greens in disused underground stations for restaurants. Before the Chittrix.”

Foster nodded, sampling a different handful. “Better,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

They kept moving forward, walking with weapons raised in anticipation of scavengers. They must have walked for five full minutes, the air rich with the tang of fertilizer. Under the harsh light Julia’s skin tingled with anticipated threat. As they came to the edge of each row of shelving, she kept expecting to find a scavenger with a shotgun trained in their faces. But there was no one.

Finally, they were faced with a white wall and another set of double doors.

Pushing through the doors, dim light outlined the only way forward. Stairs.

Foster let out a long, low whistle that tickled the back of Julia’s neck. “Just gets more exciting doesn’t it?” he said.

They climbed four flights to the top landing. Four flights up and trying to control her hammering heart, Julia pressed herself into the wall as Sawyer and Garrick pushed another pair of doors open and dropped to a defensive crouch.

She craned her neck as gothic arches arced above her head, outlined by murky daylight through domed windows. The ceiling was ornate with white plaster curlicues slit by stained glass panels depicting local flowers and elemental weather scenes. Julia had been here once before as a student.

Crossness.

They were entering the octagonal upper level of the Victorian pumping station. Below them, Victorian ironmongery painted maroon red and racing green, circled the vast lower level and supported the first floor. The walls were embellished with gilded flowers and trefoils, reminiscent of a church. Below, the extravagant décor contrasted with a tracery of bridges built across the expanse of water that filled most of the ground level. Some, made of solid concrete, looked original. Others were newer, flimsy constructions of scrap wood and pallets that spanned one side of the station to the other.

Neat rows of makeshift beds skirted the wall on the floor below, some separated by heavy curtains hanging from salvaged poles. At the far end, there was a tiny open kitchen. Two women labored inside, one stirring a large catering-sized steel pot while another stood next to her, chopping.

Julia’s stomach grumbled. Whatever was in the pot smelled spicy with a hint of fried onions, and her mouth watered. Steam rose in lazy circles from the pans toward the high, detailed ceilings. The silvery echo of running water filled her ears, and Julia wondered if they were using hydroelectric power like the CB.

Another woman came out of a side entrance, walking toward the kitchen space, a pile of linen in her hands. She swiped hair from her face.

Sawyer jerked, his shoulder bumping Julia.

“Beth,” he said, the words a soft murmur from his lips.