Sawyer squinted through the rain-smeared the glass as Hardy reversed the Coyote Tactical Support Vehicle into a commercial unit on a nondescript industrial estate on the outskirts of London. They were two blocks from manholes that accessed the sewer system. Puddles extended several feet into the building, relentlessly driven by the wind. Hardy parked the vehicle under the shelter of the wrecked roof, reversing through canted doors half-torn from their hinges. Inside, towering metal shelves extended into darkness, still filled with plumbing supplies.

Anna carried Julia’s acoustic equipment while the rest of the team—Sawyer, Violet, Foster, Hardy, and Garrick—surrounded her in a defensive circle. Everyone was painfully alert, the events of the last few days still fresh in their minds.

Sawyer watched the turbulent sky for Chittrix as he quickly checked the neighboring units for anything that moved. Drizzle whispered against his helmet, soaking his collar. He had a bad feeling about this mission, but the street remained deserted, and the only sounds were the rasp of his own breathing and the crunch of stones under his boots. The air was humid, unseasonably warm for the time of year, and his clothes stuck to his back in uncomfortable, damp creases.

He pushed his unease to the back of his mind. He just needed to get through this and back to speak to Julia. He’d tried to find her before they’d left, but she clearly didn’t want to see him. She hadn’t been in her room, and no one could tell him where she was.

He was almost glad when they pried the drain cover free and descended back into the darkness, switching on their headlamps and illuminating the dank dimness once more in bloody light. He licked his lips, tasting salt.

Once his boots splashed into the sewer water, Sawyer automatically dropped to the rear of the group with Garrick. The two men worked a defensive arc in comfortable silence, one borne of many days spent protecting each other in London’s wasteland.

Ahead, Anna walked between Foster and Hardy, focused on the digital screen she carried while Violet took the lead position as their most skilled sniper. Anna had marked out a wide, circular route around Crossness, one hopefully extensive enough to avoid any Chittrix but close enough to allow her to map the area for comparison.

They walked quietly and efficiently. Only hushed words were muttered as they guided each other over hazards and through knee-deep water. Water streamed down the walls in narrow rivulets through swathes of spongy red algae while rats darted in and out of their flashlight beams, scattering at the intrusion, their yellow teeth bared. Hardy swore at the rodents while Foster knifed several, cursing before tossing the dead bodies away.

When Violet held up her hand, the group came to an abrupt halt. Sawyer’s ears strained for sound in the gloom. People. Not quiet ones either. They were making a racket that would attract any Chittrix within half a mile.

Garrick turned and pointed, and Sawyer scooted forward, joining Violet, Hardy, and Foster as they continued into the shadows of the tunnel walls. Garrick took Anna’s elbow and retreated into the safety of the murky light.

Filthy water dripped on Sawyer’s bare forearms as he pressed into the wall and springy algae flattened under the weight of his shoulders, making his skin crawl. He focused on his breathing, blanking out the pulpy texture of the plant growth. Male voices echoed ahead of them, loud and urgent. Jesus, they were noisy.

Curses filled the air, and then the thundering clatter of bullets made Sawyer freeze and tighten his trigger finger.

“What the fuck?” Foster hissed in Sawyer’s ear. The tunnel gaped dark and menacing ahead of them, blackness absorbing any detail.

There was more gunfire and then screams.

Sawyer moved ahead, skirting Violet. He indicated with a jab of two fingers for Hardy to accompany him. Violet and Foster followed, plunging through the knee-deep water.

Stagnant water foamed and resisted Sawyer’s steps, debris bumping and fighting his legs and urging him to turn and run the other way. He slowed where the tunnel took a sharp turn to his left. Bending low, he ducked his head around the brickwork. In the murk ahead, he made out two shapes staggering through the water.

Sawyer froze, his soles rooted to the spot, as Nathan Darr lurched into view, dragging a semi-conscious man. It was Jakub, his head lolling and bumping against his breastbone. Darr stumbled but righted himself, squinting against the headlights and rifle laser guides directed at him.

Ignoring the stab of dislike piercing his gut, Sawyer surged forward with Foster. Foster sloshed to the opposite side of the pair and grabbed Jakub’s arm, lifting it across his shoulder.

Jakub’s abdomen was a bloody mess of gouged flesh and the wet shimmer of internal organs. Darr’s shirt was torn and his shoulder was scored with thick lacerations obvious even in the poor light.

“Chittrix.” Darr spat out as Sawyer marched past him, rifle held high and alert. The tunnel ahead was empty.

“I’ll take V and Hardy, Anna can check out Jakub,” Sawyer whispered to Garrick who had stepped up beside him. He craned his neck, searching the ceiling. “Damn Chittrix could be anywhere.”

Garrick dropped to the rear, speaking quietly to the others before Violet and Hardy skirted the injured Jakub, joining Sawyer. His eyes ached from scanning the black void of the tunnel. Jesus, he needed to see something, even if it was an alien. His palms were slippery with sweat and ambient water, but he kept his hands locked on his weapon.

Water slopped noisily in every direction, the sound bouncing off the walls and making it impossible pinpoint anything. The hairs on the back of his neck stiffened. Fuck, where is it? His breathing was too loud, so he held his breath, but his ears filled with the hot roar of his own blood and his racing heart.

Hardy made a dropping motion, his hand skimming across the surface of the water. In tandem, they dipped the noses of their weapons, sweeping cautiously.

Damn, nothing.

Fifteen more paces and the tunnel widened, opening into high, intricate arches thirty feet above their heads. The noise intensified as water cascaded in a tumultuous flood from a jagged split in the brickwork high in the ceiling. It hammered on the surface of Sawyer’s helmet, making it nearly impossible to look upward. Water surrounded them, knee deep and obscuring the walls in silvered sheets. The surface jumped and popped with the force of the downpour, shielding anything lurking in the depths.

To Sawyer’s left, Hardy’s face was grim, his mouth set in a thin line of frustration. Bronzed rivulets of hair clung to Violet’s face as she wiped the deluge from her eyes.

Then the water surged in a terrible rush, splitting and releasing the alien beneath.

The Chittrix rose, water escaping its limbs in a torrent. The exoskeleton was mottled grey and black with coppery patches, its forelimbs webbed like the Chittrix that had attacked the Command Base. It stretched to its full height, barbed head tilted as it appraised them. Deep guttural clicks and chittering emanated from low in its throat.

It lunged, the massive body tilted at an awkward angle, and Sawyer realized it was injured. A large chunk of flesh had been gouged from its body, unbalancing it.

As all three unleashed their pulse rifles, Sawyer aimed low, where vulnerable flesh was exposed between the barbed thigh plates. Lethal shards of chitin exploded into the air, mixed with globs of viscous body fluids that spattered and soaked his face and forearms. Sawyer roared and edged forward as Hardy and Violet spread out, creating a net of laser fire from which there was no retreat.

The Chittrix stumbled, its teeth snapping to sever arms from bodies. Razor flesh scored Sawyer’s jaw as the serrated tongue slashed his face on its downward arc. He recoiled, waves of pain licking across his face, before snapping back up, unleashing another furious burst of laser fire. More slick alien shrapnel filled the air as its thorax disintegrated in thudding chunks.

It careened headlong into the water, screeching, drenching Sawyer in greasy sediment that stung his eyes and clung to his nostrils. He squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head to clear his vision. He blinked, his eyes smarting. The Chittrix had fallen only a few feet from him.

Sawyer stepped forward and rammed the thick snub of his pulse rifle against the alien skull. He screamed as he discharged his weapon, pouring his hatred and anger into the dying alien. Finally, his charge ran empty and he stood panting, struggling to pull oxygen into his fear-soaked body.

The Chittrix’s head sank under the water. Its spine arched in a convulsive death twitch, monstrous tail cracking the tunnel wall one final time before it collapsed, lax and unmoving.

Sawyer exhaled a long, slow breath and then kicked the fallen Chittrix in the flank for good measure, rocking the body with the force of his boot. Next to him, Hardy wiped his brow with a filthy hand, allowing himself a brief inhalation of achievement. Sawyer turned from the corpse, to see Violet appearing out of the darkness. She waited as he wiped gunk and mucus from his face and then she followed him silently back to the others, Hardy bumping on their heels.

Darr was kneeling, cold water swirling around him, his head bowed in exhaustion.

He lifted his face as Sawyer, Hardy, and Violet sloshed into hearing.

“Dead?”

“You’d already taken a chunk out of it,” Sawyer replied, his tone curt.

Darr nodded and inclined his head in Jakub’s direction.

“Jakub, with his semiautomatic. Before it tore half his insides out.”

Sawyer focused on the injured man. Garrick squatted beside him, his brow creased. He ran a gloved hand across his hair and shook his head before standing up, his helmet dangling from one hand. The water shifted around Jakub and one hand bobbed in the current, drained of life.

Anna dropped her head in defeat as she straightened next to Garrick and rested her head against his body armor. Garrick cupped the back of her neck in gentle affection and turned to Darr, lifting his weapon.

“This is a theme every time we run into you. Maybe you should go.” Garrick motioned for Darr to get up.

His pulse rifle emptied, Sawyer’s hand moved to the fully loaded SIG holstered at his hip. His thumb flicked the leather restraint, allowing his palm to settle on the grip.

Darr held up his hand in surrender. “I don’t want to fight.” He caught his breath. “Not against you.”

He waited for his words sink in, but when he got no response, he continued. “We found the nest. I want to fight with you.”