Chapter Twenty-Seven
The deeper they climbed down the rope rig, the air grew heavier. Damp and chilly. The thrum of the surface was gone, replaced by a muffled quiet that made every footstep sound too loud.
According to Nadine, this former reservoir had been carved straight from Reva’s mineral-rich ore centuries ago, its walls smoothed into an immense bowl to hold the city’s water reserves.
But when the stone’s seams shifted, fracturing the basin, it was declared unstable, drained, sealed off, and forgotten.
The Dissent had claimed it. They’d drained away the last of the stagnant water, patched the cracked walls with scavenged alloys and scrap plating, and carved channels into the stone as ventilation shafts.
Rows of makeshift canvas tents stretched across the basin, raised on platforms of scavenged scaffolding and braced steel beams. Metal grates had been strategically inserted into the base of the reservoir to allow the condensation to drain.
Battery lamps stood at every tent’s opening and had been positioned throughout the entire camp, providing ample illumination.
It wasn’t much, but it was the Dissent’s. A city beneath a city, hidden in a place no one else would dare to look.
“Boss is back!” someone shouted from a large tent to Christian’s right.
The sound rippled fast through the camp.
In seconds, a small crowd formed, pressing closer until Nadine stepped out into the open.
She didn’t smile, but she lifted a hand in greeting.
A few people clapped her on the shoulder.
Others nodded with that unspoken acknowledgment between people who had survived another day.
A tall man in his thirties pushed forward, clasping Nadine’s forearm before looking over the rest of them. “More recruits?”
Nadine shook her head. “My sister and her friends. They needed a place to lay low. They’re under my protection.” Her tone left no room for argument.
He gave a short nod and motioned for them to follow. “I’m Jebro. I’ll get you situated.”
The tour was quick but thorough. The north section included living tents that were small and close together, each with a thermal mat and a single hanging lamp inside.
To the east was the mess tent, where stolen foods were organized behind wire mesh and algae sheened a faint green in shallow troughs.
The south housed the armory and the electronics tents, which were guarded by people with weapons slung tight to their chests.
And in the west section was medical, where the smell of antiseptic was sharp enough to sting his nose.
The command tent sat on a raised slab near the center, its flaps drawn back just enough to see a table covered in maps and comm logs, and it was there that Nadine spoke with two other Dissent members. Both wore pistols on their waists.
They ended the tour back near the living tents. Jebro handed them each a cloth tag and gestured toward four tents spaced side-by-side.
Imara glanced at Hawk then smirked. “We only need one.”
Hawk’s ears matched his red hair, but he didn’t argue.
Christian looked at Gemma out of the corner of his eye, and despite the fatigue on her face, there was the smallest hint of a smile.
“One for us too,” he told Jebro, taking the tag.
From the corner of Christian’s vision, an older man walked past with a heavy toolkit slung over one shoulder, and something about his gait caught Christian’s attention. Then the man turned his head, and Christian’s stomach sank.
His dad was in Tent City.
Christian’s father looked at him for no longer than a passing glance before continuing on his way.
“Food’s in the mess,” Jebro continued while Christian stared after his dad.
“Showers are behind the med tent. There are clean clothes in chests just outside the bath stalls. Take whatever you want. You’re Nadine’s guests—no one touches you unless they want to lose a hand.
You want to walk the perimeter, walk it.
You want to sleep for a week, sleep. You’re safe here. ”
Christian touched Gemma’s hand. “I’ll be right back.”
He caught up to his father easily, grabbing the man by the shoulder and turning him around. Christian’s dad stared at him with an emotionless gaze.
“What are you doing here?” Christian asked.
He moved to leave, but Christian stepped in front of him.
His dad huffed. “Lysa brought me with her when she left that Gallowood place. She thought it was better I be here, away from the Systems. Since you apparently burned that bridge.”
Christian’s hands tightened into fists. Heat rolled up the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to snap at his dad when Gemma’s soft, gentle hand slipped into his.
“I don’t think we’ve met.” Gemma held out her other hand to his father and introduced herself.
Christian’s dad looked at her gesture then scoffed. “So, you’re the reason my son threw his entire life away.”
He punched his dad in the face. The man toppled backward, landing hard and clutching the side of his face with his hand. His tools spilled, and those who’d been speaking nearby hushed.
“Don’t you ever talk to her like that again,” Christian scolded.
“And don’t act like you give a fuck about my life.
You haven’t since the day you sold me to the Falaichte.
You think I threw my life away? No. I traded it.
Every scrap of loyalty the Systems thought they owned, every ounce of the future you thought I should want, I gave it up for something worth more. For someone who’s worth more.”
Christian pointed at Gemma. “She’s the reason I stopped wanting to die on the front lines. The reason I remember my life isn’t defined by the worst things I’ve done. And if the price of protecting her is walking away from the Systems, then it’s the easiest choice I’ve ever made.”
His father’s jaw worked, like there were words he wanted to spit but couldn’t get past his teeth.
A muscle jumped in his cheek, and for the first time, Christian thought he saw something like guilt flicker in his eyes.
But it was gone a second later, replaced by the same flat detachment Christian had grown up with.
Without a word, his dad stooped to gather the spilled tools and wandered away. He didn’t look at Gemma again.
Christian’s pulse thrashed in his ears. Gemma’s fingers stayed laced with his, her thumb brushing against his knuckles in a small, grounding motion. He kept his eyes forward, afraid to let her see the rage behind his stare.
She tugged on his hand. “Come on. Let’s go find something to eat.”
He shut his eyes and took a long, deep breath before letting Gemma lead him to the tent they had marked as theirs.
After stripping free of their maintenance uniforms and setting their belongings inside, they wandered hand-in-hand to the mess tent, where Imara and Hawk were already making fast friends with some of the Dissent members.
Gemma and Christian joined the group but stayed silent through the majority of their meal.
When Gemma said she was going to find the showers, Christian couldn’t jump out of his seat fast enough.
The showers were tucked behind heavy canvas partitions near the far wall, behind the medical tent.
Outside the stalls, two dented metal chests sat side by side, their lids thrown back to reveal neatly folded stacks of clean shirts, trousers, and underwear, separated by gender.
Christian handed Gemma a set from the women’s chest before taking one from the men’s.
A strong scent of soap lingered on the worn fabric.
He pushed the curtain aside on the nearest stall and glanced in.
The floor was a patchwork of mismatched metal plating.
The edges had been sealed with some sort of polymer, and the drain was slightly off-center.
A rust-speckled pipe ran down the wall into a battered shower head.
Above it was a crude heating system, made from scavenged piping and an ancient filtration system.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
He stepped inside and twisted the tap. The water came in a thin, steady stream.
“You take this one,” he said to Gemma. “I’ll grab the next.”
She nodded, and he stepped aside so she could pass.
He slipped into the stall next to hers and hung his clothes over a railing before disrobing and turning on the tap.
After a moment’s groan, water spilled from the pipe.
He stood beneath it, closing his eyes and letting the warmth spill over his shoulders.
At last, he was washing away the grit of Reva’s surface, the smoke from Lysa’s fire, and the metallic tang of the tunnels.
Though only separated by a thin piece of dented metal, neither he nor Gemma spoke. The weight of the last two days seemed to hang between them in the quiet. How long did they have before they’d be forced to run again? And where would they go?
He braced his palms on the cool metal wall and sighed. At least they were finally standing still, if only just to catch their breath.
Christian stepped out of his stall moments later, hair dripping.
The damp air already felt cool against his skin.
Gemma emerged a moment later. The fresh clothes hung loosely on her thinner frame.
Damp strands of hair curled against her cheeks.
She looked lighter and more refreshed, though the shadows under her eyes were still there.
They crossed back toward the living tents, weaving through clusters of people gathered around dim electrolamps. A few glanced their way, but no one stopped them.
When they reached their assigned tent, Christian pulled the flap aside for Gemma to enter.
The warm glow from the battery lamp inside spilled over the thermal-rug-covered ground.
Against the rear wall, a low cot stretched barely wide enough for two, its frame made from scavenged piping.
Two mismatched pillows rested against the canvas, and a scatter of wool and synthetic blankets were piled on top in uneven folds.