The Pox
an excerpt from EJECTED EARTH.
Jack Greer and his crew are deep in the buried underworld of Sol Seterra—a lawless zone called the Pox—trying to reach Freelund, where a scientist critical to humanity’s survival is being held.
They’re outgunned. Their guide just abandoned them.
And Phil—who hasn’t spoken a full sentence in years—is about to say something.
Tram Maintenance Node - NE-121 | Sol Seterra
28 April 2585
2101 hours
The tram didn’t announce the stop.
In the rear cargo car, the change in speed came through the floor. The brakes started low, winding to a grinding moan. The rows of hanging tie-downs swayed once, metal on metal.
No windows. No overhead announcements. Just a narrow strip of maintenance lights, a quiet door, and faith in a tram operator with a few extra dollars on his brick.
Jack stood, one hand steady on the wall.
Across from him, the space near the rear hatch, emptier than it should have been.
Could have been the same car.
Who could remember.
The pitch of the brakes shifted again. Phil looked up first. Arthur didn’t wait for instruction.
The rear latch clanked once as Arthur heaved.
A few seconds later, Harlan nodded.
“Now.”
The hatch opened before the wheels stopped—dim red light outlined their faces. Cold air knifed into the car with a mineral tang. Deep ice. Dry, neglected air.
The duffels from Mile High hit the tracks first.
Lester and Arthur swung them down into the red wash as Jamie cracked the port door and helped Erik down.
Franklin helped drag their gear to the narrow maintenance ledge outside.
Phil dropped last, boots crushing frost with a controlled thud.
Jack cleared the corners of the car.
The brakes released with a jerk.
Keying off his light, he stepped out of the rear hatch and into the tramline—the red light from the tram, already fading.
The tram curled away out of view. The rails sang for a moment longer. When the sound died, it died.
Far ahead, dim amber lights burned in a loose cluster.
Harlan at his side, Jack broke the silence.
“Lights.”
In a breath, seven beams snapped alive—hard white cones cutting through the black.
No one spoke as they headed west.
Phil adjusted the light on his chest and ran a gloved hand along the wall. It was blue. Glassy. Pressed nearly a foot too close.
Conduit brackets protruded from the ice, mounts half consumed. Barely a centimeter of pipe remained exposed. A faint crack ticked from somewhere inside.
Arthur veered across the rail to the north wall.
In spots, conduit hung free where the brackets no longer met the wall. Clearance was wide. Maybe a foot.
Like the ice had forgotten to stay put.
They walked with purpose, tracking tolerances without meaning to.
Jack jogged ahead, hugging the southern wall. The rest followed, boots ringing on steel as they climbed the steps onto the loading deck.
Lester turned off his chest lamp. “Another few inches and we would have been dragging.”
Jack swept the bay ahead, checking for access points. A few meters into the far left corridor was an irregular opening, nearly three meters across. Its edges reinforced with rusted patchwork scrap.
Behind him, the others rifled through the duffels and began donning their rigs.
Erik adjusted his satchel—The Girls nested quiet against his chest.
Harlan shouldered the backpack air compressor and buckled the chest clip. “We early?”
Jack checked his watch. “Nope.” He pushed Harlan’s hose into its fitting.
“Shit.”
Arthur pulled two orange powder-nailers from the duffel and handed one to Phil. They clipped them to their yokes and let them hang.
Loose coats did little to mask intent.
“This is a bad idea.” Harlan scanned the armed invading force.
“This contact says they can get us close.” Jack tightened his yoke and strapped on the kukri he’d fashioned in Mile High.
Jamie inspected Lester’s rig, following the hose from the two bottles on his back. “This is what you’ve been bragging about? A torch?”
Lester keyed it on.
The bottles thumped as the regulator opened. A sharp hiss followed, quickly rising to a shriek.
At the nozzle, the air warped—a tight white-blue flame snapped into place with a dry pop.
Everyone stepped back, shielding their eyes.
Lester held it as far away from his face as he could, still attempting a smile.
“Lightsaber.”
With a hand blocking the glare, Jamie leaned in and shut it off at the tank. “Goddamn, Les! Can you make it smaller?”
Lester pressed on his eyes; showed him the regulator. “As low as she goes.” He blinked hard. “I actually don’t know how big it gets.”
Jamie laughed. “You are fucked if you think that’s a good idea. This whole place is holding on by a prayer and you want to bring that thing?”
“He’s right,” Harlan said, flinching at drops from the melting ice. “The glow-stick stays.”
“Could come in handy.”
Harlan took the torch off his back. “There’s another air-gun in there and plenty of sabots.”
Team 3 was armed. Waiting.
Jack paced, glancing to Erik for an update.
Almost checked his watch again.
He leaned against the wall. “You said that Meredith was the only friend Vera didn’t know she had.”
Erik nodded, but didn’t look at Jack.
Still leaning, Jack turned. “Why?”
Erik exhaled. “Because she’s Elara’s sponsor.”
“…sponsor.” Jack looked at nothing.
It took him longer than he’d care to admit.
“Oh.” Jack looked at Erik. “Like, drugs, or—”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you, Jack.” Erik met his eyes. “In the six years I’ve worked with her, it hasn’t been relevant.”
Jack swallowed. “Right. Good.”
Arthur paced. Phil loosened his belt and sat on the ground with a sigh.
Harlan stood. “First Flynn, now this contact. Doesn’t give you the warm and fuzzies.”
“That’s not it.” Jack drummed his thumbs against his biceps. “Flynn burned everything to get away from Sol Seterra. Never should’ve assumed he’d go back.”
Harlan exhaled. “So what’s the play?”
He looked at Erik and nodded. “What’s the range of those things?”
“Depends.” Erik straightened. “Straight line forward observation—eleven, twelve kilometers. In there?” He shrugged. “Depends.”
He looked over his crew. They were all watching Jack. Waiting for green.
“Fuck it.”
Arthur gave a single clap and sprang to his feet hauling Phil and Franklin with him.
Black pulsed on Erik’s chest, then smoothed to a whirring whistle as it launched through the makeshift tunnel entrance.
Erik stepped to Jack, setting his open terminal on a toolbox. After a few keystrokes, its path lit red.
“Can we see what it sees?”
Erik pulled out a cord, plugging one end into the terminal, the other into his neural implant.
Harlan leaned in.
The first node was small and dark. A warehouse—racks packed with crates. Half dozen lifts. An untouched layer of frost covered it all.
Black took the only exit southeast.
It sped through the empty tunnel. Faint light waited around the next bend.
Black stopped.
“That’s all we’re getting through this ice.”
Erik pulled the cord from his head.
“Okay.” Jack nodded once. “We take them one at a time. Can they all map like that?”
“All but Blanche—Purple.”
Jack keyed on his light. “Three’s good.”
He spoke to the crew huddled around.
“Stay tight. No stragglers. Do not engage with locals. Keep your ears open and your eyes on the man ahead. We’ve been trained for this.”
“Walk fast.”
“Walk mean.”
“Own the space.”
“…we were never going to blend in anyway.”
Jack led Erik and his crew through the tunnel opening—lights clicking on as they hit the dark. Lester was last in—a few seconds behind the rest.
Narrow. Uneven floor. Slick in spots.
It was rectangular. Messy. Like it was cut by men who couldn’t spell geometry.
After a few dozen meters, Jack stopped counting supports. It didn’t matter.
He picked up the pace.
Erik stepped to the side as they marched. Gold and White shot loose down the tunnel.
Another hundred meters and they reached the warehouse.
They didn’t slow.
“Left. Far end.” Erik took a slow, deep breath. “Populated, but sparse. Kids kicking a ball around.”
Lights hit the crates in his periphery.
“Eyes straight.”
The next tunnel was wider. Better supports. Still dark.
Their steps fell into rhythm. Heavy. Quick.
“Four hundred meters.” Erik struggled through the words. “We’re making a lot of noise. They’re starting to notice.”
“What are they doing?”
From above, Gold panned the streets near the node entrance ahead.
“Nothing. Looks like they’re hiding.”
Gold panned further.
“Shit—the rooftops.”
Jack didn’t slow. “Weapons?”
“No. None I can see.”
Black and White had scanned another two nodes.
“Straight. All the way through.” Erik huffed.
A minute later they rounded the curve and kept marching toward the light.
Just shy of the end, they heard a chorus of rhythmic shouts. Sharp. Aggressive.
Jamie caught it first. “Those are fucking dogs.”
The tunnel opened to an empty street bordered by row apartments. Five stories loomed over the narrow lane.
The rooflines and windows were littered with eyes. Some peeked. Others stared.
Jack and the others didn’t turn their heads, but they all saw.
“We still have eyes?” Jack said, just above a whisper.
Erik kept an eye on Gold. “They’re just watching.”
Every step wanted to be quicker than the last.
Another block and they were clear of the apartments. The barking and growls grew louder.
They passed chain-link corrals. Sand pits—stained red. Stacked cages of fur and gnashing teeth.
Bleachers.
Jack had seen pictures of old-world animals. Some videos.
The breedyards got most of them pretty close.
Not these.
Jack picked up the pace.
By the time they hit the tunnel, they were at a near jog.
“What the fuck,” Franklin huffed, “were those things?”
“Sounded like dogs,” said Jamie, “goddamn if they were.”
Jack slowed their pace and looked at Erik. “Where to?”
“There’s a split,” Erik caught his breath between steps. “Four hundred…meters.” He spit. “Left.”
Jack watched Erik’s stride. Uneven. “After this one, we’ll take five.”
Panting, Erik nodded.
The tunnel branched.
Left.
Five hundred meters more and the light from the next started filtering in.
“If we hold left, we can skirt the wall to the next tunnel.” Erik toggled to White. “It’s a bigger node. More people, but less eyes.”
Jack nodded, picking up the pace.
The tunnel led to a scrap yard. They went left, holding to the wall.
A rusted dozer blocked their way.
They cut east through an alley then looped back.
“Three blocks,” Erik said. “Then left.”
Jack eyed every door. Every second and third story window.
Doors opened as they passed. Watching.
“Erik—”
“I know.” Erik toggled to Black, whirring high overhead. A boy on a bicycle followed close behind.
“Just a boy.”
The alley intersected another.
A man in a yellow jacket, arms crossed, pushed off the wall and followed. He waved in two others.
“You lot got some place to be?”
Steady on. End of the block. Left.
“Hey!” Franklin yelped. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me, kid.”
Yellow jacket caught up and kept pace beside Phil, staring. One flanked left.
The yellow jacket spat on the ground.
“You’s lot look like other ones—some place to be.”
“Some place, this ain’t, boys.”
Phil unfastened his coat, powder-driver dangling in view.
Yellow jacket smiled.
“Dis’n here tastes iron, boys!”
Jack hit the end of the alley and turned left down the street.
Erik kept watching—Gold hovered high above, the tunnel still four blocks away. “That’s it—straight ahead.”
A block ahead and across the street, two more stepped out. Hands in pockets, they walked slowly.
Jack heard Purple begin the spool.
“Wait.”
Harlan pulled Erik by the shoulder and stepped to Jack’s side.
The two ahead had crossed the street and turned toward them.
Jack kept stride. “Phil. Art. Need cover if we break. Rest, don’t stop.”
Harlan didn’t need instructions.
“Boys!”
Jack wanted them to move.
He really did.
Harlan spotted it first.
“Gun.”
They exploded into the two men ahead.
Phil and Arthur side-stepped formation. Powder-drivers swept the three followers while Harlan and Jack finished it.
Grin gone, the man in yellow froze.
In full mount, Jack struck three times. Two would have been enough.
Phil stared down the man in the yellow jacket. He winced when he heard the bone break.
Phil didn’t.
Harlan rolled with the other. His head was squeezed under Harlan’s arm—legs kicking. One knee didn’t bend.
It folded.
By the time Lester and Jamie passed, Harlan and Jack had fallen back in step.
Phil and Arthur did the same.
Walk fast.
Walk mean.
The last hundred meters doubled.
His breathing shook.
Edges blurred.
Sinuses burned.
He should’ve grabbed the gun, but they would’ve had others.
Jack held his breath. Waiting for the crack of a shot that never came.
In the mouth of the tunnel, Jack turned and walked backwards.
The yellow jacket stood where the others lay, watching.
Jack turned around.
Shit.
Lester gave a single sharp laugh. “Think they got the message?”
No one responded.
Jack worked his way up to Erik.
A flash of white, then gold up ahead. The Girls. White nested first. Then Gold. Black.
“There’s an empty node ahead.” Erik’s hand trembled on the terminal. “Small. Five exits.”
“Good.” Jack wiped his forehead. “We’ll break there.”
Jack walked slowly. The tunnel sloped down just enough that he had to compensate.
Near the end, he shined his flashlight on the node’s floor. The light scattered. Not like frost.
Something softer.
Jack stepped into the node.
His foot fell past where the floor should’ve been.
He rolled in the fall, grasping at nothing.
He hit hard on his side.
“Jack!”
His healing wound screamed in waves.
He scrambled up, clutching his ribs.
The air around his knees shifted. Cooler. Heavier. It settled back against his legs.
He wiped at the pink, oily slick coating half his jacket.
“Shhhhit.”
Lester chuckled. “It’s a goddamn sump.”
“You good?” Harlan called.
“The fuck is this shit?” Jack tried to smell it. Didn’t smell like much.
Wading back to the tunnel, his foot hit something in the shallow soup below the fog.
He unclipped his ice axe and fished it out.
“Jesus.” Franklin winced. “Is that a leg?”
“It’s the fucking dogs.” Jamie stepped past Harlan. “How are we not smelling this?”
“Shit.” Harlan pulled his sniffer and knelt. “Kerch.” The bars split. “Sulfur. Rot. Same difference.” It vibrated and beeped.
“Lester’s right. It’s a sump.”
Franklin pulled Jack back into the tunnel.
Phil tossed Jack a towel. He wiped his face and dried his hair.
He shouldn’t have looked at the towel.
Harlan dumped a bottle of water on his head as he vomited back into the node.
Harlan laughed. “Ole’ Jack Greer meets his match?”
He spit. “Fuck you.”
Erik stepped up with his terminal, wiping the screen clean. Black, Gold and White whirred and flew from the ports on Erik’s rig.
“The routes get messy from here.” He plugged the cord back into his neural implant. “Each of the five exits branch before the next node.”
“This is Gold.” Gold’s feed populated the screen. “This takes us the closest to the main nodes, but it’s the most populated.”
“How many nodes after that one?”
“It’s just out of range, but it couldn’t be more than one or two.”
Erik toggled to Black. “This is Black.”
They watched it scan the streets.
“Looks empty.”
Jack pointed to a window overlooking the tunnel. A curtain was held open, then fell.
Harlan sighed. “Nope.”
Erik tapped the display. The screen was blank.
“Doren, status on Betty?”
“White is offline.”
“Shit.” Erik bit his lip.
“Problem?”
“White’s down.”
Jack nodded. “Gold it is then.” He took off his shirt, checking his stitches. Still holding.
Erik grabbed a bottle of antiseptic out of his bag and shook it.
“Closest node to where we’re going means it’s the furthest out.” Harlan clipped his sniffer back onto his yoke. “If they’re hostile, they’ll be prepared.”
Erik sprayed the rot out of Jack’s stitches, applied second-skin and handed him a SterexPen.
Jack reached for the pen, but stopped. “Can you do it?”
Erik looked at the auto-injector, then to Jack.
“I don’t like needles.”
Erik stared at him.
“Unbelievable.”
Erik plunged it into his hip.
Jack rubbed at the sting, looking over his crew with a grin.
“You fuckers do look mean.”
A few chuckled. The rest smiled.
“No more posturing. We’re going in heavy.”
He scanned their faces one by one.
“Good.”
Jack turned to the sump and high-stepped through.
“Shhhhhit.” Lester breathed. “Shoulda known.”
They slowly waded through the sick to the exit on the other side. No one had the stomach to pull anything else out from under the carpet of fog, but they knew it wasn’t only dogs.
Black hummed out of the east tunnel and settled back into its port on Erik’s chest.
Jack and Harlan led the march through the tunnel to Gold, Erik behind them calling out the turns.
Jamie and Franklin swung the half empty duffles around as they walked. Franklin passed a powder-driver up to Jack. Jamie passed another up to Erik with a pouch of sabot tungsten spikes and charges.
Erik inspected the modifications on the heavy tool.
Harlan rested his weapon in the crook of his arm and pointed to Erik’s weapon as they walked.
“Magazine holds five. Just flip the top—push them in one at a time.”
Erik loaded the magazine and closed the dust cover.
“Push the charge lever forward.”
A cammed steel block lowered with a hollow clunk. Erik dropped in a five-shot charge, then pulled the lever shut.
He kept the muzzle down—finger straight.
Harlan smirked. “Good.”
Erik kept track of Gold’s feed. The streets had mostly cleared. Those that were there were there by choice.
Five hundred meters out, Gold advanced, mapping the next node.
“They can break us up,” said Jack, huffing. “Don’t lose your anchor. Har, you’re with Les. Erik’s with me.”
Jack loaded his powder-driver and shoved five extra sabots under a strap on his yoke.
“Our exit is six blocks up, four blocks left,” Erik called out. “Southwest wall.”
“Anyone gets blocked in, you call it out,” said Jack. “Erik’s Girls can do a lot more than scout ahead.”
Jack twisted a headphone into his ear. “Everyone test comms.”
They cinched their throat mics and pressed in their earpieces.
Jack keyed his mic. “One.”
Harlan keyed his. “Two.”
…
Silence.
Harlan’s voice broke.
“You can be three, Erik.”
Erik looked over his shoulder at their faces.
“Three.”
Arthur was slow to respond.
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
“Seven.”
Franklin swallowed—his voice weak. “Eight.”
Jack slowed their pace. The formation tightened as they stepped out of the tunnel and into the node.
Purple and Black flew from Erik’s chest.
Black flew straight.
Purple stayed just overhead.
Gold stayed in overwatch.
Jack and Harlan led the formation—eyes straight.
The rest covered their assigned vector, with Jamie and Franklin covering the rear.
They swept every door. Every corner and open window with their weapons.
There was distant shouting. The occasional sound of fleeing boots on metal stairs.
Black disappeared around the corner as they approached the sixth block.
Gunfire.
Purple zipped ahead, rounding the corner.
Erik called it out. “Two garages—one on either side of the street.”
Then the piano.
Thank you for being a friend…down the road and back again…
An eruption of electric cracks.
Strobing purple lights.
Then gone.
Jack waved the left flank to the wall as they approached the ambush.
He led his column to the right wall—weapons trained on the adjacent garage.
Both stopped shy of the door.
Jack held three fingers, counting down.
Both columns filed in.
Jack and Erik held their weapons on the three still standing.
Franklin took their weapons.
Phil put them out of the fight.
Franklin chuckled. “Jesus, Erik.”
Jack and Harlan brought them back into formation.
The exit was in sight. Southwest tunnel.
Two shadows on the right moved from behind a dumpster and into an alley.
A few more shouts from the left.
Running feet. Getting quieter.
Gold and Purple whirred over Erik’s shoulder and found their ports.
Black shot overhead and into the tunnel.
They all followed.
Arthur exhaled. “What in the hell did that thing do?”
“Some song from an old-world TV show. Elara’s idea of a sense of humor.”
“One of their heads was gone!”
“Oh…yeah.”
Jack clipped his powder-driver to a D-ring on his yoke. “How are we looking up ahead?”
“Black’s almost there.”
“So once we’re out of these…Pox—” Lester tightened his shoulder strap, adjusting the weight with his hip. “What then?”
Harlan answered. “We find the lift into Freelund. Save the girl.”
“Elara.” Jack corrected before Erik could. “Dr. Elara Voss.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Erik’s mouth disappeared behind his white whiskers. His forehead wrinkled.
“You okay?”
Erik didn’t answer.
Jack shifted the powder-driver to his other hand. “Three hundred meters out.”
“Jack?” Erik stopped. “This one’s different. It’s not a node. More like a giant room.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not a dome. It’s irregular. Corners and dead ends.” Erik watched the feed. “Low ceilings. Maybe twenty feet.”
Jack took a drink of water. “Is it a problem?”
“It’s a maze.”
Jack chewed the inside of his lip.
“You have it mapped?”
Erik shook his head. “There’s too much shit in the way. Their buildings go all the way to the ice. Some of them are probably load bearing.”
Jack thought it over. “So we stay together. Map as we go.” He handed Erik his water.
Erik nodded and took a long pull.
They continued their march, dim light flickering through the bend ahead.
They readied their weapons.
Gold and Purple sang off Erik’s chest.
Gold out front, Purple overhead—Black still mapping the node.
The streets were narrow—more alley than street. They navigated the first few turns and held to the right of the first straightaway, walking underneath low-hung balconies.
Jack swept each door they passed.
Erik touched his mic. “Right at the truck.”
He motioned Harlan’s line across the street as his column turned, hugging the corner.
A snap.
Three more.
“Left!”
Jack fired at the empty window.
Three one thousand grain sabot darts removed the window. Debris hit the ground in front of Harlan’s advancing line.
Gold flew in and finished the job.
Another crack.
Harlan chased the fleeing shadow into an alley with two quiet shots from his pneumatic launcher.
He yelled across the street.
“Where are we going, Erik?”
“Straight,” Erik said. “End of this run.”
They moved fast.
Another shot from behind—too far to matter. A second from a window they’d already passed. Purple snapped upward. Gold vanished through broken glass. A body fell and didn’t get back up.
They turned right.
Left.
Right again.
Erik’s eyes stayed unfocused, watching what only he could see. Black pulsed, lines sketching and erasing.
“Hold,” he muttered, slowing half a step.
Gunfire cracked somewhere behind them. Too distant. Too late.
“Got it,” Erik said. He touched his mic.
“Exit—next left. End of the street.”
At the far end of the street, past a sagging balcony, the ice wall split into a dark seam. A low arch, half-choked with debris.
No corners. Sixty meters.
“Move.”
They broke into a run.
Their boots hammered ice. Breath burned.
Thirty meters.
Purple whirred overhead. Gold and Black returned to their ports.
The seam widened with each stride.
Ahead, an overhead door opened. A truck idled out, crashing into the mouth of the tunnel.
Silence—long enough to understand.
Then two more overhead doors opened.
Men poured from both sides of the street. Pipes. Rifles. Machetes. Dogs straining at chains, eyes rolled white.
Behind them, boots hammered pavement. Figures filled the narrow corridor.
Jack turned once.
Black pulsed over Erik’s shoulder. Blank walls. No gaps.
The barking grew closer.
Harlan raised a hand.
“We’re passing through. We never meant you any harm.”
Only the dogs replied.
A voice rose from behind Jack, vibrating in his spine.
“You b—b—boys…w—want to t—t—t—taste iron?!”
Everyone snapped to Phil.
He stepped forward, tossing his powder-driver aside and drawing his knife, pointing it at the man in the yellow jacket.
Phil forced the consonants through.
“Come and t—t—taste iron.”
Jack let the powder-driver fall.
Harlan slid off his backpack air compressor.
One by one, the rest of Jack’s crew dropped their weapons.
The man in the yellow jacket dropped his.
Soon, hands were filled with pipes. Blades. And hammers.
Jack unsheathed his kukri with one hand.
An ice axe filled the other.
Jack heard Erik’s breathing race.
“Jack.”
Jack didn’t turn.
“When we break, you find a corner and hide.”
They advanced on Jack and his crew. Chains slipped from their grasp, dogs straining.
Grips tightened.
Feet braced.
Jack heard a hollow thump—a hiss.
Lester stepped forward, his plasma jet torch squealing to life.
The air warped. The tight blue beam sharpened to white.
He thumbed the valve to max—the jet of plasma extended, jagged, pale-orange at the top.
Frost flashed to vapor.
It singed hair. Burned lungs.
It stopped their advance.
Squinting, Jack followed their gaze up.
The ice detonated into steam overhead. A fracture webbed the ceiling.
Face turned, eyes shut, Lester stepped forward—screaming.
The ice groaned. The walls sweated.
Ahead, the crowd thinned.
Behind—already gone.
Jack and the others picked up their weapons and leveled them on the remaining crowd.
They put down a few. The rest scattered.
With every step, the pops and cracks from the ceiling grew.
“Shut! It! Off!”
Lester wailed as he peeled a gloved hand off the torch. The regulator shut with an indifferent thunk.
“Get it off me!”
Franklin and Jamie lifted the bottles from his back and peeled his other hand from the torch—glove and skin melted onto the nozzle.
They ran to the truck and filed through the doors and into the tunnel.
Gold flew down the tunnel as they ran.
Arthur huffed, barely holding onto his bag. “Somebody tell me that’s the last one.”
“Just up here is an alcove,” Erik said.
Jamie helped Lester lie down. Erik assessed his wounds while Harlan opened the IFAK.
Harlan stuck a dampen patch on his left bicep and handed Erik another for his right.
Erik pressed a finger on his carotid. “He’s fading. Fix it.”
Harlan swabbed his hand with an ethanol wipe and placed the IV.
Lester’s breathing sped.
Erik flashed a pen light across his eyes.
Lester laughed once.
Erik checked his pulse again.
Erik gave Harlan a nod.
Harlan exhaled. “Thank God.”
Erik started taking off his jacket. Harlan stopped him.
“Thanks, Erik. I got it.”
Harlan draped his jacket over Lester’s torso and began treating his hands.
Erik sat and took a long drink of water.
Holding out two open hands to Phil, Jamie looked at the others. “We’re just not going to talk about—”
Phil glared at Jamie.
He dropped his hands. “Fine.”
Jack sat next to Erik.
“Tell me you have some good news.”
Erik took another sip of water, then opened his terminal. “We’re here.” He dragged a finger less than an inch. “San Jacinto.”
“So, good news?” Erik shrugged. “This tunnel takes us within twenty meters of Sol Seterra.”
“Bad news? Unless you brought a plugger, we don’t know how to get in.”
Jack’s head fell. “Fucking Flynn.”
Arthur stood from the wall, whispering. “Chief.”
He waved Jack closer.
Footsteps.
One pair.
Light. Sharp.
Jack took out his flashlight and steadied his powder-driver on his forearm.
After a breath, he rounded the corner and hit the light.
A woman. Early thirties. Hands raised.
“Meredith?!”
Nothing stays buried forever.