Streetlamps flickered along the road, strobing tattered, cold undesirables with their dingy yellow light. I followed closely behind Constantine, picking our way through clusters of undocumented citizens lining both sides of the street. Fires raged in rusted metal barrels at the center of each group. Our presence drew very little attention as we dawned stained, ripped blouses to blend in. Behind me trailed James and another revolutionary I hadn’t met before that night. Peter stepped off with another group around the same time.

  Constantine kept our purpose close to his chest. He decided it was best not to share the plans until we were ready to execute them, just in case one of us was captured. Like James, I blindly followed. My trust in Constantine’s ability to carry out these attacks had grown, but my faith in his promise was dwindling.

  Ahead of us, a small cadre of Capital Guard patrolled the street. Constantine saw them first, subtly waving us around a nearby fire. Curfew only applied to those recognized by the government. We were among those that didn’t exist, so the patrol passed without incident, and we set off again.

  We continued, carefully crossing dead intersections as we traversed the city’s numerous neighborhoods. Only the poorest wore the familiar grey drab exteriors. As we passed from the threshold of one neighborhood to the next, I was surprised to see changes in architecture, paint colors, and even landscaping. The lights shifted from a dull yellow halogen glow to brilliant white overhead lighting, cased in Victorian glass boxes atop stout decorated poles. The alleys that cut deep into the concrete jungle like rivers through a forest turned into cobble-stoned pathways between old brownstones.

  “I didn’t think this old architecture made it,” I whispered back to Peter.

  “Only the finest for our bureaucrats,” he winked back.

  Constantine glared at us before signaling a halt. He produced a small black case from his pocket and studied it, periodically lifting his eyes to scan around. We were backed against a wall obscured in shadow by the lights above. Still, I worried a passerby wouldn’t have much difficulty spotting us from the main street just beyond the five flats rising on both sides.

  “It should’ve been here,” Constantine mumbled under his breath. Our worn clothing stood out like weathered vagrants at a ball.

  “What should’ve been here?” I asked.

  Constantine turned the device in his hand. Looking directly at it revealed a three-dimensional map projecting against its surroundings. Constantine’s furrowed brow caught the warm blue glow from the map. Small red dots marked our position, and the projection showed a shaft dropping from the street next to us.

  “Maybe it was covered up?” I suggested.

  “Look.”

  A blue-tinted hollow tube extended to the surface just below our location. It dropped a fair distance before abruptly stopping, jutting out in the same direction as the road and off the map. I pulled away, the map disappearing as I did. The road was even and unbroken. Even in the low light of the street lamps, there wasn’t a blemish to be seen, much less a manhole that led into the shaft.

  “Ah, there it is,” Constantine said, pointing to a break in the gutter.

  “It’s a storm drain, not a maintenance tunnel,” I said, noting the drains on either side of the road.

  It was a tight fit, but we managed to shimmy down through the holes. As soon as I was through, the passage curved, forcing me to twist as I slid to its base. The tunnel opened up below a short lip. On the opposite side, the other drain connected. A small light ignited, illuminating the shaft ahead.

  “It should be smooth sailing the rest of the way,” Constantine said, glowing against the backdrop of the light.

  The passage was narrow yet tall, giving me ample room to walk upright. We trudged on, single-file, speaking up only when necessary to warn about a step or a low-hanging pipe. Soon, the passage tightened, forcing even the shortest among us to continue hunched over.

  “Hey, how are you holding up?” Peter asked, looking back. His voice cut the tension in the air.

  “Wishing I was a bit shorter.”

  “It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  “Where does this tunnel go? It ended on the map, so I couldn’t tell where it led.”

  “Water treatment,” Constantine said from the front.

  “We’re taking down the water supply? I thought—”

  “The treatment facility links up to the maintenance tunnels for crop irrigation. We’ll link up with them there,” Peter assured.

  The path winded a fair amount but never forked. I thought of a sudden downpour flooding the tunnels. I knew worrying wouldn’t do any good, so I pushed those thoughts from my mind. We were stuck down there, and the only way out was forward.

  After another series of bends, the tunnel opened up into an expansive well. The circular shaft, a hundred feet across, rose and fell at least twenty stories. It was difficult to tell as the light could only penetrate so far. In its depths, the low drone of machinery buzzed.

  “Holy shit,” I mumbled.

  Constantine chuckled. “The desalination plant is below. They pump sea water in and send fresh water to the city and the farms.”

  We walked along a railed ledge to the opposite side and descended several metal stairs. Constantine periodically held the map to his eye before setting off in a new direction.

  “How far—” I started, but a faint tone permeated the darkness below. Constantine stopped, pushing Peter and I against the wall. The other group member peered over the ledge, keeping most of his body out of sight.

  “Jacob, who is it? Maintenance?”

  “Guard,” Jacob whispered back.

  “Shit,” Constantine mumbled under his breath. “How far down?”

  “Four, maybe five floors.”

  “How far do we need to go down?” Peter asked.

  Constantine double-checked his map. “Three more.”

  Constantine softly stepped forward, picking his feet up to accentuate the necessity for silence. We followed, placing the heel of our boots down gently but deliberately to avoid scuffing against the corrugated scaffolding. Movement was slow, but we eventually descended without being spotted. The voices drifting up continued downward, the clangs of their footsteps growing more distant as they outpaced us.

  Constantine’s eye glowed as he pressed it into the map box. I looked up, counting railing after railing as the concrete well ascended. There must be thousands of miles of piping in here. Layers of metal tubing latticed the walls. Piping anchor ran through piping anchor as they climbed and arced through the cavern. The air was filled with constant humming from below and creaks and moans from above.

  “Hey,” a sharp voice pierced the air. I saw a uniform rounding the opposite side of the shaft. “Stay there,” the voice said again. Next came the crackle of a radio.

  Before I could move, Peter grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled. We set off down another flight of stairs, the guard hot on our trail. Below us, the other uniforms started their ascent. Their boots clanged against the stairs as they climbed. Constantine turned off his light. We were nearly blind, using the piping along the wall to guide us. The wall stopped, and I lost Peter momentarily until he reached out and grabbed me once again, pulling me into an off-shooting tunnel. He pressed me against the wall. In the dim light, I traced his finger rising to his lips.

  The head of the guard’s flashlight drew closer. A near-perfect circle of light traced along the metal grates. I settled my breath. My heart pounded, and my mouth dried, tasting of sour iron as the guard came closer. I pressed myself into the corner between the wall and the concrete archway leading into the tunnel. Opposite me, Constantine did the same. I could feel Peter’s warm, shallow breaths on my neck as he scrunched closer. If lucky, the guard would pass by without an angle to see us.

  I looked across the passage. Jacob pulled away from Constantine momentarily. The circular light shot up, putting its beam directly on him. Caught in the light, Jacob made a break for it. No, you fool. The tunnel flashed. A spritz of crimson flew from Jacob’s chest, painting the wall. My hearing failed before it was replaced with a disorienting ring. The concussive blast in that confined space rocked me back on my heels. Jacob dropped. His body went limp. The light, still trained where Jacob had once stood, illuminated an oval of red mist coagulating into larger drops as they beaded down the wall.

  The guard stepped forward. The flashlight came into view first, followed by what resembled a handgun. I held my breath. I couldn’t hear his footsteps yet as the ringing hadn’t subsided. I’m not going to die in here. I lunged, grabbing the base of the gun and shoving it upward. The room flashed again. A short frame of the man flickered into view, his eyes wide yet determined. I felt the gun’s hot barrel sear against my hand. Arms held up, I threw a knee into the guard’s abdomen, sending him staggering back. I pushed, keeping his weapon trained upward. I was able to overpower him. Soon, we were against the railing, fighting for control of the pistol. I twisted, launching an elbow into his face. He released the firearm, but before I could train it back on him, the guard wrapped both arms around my waist. The gun slid somewhere to the rear. I sent another knee sailing, this time into his chest. The guard backpedaled. I raised the heel of my boot and planted it squarely into his sternum. I nearly lost balance as the man disappeared in front of me. Through the ringing, I heard a guttural scream disappear down the shaft.

  Jesus, what did I just do?

  The tunnel lit up again. The sound sent my shoulders skyward. Constantine was standing behind me, popping rounds toward a lower level where I could detect a faint trace of movement. He let loose another volley before tugging at my arm. I ran back into the tunnel. Peter was shaking Jacob’s lifeless body, but when he saw us, he stood and took off down the hall.

  “Fuck,” Peter belted as we ran.

  “Just keep running. Don’t slow down,” Constantine replied.

  “Which way?” Peter replied, skidding to a stop just before a fork.

  “Ah, right.”

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  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “Go right,” Constantine replied, pushing us from behind.

  We ran, taking another right before briefly stopping to let Constantine look at the map. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Did I just kill him?

  “Which way, brother?” Peter asked, his tone slick with panic.

  “I think this is the junction. I—”

  “You think?”

  Constantine waived his comment away. “You two go left. Follow it until you get to the fertilizer plant.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’m going to the nitrogen ducts. Peter, once you’re top side, you must plant the beacons where the fields converge.”

  “Beacons, yeah, got it,” Peter said, panting.

  “Good luck.”

  “You too, brother. I’ll see you back at the safe house.”

  ******

  We followed the dark tunnels until they intersected with another vertical shaft. This one, considerably more narrow, was easier to navigate. As we stepped into the open air, a transparent dome rose above us, allowing a pale glimmer of the moon’s light in. The shaft only rose a few stories. I was gassed. Hands on my knees, I heaved. The air was sucked out of my lungs. I can’t believe I just did that. I staggered forward and slumped over the railing edge. A stack of machines near the base belched, sending up a column of acrid air.

  “Fertilizers,” I said.

  “How can you tell,” Peter asked. He stepped next to me and took one whiff. “Yep, we’re in the right spot.”

  “Where now?”

  I suddenly wanted out, to disappear back into the city and never be found again, but I was committed now.

  “We need to find a vertical column leading to the surface. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  We circled the shaft, descending another floor before finding the passage. As we climbed the spiraling stairs, I asked, “What are the beacons for?”

  “Huh?”

  “The beacons we’re planting. What are they for?”

  “They’re honing devices.”

  “Honing devices for what?”

  Peter pointed at a broad set of ducts coming from the base. “Nitrogen is fed into those machines. They create the ammonium nitrate for the fertilizer.”

  “You’re going to burn the fields.”

  “Yeah.”

  Constantine never said it outright, but then again, he didn’t have to. Since my conversation with him, I knew he wanted to disrupt the food supply. What better way to do that than to go right to the source? Starving the population into action was bold—evil, but bold.

  “How many will die because of this? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand?” I asked, but Peter didn’t slow down. He continued up the stairs, unable or unwilling to acknowledge my questioning. “Hey,” I yelled, tugging at his shirt’s back. In a single fluid motion, Peter swung around and put one hand over my mouth while the other gripped the back of my neck, pulling in tightly.

  “What’s wrong with you? Do you want to end up like Jacob?” Peter growled. The whites of his wide eyes glinted off the low light trickling down.

  “You know this isn’t right. Constantine might be able to—”

  “To what?” His growl deepened.

  “To kill so many people. But not you…”

  Peter released his hand around my neck and stepped back. He opened his mouth, but before speaking, a metal pang reverberated up from the shaft below. We both fell silent, holding our breaths as we listened. Another sound echoed up the chamber. Peter started ascending the stairs once more. His footsteps were trailed by louder ones below.

  “Jack,” he whispered, pulling me from the railing. I followed until we reached a tool room. Just beyond was another tunnel housing more piping and ductwork, leading to another maintenance room at its far end. Inside was a switch-backing staircase, the base of which was gated off. At its top was a hatch, opened by the release of three heavy latches.

  “You’re leading the way once we get out there,” Peter said, readying his shoulder against the door.

  “How close are we to the wall?”

  Peter nudged the hatch open, peeking his head outside. The moonlight lit up his face. He stepped further out into the night and waved me on. The wall was behind us, roughly a hundred yards away. We were on a raised concrete platform overlooking endless rows of corn stalks. The wall rose into the night sky, its top not visible as it disappeared into the stars. Quickly, we jumped down to get out from under the single halogen light illuminating the pad. The crops stood at shoulder height, allowing me to see over their tops.

  “Which way?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see—”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Peter whispered. Still, I could sense the anxious frustration in the way he spoke.

  “I told you, I only got a brief look at the fields. I don’t even know if this is the same side.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “The crops butted up to a dirt patch. That’s where they converged.”

  “Do you see it?”

  “No, but if we follow the wall, we’ll get there eventually.”

  “Lead the way,” Peter said.

  I poked my head above the plants. The rows ran parallel to the wall, creating a narrow dirt path we would follow. Occasionally, I would stick my head above the stalks, ensuring we were on the right track. Otherwise, I kept a low crouch as we jogged.

  The plants gradually grew taller, reaching an apex before shrinking again. Like a rolling swell in the sea, this continued for nearly a mile. I stopped briefly to regain my breath and allow Peter to catch up.

  “Those high points,” he panted, swallowing before continuing, “There are fertilizer lines running beneath them. That’s what we’re looking for.”

  “Why don’t we place the beacon there?”

  “We would never find the pipe in time. At least a ten-foot radius would have to be dug up.”

  “It has to be that precise?”

  “If we want to be sure it will work.” He nodded. “How much further do you think?”

  “No idea. For all I know, we ran in the wrong direction.” It wasn’t what Peter wanted to hear, but it was the truth.

  “Let’s keep going,” he said.

  The path curved closer to the wall, its concrete facade looming over us. As long as we don’t veer from this row, we can get back to the door. We moved precariously far from the tunnel, picking up our speed when a high-pitched wine stopped us dead in our tracks. I was the first to hear it, or just the first to react, as Peter nearly toppled over my hunched shoulders.

  I looked back. In the moonlight, I saw him mouth, “Shit.” I raised my brow and flicked my head in response. He pulled me closer, whispering, “Irrigation drone.”

  The shrill noise dissipated into the distance. Peter held out a hand until it was out of earshot before ushering us forward.

  “What if it spots us?” I asked, my pace now considerably slower than before.

  “Nothing good,” Peter replied.

  I kept an ear out. Periodically, the whine would become faintly detectable before fading away again. Column after column of corn passed like a maze through twists and turns. Just keep on this path. That field would’ve been challenging to navigate even in the light of day and with all the time in the world. In the pitch black of the night, with drones hovering nearby, it was near impossible to keep my bearings. Still, we continued, never straying from our path, until suddenly, the column gently bent before opening into the expanse. I stopped, once again sending Peter nearly tumbling over me. My stomach dropped. We had finally reached it but were exposed.

  Closer to the wall, a flock of drones crept along the edge of the crops. I pulled back, retreating past the bend. Peter stumbled over a clump of dirt, trying to follow. The drones flew closer, twitching and turning at unnatural speeds. I grabbed Peter by the collar and dragged him into the cover of the crops. We huddled, our backs against the stalks, allowing the drones to pass.

  “I didn’t see any spotlights,” Peter whispered.

  “Infrared,” I replied.

  “Infra… what?”

  “Infrared. It’s light at the far end of the spectrum. Not visible with the naked eye.”

  “Oh,” Peter said, craning his neck to look back toward the barren dirt. He has no idea what I’m talking about. I wonder what they teach in their schools.

  “What’s the plan now?”

  “We need to dig deep enough to reach the pipe. Then lay the beacon over top and cover it back up.”

  “Where’s the pip going to be?”

  “Right where the crops end.”

  Ah, that’s why we needed to find where the fields converged.

  We crept forward, poking our heads out into the field to look for more drones. Peter set to digging while I was on the lookout. He had to dig with his hands, but hitting metal didn’t take long. In the distance, the high-pitched whine of propellers approached. I looked back, observing Peter adhere a dull gray slate no larger than a notepad to the bare piping. The whine grew louder.

  “Get back,” I whispered.

  Peter’s head shot up. He furiously shoved loose soil back into its hole. I joined but had to force him back around the bend when the drone got too close. I held my breath, praying it would fly on by. I actually found myself praying - to a higher power. It was purely instinctual. The words rang hollow even as I recited them in my head. Still, it had been nearly two decades since I said the words, and they meant just as little now as they did then. A smile crept across my face. If there was a god, I wonder what he would think of this. All of it. Me, four hundred years in the future, about to starve an innocent population. The last thought wiped away the grin. God, if you’re out there, please let me be still sleeping in the stasis pod. Let this all be a fucked up dream. Dream or not, the drone stopped exactly where the hole had been dug.

  Peter made the first move. He was already ten paces down the path before I had the good sense to join. The buzz of the drone’s turbines faded behind us. Overhead, a new formation shot out of the darkness and whizzed by. I hit the deck, but Peter kept on at a low crouch. I pulled myself up, wiping the soil from my clothes. You can really smell the ammonium. This was my last thought before a superheated wave of air took the legs out from under me. My chest crashed against the ground, pulling the oxygen from my lungs as my chin bounced off a clump of dirt. In one hand, I held a corn stalk I tried to grab to break my fall while the other rolled up under my hips. The ground lit up as though a flare had been shot directly over us. I rolled, trying to catch my breath, glimpsing a wall of fire running the entire field.

  My mind was shrouded in fog, unable to process what had happened. Peter grabbed me by the lapels and pulled me up. My legs carried me a few steps before crumbling back to the dirt. The world spun under the blinding heat of a second sun.

  Looking up, Peter was mouthing, but I couldn’t discern what. He grabbed me by the collar. “Jack, we have to go.”

  “What the hell was that?” I mumbled. Peter stuck his ear up to my mouth, but I pushed him forward. I’d gotten the message and willed my fumbling body to press on.

  We ran. The air turned to smoke and stung with every breath. The burned chemicals hung in the air so oppressively that we had to drop to find palatable oxygen. The edges of my eyes burned, streaming a torrent of tears and leaving sour salt deposits on my lips. Gagging, we pushed forward until the smoke became less intense, and the cool, dense night air offered a welcomed respite. A brilliant orange glow hovered above the corn stocks, extending from the wall as far as I could see. The night sky was blotted out in a dimly lit haze.

  “Jack, let’s go,” Peter whispered.

  Another explosion shot up a flicker, much further than the field we had just set alight. Shortly after, a tremor reverberated through the soil, shaking the crops around us.

  “Jack.”

  “I’m coming,” I said, taking one last look at the spreading flames.

  The fire was a distant simmer when we returned to the tunnel door. It was slightly ajar, and I struggled to remember if we had left it that way. If we had, it certainly wasn’t intentional. Peter stepped through first, peering inside before giving the thumbs up. I followed, closing and latching the hatch before descending the stairs. The maintenance tunnel was quiet. Careful to mask my footsteps, I glided along the wall, sticking to the shadow and running the length of it with Peter close behind.

  When I cautiously poked my head inside, the room at the far end was lifeless. I stepped in, checking the corners. At the back stood the staircase, its metal grates descending through the floor behind a locked gate. That’s not right. The air broke as a crack ricocheted off the walls. I swung around as Peter dropped to a knee, clutching his side. Another crack lit up the tunnel, spraying chipped concrete debris and dust. Peter moaned, skidding through the doorway on one hand and knee as his other gripped a growing crimson splotch on his shirt. I pulled him in the rest of the way. Another round sank into the thick metal door as I closed and locked it.

  Bullets continued thumping the door as I sat Peter up against the wall. In the dim light, his pale skin glowed.

  “How bad is it?” Peter asked, pulling his hand away from the wound and lifting his shirt. A jagged hole was torn through the flank of his stomach, dribbling dark blood.

  “It’s not good. But it could be worse.” That was the honest truth. With any luck, the bullet missed all the vital organs and had passed straight through. The wound wasn’t gushing or pulsing, a relief that no major arteries had been severed. Still, he was in desperate need of an operating room. The cumulative blood loss would catch up to him even if the round had gone through cleanly.

  A cone of sparks and shrapnel burst from the door as a bullet struck a previous impact point, ringing the links of the locked gate behind it. That door won’t hold him for long. I released Peter, letting him support his own weight against the wall. He groaned as I searched the room for a tool to break the lock. My eyes strained as I rummaged through drawer after drawer, but the best I could manage was a set of needle-nosed pliers and a flat head. Peter tried dragging himself up the wall to reach his feet but dropped back down, letting out another wincing moan.

  I jammed the flat head into the lock and tried to pry. But it was no use. The head broadened too quickly and snagged on the keyhole’s edges. Another volley crashed into the door. Serrated holes sheared inward as the rounds passed through - their high-pitched whiz drowning the room as they deflected off the concrete. Fuck. Maybe I can cut the links. Using the base of the pliers, I squeezed a chain link until it broke free. I moved onto the next, and then the next, until I had managed to open a hole large enough to peel open and crouch through.

  “How are we holding up?” I asked, yelling over the sound of the near cyclic rate of fire outside.

  “Hanging in there.”

  “Damn right, that’s what I like to hear.” Keep him talking. Don’t let shock set in.

  Wrapping his arm around my neck, I hoisted him up. His legs planted firm, helping support most of his own weight. I helped him through the hole first. As I crawled through, I looked back, wondering how much more that door could take.