The Undergrounders: Volume I

18

Please let me get there in time, please let me get there in time... Kanden chanted this mantra in his head the entire way through the tunnels, channeling his anger to propel himself forward while his injury screamed for a break. It didn't help that the tunnel leading to the hideout had been reduced to rubble. No corpses remained from the chaos of Marina's explosion, but dried blood stained the ground and debris. Several lights had been demolished, bathing sections of the corridor in dark patches, and a hole had been torn from the wall in giant chunks of broken rocks — some the size of Kanden's head. It was a wonder anyone had survived the blast.

His boots didn't slide against the floor the way his old cloth footwear had. These were sturdier and provided support around the ankles Kanden hadn't realized he'd needed, but rather liked. If only they weren't so stiff; he might actually make these his favorite pair of shoes.

You're distracting yourself. No distractions. Get to the square.

His progress picked up again once he retraced his steps back to the living quarters, but slowed the further he moved. His side pinched, and he stopped often to catch his breath. No one met him in the empty tunnels, making each echo louder than he ever recalled.

Why did these tunnels have to be so long?

Using the rough wall for support, Kanden braced his other hand on his thigh and sucked in several deep breaths. The square wasn't far, but for him, it might as well have been topside.

As he paused, he observed his surroundings. The doors to the homes were all closed, but the path normally cleared so people didn't trip showed signs of disturbance. Pebbles littered the area and scrapes where rock rubbing against rock etched the surface. The entire corridor was like this, as if someone had gone up and down the lane to search every home for signs of life. The metal doors weren't heavy, yet were designed to withstand a common thief. Against many, the barrier didn't stand a chance. Dents marred the metal on some whereas a loose hinge on a few others all told the same tale — someone had forced their way into these units.

How many people had been hurt? And if someone had beaten Marina, did that mean they'd come after Ryker too? If the mob had been hunting the Founding Families, the logical assumption would be to seek out anyone with ties to those families.

Much as Kanden needed to get to the square, he needed to check on Ryker and Rumi. He rushed as fast as he could to the small unit, wincing each time his foot rolled on the loose stones or when his side pinched.

The door remained firmly on its hinges, appearing mostly undamaged aside from its usual wear and tear. He knocked once before entering, poking his head inside when no one answered. He waited a few seconds before pushing the squeaky door open and stepping across the threshold, scanning the interior for any signs of a fight. The small table in the dining area had been pushed aside, and a basket of fresh laundry sat near the sitting room loveseat. Ryker's and Rumi's beds were freshly made, and Kanden sighed in relief. Rumi and Ryker had both been back since the riots and certainly wouldn't have bothered with simple housekeeping if they'd been in danger.

Kanden was about to continue to the square when his shirt snagged a splinter at the edge of Rumi's old dresser on the wall nearest the door. Realizing people might question his clothing and interrogate him over a cache he didn't know how to explain, he groaned. He'd lose time changing his clothes, but the alternative was to submit himself to more unnecessary anger from an already riled group of protestors.

Rummaging through the laundry until he found the clothes Rumi promised to wash, he quickly dressed, biting his lip every time he moved too fast. Not having another pair of shoes since destroying his cloth boots at the ventilation shaft, he kept his footwear while tugging his trousers over the sides.