Chapter 8: The Tunnels
December 28, 2016 – The Second Tithe
The second water tithe was delivered under a sky the color of bruised flesh. The same silent, humiliating ritual. Courier and Brawler arrived. The gate was opened. The crates were loaded. This time, Cutthroat leaned against the outside of the fence, lazily throwing a knife into the dirt and retrieving it, his presence a constant, unspoken threat. He winked at Ngozi as she watched from a distance, making her whimper and hide behind Mama's legs. My knuckles were white around my pipe.
But this time, beneath our feet, a different plan was in motion.
As the Akudama took their tribute, Ade and I were crawling through the darkness. Uche had shown us the entrance—a disguised maintenance hatch hidden under a false floor in a storage closet, leading into the old storm drainage and sewage system that networked the industrial park.
The air was thick and foul, a mix of stagnant water and rot. Our world was reduced to the wobbly circle of light from our single, precious flashlight. The tunnel was a concrete tube, just tall enough to crouch in. The sounds from above were muffled, ghostly: the rumble of Courier's bike was a distant beast, the clatter of crates a far-off avalanche.
"This is insane," Ade whispered, his voice echoing slightly. Water dripped somewhere in the impenetrable blackness ahead.
"Staying up there was insane," I replied, my heart thumping against my ribs. "This is just a different kind."
Our goal was a junction Uche had marked on the map, directly beneath the warehouse the Akudama had claimed as their base. According to him, a rusted grate there offered a view into the building's sub-level.
We moved slowly, flinching at every scuttle and drip. Every shadow was a monster from the crimson hour, every echo the sound of a claw. We were trespassing in a realm that felt just as alien and deadly as the red-skied world above.
After what felt like an eternity, we found the junction. And the grate. It was set high in the tunnel wall, crusted with decades of filth. Ade boosted me up, my muscles straining.
I wiped a patch of grime away and peered through the rusty iron lattice.
My breath caught in my throat.
We were looking into a vast, open warehouse space. It had been transformed. This was no mere hideout; it was a throne room.
Piles of loot were organized with chilling efficiency: crates of food, medical supplies, electronics, and weapons. And in the center, stacked high and proud, were the crates of water from the Oasis. Our water.
Hacker sat in a nest of monitors and server racks, their glow illuminating his perpetually amused face. Wires snaked from the setup into the building's walls. He was the nerve center.
Brawler was methodically lifting heavy crates, building a fortification around the main entrance. He worked with a silent, brute-force purpose.
And Cutthroat… was playing. He had set up a row of empty bottles and was methodically throwing his knives, shattering each one with unnerving accuracy. His laughter, sharp and brittle, echoed down into our tunnel.
But it was Courier who commanded attention. He stood before a large, detailed map of the city pinned to a wall. He wasn't wearing his helmet. His profile was sharp, focused, his eyes tracing routes and zones. He moved tokens across the map—not like a gamer, but like a general. One token, a small, black motorcycle, was placed directly on the Oasis.
He was planning. This wasn't random extortion. It was a campaign.
Then, he spoke, his voice clearer and colder without the helmet's filter. "The resource is secure. But the asset is uncooperative."
Hacker swiveled in his chair. "The little mouse just needs more incentive. Fear is a good motivator, but leverage is better."
Courier's eyes flickered towards the back of the warehouse, to a section we couldn't see. "Then find it. We can't hold this territory if the source becomes a liability."
A liability. That was us. We were a problem to be managed, a resource to be controlled until it was depleted or became too troublesome.
Ade tapped my leg, his face asking a silent question. I shook my head, signaling him to wait. We needed to see more. We needed to understand what "asset" they were talking about.
Just then, a side door opened. A figure was shoved inside by an unseen force. He stumbled and fell to his knees. He was a middle-aged man in a torn lab coat, his glasses cracked. He looked terrified.
Hacker grinned. "Ah, our guest of honor is awake! Ready to talk yet, Doctor? Ready to tell us what you and your friends at the university unleashed?"
The man—the Doctor—shook his head, sobbing quietly. "You don't understand… it was an accident… the dimensional resonance…"
Dimensional resonance. The words meant nothing to me, but they hung in the air, heavy with implication. This wasn't just a random apocalypse. Someone had caused this. And the Akudama had one of them.
Cutthroat stopped his knife-throwing and sauntered over. "I can make him understand. I'm very persuasive."
Before he could act, a high-pitched whine filled the air. A red light began to flash on Hacker's console.
"Incoming," Hacker said, his amusement vanishing, replaced by sharp focus. "Execution Division patrol. Four vehicles. They're scanning the area."
Courier immediately turned from the map and grabbed his helmet. "Brawler, perimeter. Cutthroat, with me. We lead them away. Hacker, you know what to do."
In an instant, the warehouse exploded into a flurry of disciplined motion. The Akudama weren't just criminals; they were a well-oiled machine, reacting to a threat with terrifying efficiency.
Ade and I dropped down from the grate. We had seen enough. More than enough.
We had learned their weakness. It wasn't their strength or their speed. It was their focus. They were stretched thin, fighting a war on two fronts: against the monsters of the crimson sky, and against the remnants of the old world's authority. And they had a secret—a doctor who knew how this hell began.
We scrambled back through the tunnels, the foul air now feeling like a protective blanket. We had cheated the Devil. We had looked into his heart and found not just a monster, but a strategy. And we had found a spark, a tiny, fragile piece of knowledge that could be our weapon.
The Doctor. The cause of all this. If the Akudama wanted him, then he was the key. Not just to our freedom, but to everything.