“How many vampires does it take to change a light bulb?” Eliza asks, the sound muffled by the respirator mask.

Not wanting to indulge her, I don’t react, instead сhecking how my new night-vision goggles sit on the helmet. John, as detached as ever, doesn’t reply too.

“None, because they are too scared of the dark to do it without thralls.”

I groan so loud that the sound reverberates across the tunnel. I reply:

“Eliza, this is the millionth time you tell this joke and it’s just as unfunny as the first time. Please focus.”

I can imagine Eliza rolling her eyes without having to see it. She gives me the middle finger and puts out her tongue, but I ignore it. I raise my left hand and check the watch, its luminescent arrows show 8 o’clock sharp. I ask:

“Eliza, are you sure your contact won’t bail on us? It’s evening already and I don’t want to waste a night of scavenging on chasing cold leads.” She seems genuinely hurt by the question and the distrust implied in it.

“Damn it, Ash, what’s with you today? Don’t be so nervous. Have I ever let you down?”

I scoff. I don’t even have to struggle to recall.

“Yes, you did, sis. Remember the I-85 tunnel, where you assured me it was not on the usual Tunnel Rats’ patrol routes, which was not the case? John lost three fingers and we had to reattach them, remember?” Eliza raises her hands in protest but I continue:

”Did you forget how just a month ago, we lost a shipment of Tenebretin to the vamps because you said you’d manage it and instead, they got to the place faster than we have and nicked it right from under our noses? Or that time-”

“Okay, I get it!” she shouts and crosses her arms, then speaks normally, “I know I made mistakes but we all do. That’s what makes us human and all that crap. Can you please trust me on this, Ash?”

I sigh and nod. Eliza visibly relaxes.

“I trust you, sis, but if this contact of yours doesn’t show up in ten minutes, we’re leaving. Don’t forget that we are under Downtown right now — there is definitely going to be a patrol or two in these tunnels soon.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Eliza stands at attention, puffs her chest, and salutes mockingly. I want to say something but then I hear footsteps from across the tunnel to the left. Then, as if to confirm my suspicions, John emits a low growl.

The footsteps grow closer and I automatically grab the handle of the machete sheathed on my belt. I hear Eliza’s clothes rustling near me as she raises her spikethrower to her shoulder, at the ready. It was a rare weapon even in our Hive, a repurposed harpoon gun shooting old steel railroad spikes at impressive speeds. 

When I can discern the shape of the figure in the dark, I signal it to stop by raising my other hand. Then, I pull down my respirator and wince. The sewers dried out a long time ago but the stink never left.

 I call out with the first half of the greeting:

“Cursed be the Light that betrayed us.”

Without a moment of hesitation, the figure replies in a dry, tired voice.

“Blessed be the Dark that embraced us.”

I relax and smile, even though he doesn’t see it from this distance. I know that voice. Having smelled as much sewer as I can manage for one day, I bring the respirator back up and start slowly advancing toward the figure.  From behind me, Eliza squeals in excitement and stampedes forward, almost colliding with me as she rushes to hug the man.

“Uncle Salazar!” Eliza yells as she squeezes Salazar so hard he lets out a pained groan.

“Easy, little moon. These bones ain't what they used to be, you’ll break me that way.” The old man wiggles away from Eliza’s grabby hands and waits for me and John to reach them. When I’m close, I offer my hand to Salazar, trying to be serious and to hide my own excitement. He shakes it and says:

“My-my, how much you both have grown.  You look like you could crush a vampire with your bare hands, Ash!” Salazar lightly punches me in the shoulder and then yelps, jokingly shaking his hand as if that hurt him, “What’s it been? Two years? Three years? Five?”

“Seven, actually. Me and Eliza are all grown up now. I’m twenty-five years old and she’s twenty,” I say, thankful for the respirator hiding my grin. “We thought we’d never see you again, since you moved from Hive Delta to Hive Gamma and other people started guiding here. How can you still call yourself the best Guide for Downtown tunnels if you don’t guide in the Downtown tunnels, eh?”

“Best of the best, boy, and no one will be better. It’s just a fact of life.” He chuckles and then focuses on something behind my back, “What’s with the tall, dark and scary over there? Johnny Boy, are you afraid to say hello to Uncle Salazar?”

John wordlessly emerges from behind me and carefully hugs Salazar. With John’s massive bulk, it’s not easy for him to be particularly gentle — Salazar lovingly slaps him on his back a few times but then coughs and steps away, looking somewhat crushed.

“As much as I’m happy to see you, old man, we are here for a reason,” I get the conversation back on track and everyone (except John) focuses on me, “Are you our contact?”

“Not quite,” Salazar shakes his head and I can see Eliza tense up,” I am, however, the one who will get you to your contact. No time to waste, let’s not hang around here more than necessary.”

“Where are we going exactly?”

“Hive Alpha. But for now - we are going out of here, alright?” he replies with an edge of nervousness to his voice, ”The Tunnel Rats can be here any minute now, this is a transit tunnel after all. I’ll answer all your questions once we’re in safer tunnels.” 

 I couldn’t argue with that. 

“Lead the way, old man.” 

We walked back to where we left our backpacks, picked them up, and then ventured deeper into the tunnel — with Salazar leading us and John securing the rear. We walk in silence most of the way, with rare callouts by Salazar, telling us to turn left or right. With the Downtown tunnels being the most maintained and relatively new, there are few environmental dangers to be afraid of. It gives me time to think.

His boasting notwithstanding, Salazar really was the best Guide for the Downtown section of the Anthill. His father helped to build and maintain these sewers and taught his son every nook and cranny, even leaving a hand-drawn map. Even though the map itself is probably dust by now, Salazar could navigate these tunnels in his sleep.

The Anthill itself was the City’s subway and sewer systems turned into an interconnected web of tunnels and Hives for humans to live in, a project started even before the Last Dawn, before the vamps took over — it was a way to survive a looming nuclear war. At least that’s what the elders tell us.

 The vampires regularly send search parties here, blow up whole sections of the tunnels or flood them, so each year the Anthill grows smaller and humanity thinner. Yet we persist. Roaches, they call us, cattle. As if these fuckers are somehow better than oversized bats themselves.

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“Here is our first stop,” Salazar’s raspy voice distracts me from my brooding, “I have a small safehouse around here, in one of the service subsections of the J-36. I suggest we kick back there for an hour or so, eat, talk, and then continue on our way. Sounds good?” 

Eliza nods and stares at me with expectation. John is non-reactive.

“Right. Do you have any food?” I clarify the most personally important question, “We have our rations but I wouldn’t say no to something else.”

Salazar chuckles and replies:

“Ah, glad to see that your priorities in life have not changed, Ash. Yeah, I have some tunnel pig jerky stashed in my bag for a special occasion,” he puts his hand on my shoulder, “I think this reunion is as special as it gets.”

“Great, let’s move,” I reply and give him a thumbs-up. Salazar turns and continues walking, with us following him. When we reach a junction, instead of changing to any of the three tunnels on our way, the old man steps away closer to one of the walls. There is a metal sheet that he moves with his leg, revealing a small hatch. He then puts his backpack on the ground and unstraps a crowbar from it. With the crowbar in his hands, Salazar crouches and stabs it into the floor, in an almost invisible opening between the floor and the hatch.

“Ash, help me out?” Salazar asks and scoots over to the side, giving me space. I carefully put my backpack near his and place my hands further up the crowbar.

“On three?” I ask and the old man nods, getting ready.

 “Three!” I growl as me and Salazar heave, flipping the hatch open. We stand up and he gives me the crowbar to hold, while the man himself takes the backpack and descends a barely visible ladder down. For a few moments, nothing happens. I grip my machete, alert.

“All clear, boys and girls,” his voice calls out, “Come on in. Mi casa, su casa, as they used to say.”

“I have no idea what that means, Sal, but I hope it’s not Gamma slang for “There is a fucking vampire waiting for you with teeth at my throat,” I grumble as I grab my backpack and carefully drop down inside.

The safehouse is bigger than I expected - it was probably a water collector or something like that, before. Now, Salazar remade it into a spartan but convenient shelter — the room was about twenty square feet all-in-all, with a low ceiling and almost zero amenities. There is a dirty futon near one of the walls, several shelves with different metal ammo boxes and plastic bottles on them, and a simple lightbulb dangling from the ceiling at the center of the room, forcing you to lower your head if you wanted to avoid being hit by it.

After Eliza and John jump down, with John singlehandedly closing back the hatch above him, Salazar grabs the lightbulb and says:

“Goggles off or eyes gone, people.”

“Goggles off, check,” I say, as I deactivate my NVGs and pull them up on the helmet.

“Goggles off, check,” says Eliza as she does the same.

John says nothing — he sees in the dark better than all of us combined, without any gadgets. 

With his free hand, Salazar takes off his goggles — an older model, I note — screws the lightbulb in and we are momentarily blinded anyways. Once my vision returns in full, I can finally see how much Salazar has changed since we last met each other. From the way he stares at us, I can tell he does the same.

Years have been kind to the man — his once long mane of raven-black hair got a little shorter and grayer but still impressive for a sewer-dweller, with strands up to his chin now. Seven years ago, Salazar was big and physically imposing, with at least one confirmed vampire kill. He could swing his sledgehammer with strength and surgical precision and he was the one who taught me the basics of fighting. Now, the old man was wiry, smaller than before. Nevertheless, I’m sure the man could still break a jaw or two with his fists alone.

He had a stubble on his narrow face and the bags under his closely set brown eyes now had their own bags, a few new scars on his cheeks and chin. Sal was dressed in an old subway engineer uniform — a black working jacket with an orange circle on the back where the subway’s logo was drawn, a tank top and overalls that turned black from their original green, with patches here and there, and heavy-duty boots. I notice the handle of a flare gun poking from under the jacket.

I take the helmet off and scratch my shaven head, looking at John and Eliza, trying to see us all from Salazar’s perspective. He probably still remembers us as spunky adolescents he used to train and trade stories with, not the tunnelwise survivalists we are today.

John was not our blood relative, me and Eliza I mean. He was Black, his natural dark color of skin all the darker, obsidian-like, thanks to heavy Tenebritin saturation. Seeing how he always wore nothing but dirty cargo shorts, heavy boots, and a custom-made black gas mask, John could easily disappear in darkness despite his mass. And John was gigantic - six-foot-five or more, a good three hundred pounds of pure muscle and scar tissue, again courtesy of Tenebretin. At this point, I think it was the only thing holding his body together — John has been burned, shot, stabbed and crippled numerous times. Tenebretin kept him alive and kicking through it all.

Eliza grew up to be pretty in her own right, if a little too boyish, and somehow even paler than me. With mousy brown hair, big blue eyes, and a narrow, almost sculpted face, Eliza reminded me of an old movie star from a magazine I saw in a museum. A huge scar across her nose slightly tarnished the look. My sister spent most of her adult years in Hive Guard, just like yours truly, which meant she was fit, strong, and ready to kick an exorbitant amount of ass at any moment’s notice. Eliza preferred the practical combat boots and uniform of the Hive Guard, with a blue plastic poncho made from a recycled waste bag on top of them.

I like dressing tactical, with a small old Kevlar vest over the Guard standard uniform, the same that my sister wore. The Guard’s uniform was black, skintight bodyglove with white accents on the sleeves and trousers, at the wrist and calf area respectively. It was made from a durable, pre-Dawn fabric that helped regulate body temperature and could withstand a lot of wear and tear. 

Our respirators were grey and boring, with small reusable filters mounted at the center. Our helmets were identical, green-colored and given to us by the Hive Guard too, capable of holding an NVG attachment and spare batteries in a small pouch on the backside of the helmet.  All of us  — except John — wore tactical gloves of different models and in different states of wear and tear.

As for how I look, well…  Tall, dark, athletic, and ruggedly handsome, I think. My nose was crooked, broken far too many times for my liking, and the scar from my right brow up to the top of my head served as a reminder of my first real knife fight.

“So tell me, children, what happened over the last seven years? What have you been up to? ” Salazar asks, snatching me from my thoughts back to reality.

“Well, after mom died and you left…” I start and a momentary look of deep sadness touches Salazar’s face. I pretend I didn’t notice and continue: “...we had to rely on ourselves. With Father being the traitorous bastard he is and no one else to ask for help, we chose the best option - the Hive Guard. The Guard became our new family, gave us food, shelter, training.” 

I smile and say the next thing proudly, “We are forward scouts now, that’s how we can travel so far from the Hive for so long,” I glance at Eliza and she winks at me,” It’s also the reason why we get into so many of my sister’s schemes, with her being an astute student of commerce and thievery...” I grin and add: “ Although she’s rarely successful.”

 Eliza rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out.

“How’s the old Hive Delta?” Salazar asks, amused.

“A shithole, as always,” Eliza replies with a conspirational grin,” But it’s our shithole. It’s still home. The population declined since Hive Beta found that water source under their floorboards — lots of people rushed to the Water Rush, same as with other Hives.”

Sal nods and says:

“Well, it’s a shame that the Water Rush ended as soon as it started, eh? Now all these poor shmucks have to either return to their old Hives, which no longer want them, or stay in Beta, which cannot feed everyone,” He shakes his head and sighs. “As if it wasn’t obvious how this would end.”

I shrug, noncommittal, and ask instead:

“What about you, Sal? Seven years is a long time.” 

He sighs again, before replying:

“I mostly spent them being a Guide and doing some construction work in Gamma. These days, I’m mostly in the tunnels, practically living here. I have a small shack in Gamma but it never felt like home, you know?”

The old man looks down and continues quieter, “You four were the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had and…” he pauses. A few long seconds pass before he continues,”...with your father turning thrall and your mother dying, I couldn’t bear staying there, in Delta.” He suddenly raises his head, his stare heavy, painful. “I’m sorry I left you.”

My throat suddenly dry, I cough and speak slowly, choosing each word carefully: ”Sal. Whatever your reasons were, I don’t blame you.” I look at Eliza and she nods. I continue:

“Neither of us do. Let’s just eat.”

Sal nods and starts unpacking his bag. I turn to my own and shove a hand inside, rummaging for my ration pack.

That’s when someone loudly knocks at the shelter hatch.