The Swarm

Their destination was a true oasis by local standards. A former metro station—now a source of underground water that, filtered through layers of rock, ran so clean it didn’t require a mycelial layer. After the catastrophe, the drainage pumps gradually failed, and water seeped through cracks in concrete and slabs. D16’s popularity became the backbone of a large trade-and-exchange network. Being a resident of the sector was a privilege—or more often, an inherited right. People understood: accessibility would destroy every benefit of this near-paradise. They removed their masks—finally able to breathe and speak normally. “What did you bring?” A man a head taller than Yun approached. His skin was dried by constant surface runs, hanging in places like scabs, split with cracks, some never healing. Thoughtfully biting his lip, the greeter peered into the offered bag. “Fruit? Hell, no way? Finally someone thought about booze.” His mood lifted instantly, his voice carrying across the nearby platforms. “Hey! These two just secured us another bucket of mash.” The crowd stirred, whistles of approval rising. The thought that forgetfulness wouldn’t run dry clearly pleased them. “Don’t rush it, Nel,” Yun stepped closer, nearly chest to chest. “You owe us dinner, a wash, and a place to sleep.” “I don’t make those calls. Need Xander’s word.” “Then—” Yun’s hand closed firmly over the haul as it was pulled from him. “We’ll talk to him.” Nel snorted, unfazed. He knew he was dealing with Abel’s runner. “Wait.” As Nel shuffled off, Merid moved forward, surveying the space—twice the height and width of their home sector. Spores and dust shimmered in the air, but far less densely; the station’s size kept the stench of cooking from stagnating, leaving at least some breathable air. There was more light here—you could even make out the color of the walls. Envy flashed in her eyes, the same as every time she came here. “Look at that. They even have fish.” Her voice stayed neutral, irritation barely concealed. A blind, scaleless body lay on a sheet of iron while a rusted cauldron boiled nearby. A deepwater catfish—difficult prey, living near the very bottom. Harder still was fishing under ice, something almost no one dared, knowing how viciously the surface reflected the sun. “Who are they even working with?” Merid murmured near Yun’s ear. “You know who. Xander feeds the entire top through idiots like us.” The urge to spit at the thought of the government was hard to resist. “Right,” she exhaled. “Well, if it isn’t my two favorite gossipers,” a rough voice sounded behind them. The figure had approached without a sound. Xander was close to the age where only a few years remained. The whites of his eyes were yellowed, veined with red; his hands scarred from ulcerated wounds. “Mary, still running errands for the King?” The leader of D16 circled her in a half arc. “Last time I saw you, you barely reached my chin. Shrinking, are you?” Yun laughed—raspy, genuine—cutting through the tension. “At least I’m not afraid to go topside, shaking over my last few years,” he shot back, sharper than intended. “Ouch.” Xander pressed a palm theatrically to his chest. “Nice. Now Yun and I need to talk.” “And what—am I supposed to stand here and wait like a dog?” “Why would you?” He gestured to the right. “Go take a walk. We’ve even got a pull-up bar. Hang around.” Merid’s cheeks burned as the two walked off. She muttered after them: “Asshole.” Grinning, they disappeared around the corner. A long tunnel stretched ahead, lined with goods for arriving travelers. Her gaze skimmed soap roots, hygiene supplies made of worn cloth stuffed with moss, and a crude pharmacy. But every visit led her to the same place—June’s stall. Only her could run something like this in the apocalypse: skin care. The goods used to be laid out on the floor; now the brunette stood beside a small technical storage room. Well-shaped hands, scarred by burns from experiments, wrapped around Merid—firm, practiced. “Let me guess—you’re here for a jar of soot with organics, sweetheart. You look… worn,” June said, pulling back and studying the shadows under her eyes. Merid exhaled. “So today everyone’s decided to notice how fucking exhausted I am?” “Not on my watch.” A kind, restrained smile touched June’s lips as she nudged the door open. “Come in.” Inside, shelves lined the walls, lit by oil-lamp wicks. “So how did Xander give you a whole room?” “You’d be amazed what generals’ companions will trade just to avoid looking like dried rats.” Merid felt her chest loosen. Her posture relaxed; the edge left her face. “Does it work?” “Depends on the base—and whether it burns their face off. But I’m good at it.” They sat on iron benches. June’s brown eyes studied her closely. “What are you hauling this time?” The bottom of the cage hit the table with a dull clang. “Damn. That’s a fat one.” June’s interest sharpened. “So what are you trading him for?” “If this works,” Merid said evenly, “our food stops killing us so fast.” June’s gaze stayed on the animal, assessing value, not life. “Go on.” “They have a neutralizer. Something that strips out poison and toxins.” “And why give that away?” “They’ve already eaten almost everyone topside. And five or six extra years is worth more than answers.” June studied her a moment longer. “You’re still holding something back.” “No clear plan. Yun helps me survey their nest, tighten the scheme.” June nodded. “And if it works? Your sector gains leverage. Not afraid Abel and Xander tear each other apart?” Merid smoothed her red hair, jaw tightening. “Let them. If there’s a way to make that slop safe, I’ll take it.” A pause. “Can I get some for testing?” June asked carefully. “After my sector.” “Fair.” Silence settled—brief, heavy. “How’s Alice?” Merid asked. June’s gaze dropped. “Third wing of the Mark. Stable.” Merid’s restraint snapped. “Joseph? I’ll kill him.” “Easy,” June said. “She chose this.” “Herself? Into this?” Merid’s voice sharpened. “That’s not hope.” “It’s not our call.” The argument cut off as Yun appeared at the door. “If you keep closing yourselves in,” he said, “someone’ll think you’re plotting.” “Just girls talking,” June replied lightly. “Boys, masks, revolution.” “Careful,” Yun said. “Someone else might take your place under a gurnia bush.” They headed for the lights. The brightest station, thick with people trading alcohol for supplies, tools, and sense. Yun paid with salt. They sat apart, backs to the wall. June drank first, passed the flask. Yun drank. Merid didn’t move. “You’re looking at him like inventory,” June joked weakly. Silence cut sharp. “Say it,” Yun said. “Oh, I will.” “You mad you didn’t go first?” “I’m mad you didn’t hesitate.” “Why does that matter?” “Because I’m walking into a mutant sanctuary with someone who always saves his own skin.” The cold between them thickened. “So I’m a coward,” he said. “Sounds right.” His voice hardened. “Those are safety rules. Technicians go first. That ladder could’ve killed us.” “Prove it.” “Step outside the farms and learn something useful.” The words landed wrong. Too far. Merid stood. “Last time I work with you. One doubt—and I’m out.” “With what?” “With the neutralizer, I don’t need you.” He stood too. “You’d leave?” She didn’t answer. He tossed her share at her feet and walked away. Minutes later, she slumped down and spat into the empty space: “Fuck you.” A shadow stepped forward—Xander. “Right,” he said calmly. “Fuck him.” He took the abandoned flask, drank, and looked down at her. “So,” he said. “Want to talk?”