Shadow Walker

Understandings

There was concrete to his right, concrete to his left, and when he stood straight, he hit his head on more concrete. Rain led him through the pitch with illogical confidence for someone who was walking blind. He didn't share her confidence. The further they went, the more he resisted, until she gave up and let go of his arm. Sighing, she turned on the light of her palm pod, revealing what he already suspected. They were in the gullet of the stormwater drain, a human-sized warren so small, there was nowhere to go but forward or back, and no room to stand even two people abreast.

Dec immediately broke into a sweat. "Where's Adele?" he said.

"Further down. We're only a few meters from the entrance."

Dec glanced back. He thought they'd been walking for ages, but Rain was right. Behind, the wind made a flute of the tunnel entrance, and he could still smell the distinct clay kiln scent of the dust storm.

"Come on," Rain said. "Just a bit further."

As they walked, Dec saw worrying signs of degradation in the structure of the drain. Cracks in the concrete seeped rust-coloured moisture, and the seams between each barrel sagged. Graffiti tags near the entrance, which still smelled of paint, faded the further they went and were replaced by a rank odour of decay. It seemed whatever had last ventured this far inside, had never come out again.

Probably a rat, he thought to himself.

His suspicion was confirmed when Rain swerved to avoid a small matted, fur ball on the ground, already being consumed by a gathering of more small, matted fur balls. The rats screeched as they passed, their tiny, clawed feet making scattered retreats.

His mother was seated just beyond the dead carcass, with her back against the tunnel wall, breathing slowly through her nose, eyes closed, a peaceful expression on her face. As soon as he saw her, Dec crouched with his back against the concrete. Now that he knew she was safe, there was no need to get any closer and put himself at any more risk of getting sick than he already had.

Rain leaned over Adele and checked her vitals again. Her ministrations were graceful, tender, as one would caress a small child. If Dec didn't know any better, he would've thought she cared for his mother's wellbeing. "Aren't you worried you'll get sick?" he said.

"No," she said.

He waited for an explanation.

None came.

Dec might've been annoyed had he not been estimating how many tonnes of earth and steel were pressing down on them from above or calculating the number of broken bones he'd have if the drain collapsed and they were buried alive. His breathing shallowed and he closed his eyes, trying to quell his rising panic without drawing Rain's attention.

She noticed anyway.

"Water?" Rain said, producing a small bottle from the back of her jeans, where she apparently stored all manner of goods. "Just a sip should do it."

Dec pushed her hand away.

Rain placed the bottle on the ground next to him and sat down. "Sometimes, when I get jhelia-aemosch, I sing."

"Jala-what?" Dec said.

"You know, when you get scared in small places. We say Jhelia-aemosch."

The word was a blur of vowels. Dec didn't try to repeat it.

Rain went on, "In our language, it also means someone who has a fear of intimacy or closeness. People who are afraid to love. The two are seen as one and the same—"

"You get claustrophobia?" he cut in, taken by surprise at the fact.

"Not anymore," she said and began to hum a tune, interspersing it with the vowel-heavy words and inhuman guttural clicking noises like morse code. Dec had never heard anything like it. His mind was repulsed, as it usually was with all things Northern, but at the same time, he didn't want her to stop. He was like a child investigating a squashed bug on the pavement. He couldn't look away.