Allan led them through the factory floor to a metal door which had been jammed open with scraps of rusted metal. They slipped through its narrow opening in single file. Beyond the door was a hallway, pitch black but for the soft light coming through barred windows too high to scale. Security doors lined the hall, their plaques illegible in the night. Allan’s figure stopped at an open door, his silhouette barely recognisable in the dark.

“Down here. Mind your step.”

Metal stairs led down to what seemed to be a service tunnel below the facility. Connor held one hand to the outer wall as he descended one cautious step at a time. Pipes, ladder racks and electrical conduit lined the low ceiling. The floor was several inches deep with water and smelled like a swamp. Moonlight filtered down through open grates, reflecting off the dark waters. The noise of sirens, hovering gyros and shouts echoed through the tight tunnel. Allan motioned the others to slow down and stay silent. The group sloshed through the waters as quietly as they could. The tunnel ran in a straight line below ground to the adjacent factory building. The sounds of the police became distant, overtaken by Bill’s relentless wheezing. Connors eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Ahead he could make out a dark shape partially obscuring the tunnel. As they drew closer it became apparent it was a door wedged open.

“We go up,” said Allan.

They followed the veteran up another set of metal stairs to what had been an electrical switch room. Anything that had value had long been stripped from the room, including as much cable and copper pipe as the pickers could reach.

Allan walked to the exit and glanced up and down the outer hall. He turned back to the others. “Once outside we will be in the open. It’s a bit of a slog to the tenements, so stay low and stick to the walls. Any drones in the area will spot us on thermal, so we have to be quick.”

Bill gave a deep sigh.

“Now’s the time to pull the pin, buddy…” said Allan. “Just say the word and we’ll stop.”

“I can do it,” said Bill, punctuating the sentence with a hacking cough. “Lungs are on fire…”

Lisa giggled nervously. “I should have stayed behind when I had the chance.”

“Still can,” replied Allan a touch angrily. “You ready, boy?” he said to Connor.

Connor stamped his sodden feet on the ground, trying to remove as much water from his shoes as possible without taking them off. “Yes. But please tell me there is somewhere to get food after this. I don’t have much in the tank.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” said Lisa. “Clothes… food… safe passage… anything else we can do?”

Connor felt a pang of guilt. He was asking a lot of these people, these strangers. He felt bad that he was holding a cure for Bill’s cough over their heads. What if he couldn’t deliver? “No, thank you.”

“Alright. Follow me,” said Allan.

They left the squat concrete building at a brisk jog, entering a vacant parking area once used for utility vehicles. High concrete buildings and chain link fences surrounded them. Allan took them on a tour of broken gates and holes, expertly leading them out of the maze of industrial compounds. Bill and Lisa lagged behind, forcing the others to stop or slow down.

“You’ve done this before,” said Connor, during one break.

Allan grinned at him over his shoulder. “We’ve been this way a few times, yes.”

“Do the others know of this? Would they tell the cops?”

Allan shook his head. “Many of them know it. They’d never snitch though. We rely on this route to get in and out of the tenements without being seen. Some of us do side jobs for one or more street gangs as a way of making money. It would hurt a lot of people to tell the cops of our secret back door.”

Connor raised an eyebrow. “You work for the gangs?”

“Yeah,” said Allan, drawing the word out. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well…” said Connor, unsure of his own position.

Allan gripped his jacket with a meaty fist. “It’s a war, boy. A street war. We’ve been invaded by our own allies! They’ve filled our city with hoodlums and thugs!” The veteran let Connor go, puffing out his chest and standing straight, as if he was delivering a rousing speech to the troops. “You have to remember that we are all patriots! I and others like me throw our support to the local, homegrown crews. It’s a guerrilla campaign. Full of back stabbing and double crossing. It’s the only way we can make a difference. The police are losing. We help, in our own way. So what if we make a little money along the way?”

Connor nodded his head. “Okay. I’m just curious is all, nothing against what you do.”

Allan grunted and turned away.

“So what kind of stuff do you do?” asked Connor trying to keep the conversation alive.

“We gather information, mostly,” sighed Allan. “We give the right stuff to the right people at the right time. Sometimes we give the wrong information. We’re invisible most of the time. You’ll be surprised what people will say in your presence when they don’t give a flying fuck about you.”

He turned back to Connor. “Some run errands or hide weapons. Mundane shit. They don’t trust us with drugs, obviously. It probably won’t make a difference in the end. But I feel like I’m doing something for my country again. If I can slowly whittle away the power of these gangsters, get things back the way they were… I’ll die a happy man.”

“I understand,” said Connor.

“No, you don’t,” replied Allan matter-of-factly.

Lisa and Bill stumbled up to their position. Bill’s lungs sounded like they were leaking from several large holes.

“How much farther? I don’t think Billy can run any longer,” said Lisa, clutching her friend around his waist. They both seemed to be sagging into each other, propping the other up by some fluke.

“Boy, you and me will help this fat bastard,” said Allan. “Let’s keep going. We can rest soon.”

Lisa slid out of Bill’s heavy embrace. Allan grabbed his friend before he could topple over.

“Under each arm,” he instructed.

Working as a team, they hoisted Bill between them. Connor struggled with the larger man’s height and weight. They set off, marching in a line with the former pilot in the lead. The industrial park opened out into a rundown semi-commercial street, the buildings boarded up and wrapped with graffiti. People wandered down the street in small groups. Ahead the towers of the tenements stood, outlined with bright neon signs and LED lighting. Music and laughter came from some of the buildings or alleyways.

Connor started to panic. He didn’t know the gang’s territories. They could be running headlong into more dangerous waters. He was about to voice his concern when he heard a whirring noise. Glancing up, he saw a drone hovering overhead.

“Oh shit!”

“Don’t look at it, you idiot!” said Allan.

The drone panned around them, trying to get a better view. Connor kept his head down.

“Good one…”

The drone continued to follow them down the street. The tenements were only a block away.

“Do you think it saw you? asked Allan.

“Yes,” answered Connor.

“Mmm,” grunted Allan.

“You guys should run. I’ll only get you into trouble,” said Connor. “You’ve done more than enough to help me.”

“He’s right,” wheezed Bill.

“Oh, shut up, both of you!” snapped Allan. “You cure Billy first. I didn’t get you out of there for nothing!”

“You should have left him in the freezing water, Al,” spat Lisa. “Walking around the tens at night is a guaranteed knife in the back.”

“Fuck off, Lisa,” growled Allan. “I’ll do what I want. I can fight my own battles.”

The pilot turned to face him, her skin flushed scarlet. “Then why the hell did you get me involved?”

“You followed me,” snapped Allan. “Go back to the squat or shut up and help me get Billy fixed.”

“I don’t want to cause you guys any grief,” said Connor. “I appreciate the help you’ve given me.”

“Quit it,” said Allan. “We’re almost there. Cops will think twice before following.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah… They lost a couple of gyros a while back. Now they only go in with a full armoured convoy, if they absolutely must,” smiled Allan.

“I didn’t know about that,” said Connor.

“Yeah. They wouldn’t advertise the fact they’re losing in the news,” said Allan. “The gangs protect their turf from any hostile outsider. It’s a war after all!” he shouted at Lisa’s back.

The pilot flipped him off. Allan grinned.

“Sirens…” coughed Bill.

Connor cocked his head. The vet was right. Police sirens wailed a distance away.

“I vote we run,” said Connor.

“Agreed,” replied Allan.

Bill wheezed a long sigh while Lisa paused to look at the heavens. The party upped its speed a fraction, dodging the growing numbers of people on the street. Here the buildings were open for business. Second hand clothing and electronics stores sold outdated styles and models. Cafes and ethnic restaurants entertained a few loyal customers. Connor caught the smells of spices, coffee and sizzling meats, making his mouth water and his stomach pang with hunger. Busy signs in garish colours competed with their neighbours for attention. Sexually charged young models sold everything from toothpaste to luxury holidays in the South America’s. Spray painted graffiti and bills of sale competed for available space on any surface within reach.

The relative safety of the tenements was close. Connor looked behind him. A lone squad car sped down the road toward them. The roar of a gyro grew. Lights stabbed down from the sky, tracing a wonky path along the sidewalk. The flashing neon of a police gyro descended in front of them. The searchlight focused on a group of kids hanging out beside an alleyway. The kids stood up and gave a series of gang signs or middle fingers back to the pilot. The searchlight slid off the kids, skidding along the sidewalk to highlight Connor and his rescuers.

“Stop where you are. You are wanted for questioning,” boomed the loudspeaker.

Connor and the others kept moving, hands held before their eyes to block the harsh light.

The gyro hovered closer, sending grit and trash flying. “Freeze right where you are!”

The street kids were roused by the police presence. Two approached the fleeing group, swaggering like they owned the place. They wore a combination of white and red colours and a solitary lion patch on their breast. Plates of ballistic armour had been sewn into their bulky jackets and thin Kevlar patches protected their chest, arms and thighs. Connor didn’t know much, but these two looked like gangers.

“Oi. One Eye! What’s going on?” shouted a rough looking teen with a thick English accent.

“My nephew’s in trouble with the pigs,” said Allan. “Will get a long stint unless we go to ground.”

The teen crossed his arms and looked Connor up and down. “What’d he do?”

“He iced that Frenchie the other day,” lied Allan, picking a rival gang member’s death he knew about. “Cut him ear to ear, didn’t you boy?”

The English teen looked to Connor, his scared face sceptical.

“Fucker tried to rip me off,” said Connor, mustering as much bravado as he could.

“You patched, boyo?” asked the teen.

Connor shook his head.

“You better not be…” he said, letting the threat hang. “Follow me, One Eye. You can hide in our gaff till the pigs go back to their hovel.”

“Appreciate it,” said Allan.

“You’ll owe us a favour, right?”

“A couple of favours,” agreed Allan.

“Righto,” said the teen. He strutted back to his group, giving two sharp whistle blows. The teens formed a wall of spiked leather and burly muscle around the mouth of the alley. Connor didn’t doubt for a second they were armed. The squad car came to a screeching stop behind them, the cops hesitating at the sight of so many gang members. The gyro hovered and whined above, impotent in the face of the gang resistance. The English teen strode into the alley, his boys parting around him. Allan, Bill and Connor followed with Lisa in the rear, her arm clutched around her waist. The sounds of a mounting riot chased them.