With each breath, Hamid inhaled dampness and the grim tang of death. Clenching his teeth in agony, he continued crawling. His hands and knees were scorched, and too often the sharp edges of the conduit’s walls scraped his hips. The tight space pressed against him as if the tunnel was narrowing as they went; he ceded to an urge to stretch his body, bumped his head and winced. Push on.

Panic stirred in his gut. To contain it, he pressed his lips together tightly, tasting earth and sweat. He wondered how long they had been underground but pushed the thought away. To steel himself, he fixed his gaze in front of him on the steady rise and fall of Jurad’s body, dimly illuminated by the light from the oil lamp in his hand. In the flickering light, the corroded cast iron of the water conduit glowed orange around them.

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