Scar Uncle walked forward, but instead of pushing the seemingly unmovable gate, he squatted down and groped in a very hidden, mud-covered corner on the lower right side of the gate. After a few seconds, his rough fingers seemed to grab something and he pulled it hard!
"Click...Crunch..."
A tooth-grinding, rusty sound of metal rubbing echoed through the silent pipe! The massive metal gate had cracked at the bottom, leaving a gap barely wide enough for one person to pass through with a bent waist! A relatively dry stream of air, carrying a faint scent of smoke and... a faint human voice, gushed out from the gap!
"Come in!" Thornvine growled, ducking in first. Bean followed, then the old woman and the child. Scar Uncle stood guard at the door, warily scanning the darkness behind us.
We filed in.
After passing through the narrow gap, the view suddenly opens up!
This seemed to be the core machine room or part of a large equipment maintenance area in a large, ancient underground complex. The space was unusually vast, with a towering dome supported by thick concrete pillars. Most of the area was still shrouded in darkness, but in the center, there was a light!
It's not the light. It's fire!
A dozen fire pits and fire pits, large and small, fashioned from scrap metal barrels or broken ceramic pots, were scattered across a relatively dry, cleared area. The flames illuminated the surroundings: low-slung but stable "houses" cleverly constructed from discarded shipping containers, giant cable drums, and even collapsed concrete slabs; crude "compartments" enclosed by rusted pipes and canvas; and even a few small plots of land where, using humus found somewhere, they grew droopy but tenacious gray-green plants resembling mushrooms and tubers.
The air was filled with the smell of smoke, damp musty air, the faint aroma of herbs, the scent of simmering food, and... the atmosphere of life, where "people" gather together. Though crude, filthy, and filled with traces of struggle, this space, buried deep beneath the ruins, stubbornly nurtured a faint but real...order.
In the firelight, dozens of pairs of eyes turned in unison. There were the cloudy, wary gazes of the elderly, the timid yet curious eyes of children, and a few young men and women, most of them scarred or disabled, armed with crude weapons—sharpened steel bars, homemade crossbows, even rusty fire axes. Their eyes were tired and numb, but when they saw "Ci Teng" and "Douzi" bringing back a group of unfamiliar, ill-fitting armed men, they were instantly filled with undisguised wariness and hostility. Several men instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons and stepped forward, subtly shielding the elderly and children behind them.
"Thornvine! What's going on?" A burly, bald man with a hideous scar running from forehead to chin stepped out from the crowd. His voice was low and oppressive. He held a heavy, dark-brown-stained engineer's shovel in his hand. His gaze raked us like a knife, lingering longest on Wrench and me, who were holding the unconscious Leah. "Where are they from? Scavengers?"
The atmosphere suddenly became tense, like a fully drawn bowstring.
"Uncle Scarface, they are not spy." Thorn Vine walked to the bald man named Scarface, her voice calm, with a calmness beyond her age, "They provoked the 'Scavenger', were crippled, and hid in the culvert above. There was a dying woman who used my medicine." She spoke concisely, pointing to Leah, who was carefully placed by a wrench on a relatively flat ground covered with old canvas.
Scarface's gaze swept across Leah's pale face and the horrific wound on her shoulder, then across our tattered yet finely crafted combat uniforms, the damaged but still remarkable remains of our weapons (the barrel of the energy rifle carried by Hook), and finally settled on me. His eyes were still as sharp as a hawk, full of scrutiny and distrust, but Thornvine's words clearly held considerable weight. The hostility in his eyes receded slightly, but it didn't disappear.
"Medicine? What use are those grass roots and tree barks of yours?" Scarface snorted coldly, his tone still unfriendly, "Don't let the wolf in! It's a mess outside now. The dogs of the 'chaebols' are biting people everywhere, and the 'scavengers' are crazier than mad dogs! Who knows how much trouble they have caused? Don't let this last bit of 'firefly' of ours be extinguished!" A few low voices of agreement came from the crowd behind him, and anxiety and fear were spreading.
"'Fireflies'..." Thorny Vine repeated in a low voice, her eyes sweeping over the elderly, weak, women, and children, whose faces were pale and thin, yet they stubbornly lived on in the firelight. She also glanced at the few drooping gray-green plants in the corner. Finally, she met Scarface's questioning gaze. Her voice was not loud, but unusually clear and powerful: "Uncle Scarface, do you remember what 'Old Cripple' said? The only creatures that can survive in the ruins are either poisonous snakes or rats. But there's another kind..." She paused, pointing at us, "an eagle being hunted by an even more vicious snake."
Her words startled Scarface slightly, and the sharpness in his eyes seemed to be touched.
"They're not rats, nor are they venomous snakes out to steal food. They have the blood of the Scavengers on them, lots of it." Thornvine's voice had a strange penetrating power. "One more person who can bleed the Scavengers, even if it's just half an eagle, is it a bad thing for us in Firefly?"
Scarface fell silent. His gnarled fingers unconsciously rubbed the wooden handle of his shovel. His gaze darted back and forth between me, Wrench, Hook, and the others, as if assessing the value and risk of a pack of dangerous beasts. The chatter behind him faded, and everyone looked at him, awaiting his decision. This bald, scarred man was clearly the de facto force and decision-maker in this small shelter.
My dear, there is more to this chapter. Please click on the next page to continue reading. It will be even more exciting later!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com