Shift

The crew was called out after a pressure drop in the heating main beneath the overpass. By midnight, the entire maintenance team was on-site. Liam had already been awake for nearly twenty-four hours.

Workers hauled equipment through the mud under the bridge while rain hammered the concrete overhead. Utility belts rattled, radios hissed with static, and somewhere inside the noise Liam could hear a dull rhythm.

"Go check the valve chamber," a man shouted.

Liam pulled at his wet gloves and headed towards the maintenance hatch. The others stayed near the trucks, dragging hoses through the mud. Rainwater dripped from the edge of Liam's hard hat into his eyes.

Suddenly, halfway there, he noticed movement between the bridge supports.

The floodlights caught it for a second, and he saw a small frame with quick uneven steps splashing through puddles. Someone petite was moving fast, weaving through the barriers straight to the open hatch.

"Hey! Hey, boy!"

The storm swallowed his voice.

Liam grabbed the radio clipped to his vest, "Someone near the shaft," he said. "Someone near the shaft."

One worker was bent over the generator, another was busy wrestling with a hose. Only static answered.

When Liam looked back, the boy was already climbing down the ladder.

"Damn."

Liam shot off to the shaft and jumped in, one hand gripping the wet rails of the ladder. The flashlight beam was shaking across the thick walls below, rusty and smelly of standing water.

"Kid!" he shouted again.

As Liam climbed lower, he felt a strange vibration in the walls. The pipes pulsed softly around him like blood vessels.

Then he heard the music.

He stepped off the ladder, and got hit by the noise.

Electronic music pounded in the enormous cold chamber. Harsh green construction lights hung crookedly along the walls, as if they had been stolen and dragged underground. Liam walked deeper, and the music became louder. Strange steam drifted through the tunnel in heavy clouds, and smoke spilled beneath a metal doorway ahead of him against the floor. This door looked industrial. It seemed both massive and airtight, like it had been a part of a submarine interior.

Liam grabbed the handle, and the door burst open to nearly throw him backward.

Two women stumbled out of the smoke to a roar of laughter from inside the room. Their clothes were filthy, sweaty and grimy, somewhere between work uniforms and nightclub outfits. Liam pressed himself against the wall as they passed. And before the heavy door could shut again, he slipped through the opening.

The place looked less like a club than a fever dream assembled from scraps of the city above. Pipes crawled along the ceiling, exposed wires hung low enough to brush against people's heads.

Floral patterns on the sofas were soaked with unknown moisture and cigarette burns. Stained mattresses and empty bottles — all disappeared into the clutter.

People drifted through the room in tank tops and reflective jackets hanging open over bare chests. Their faces drifted with laughter breaking out too loudly and dying too quickly. Liam moved through them carefully, his coverall still wet from the rain. Whether from cold or anxiety, Liam trembled. He realised nobody seemed surprised to see him there.