Free Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) by S. M. Stelmack

even mix of young and old, male and female, and they all seemed quite healthy considering their bleak environment. All had the same dull gray complexion and dark, glittering eyes, and from studying their faces, it was impossible to group them by race or creed.
    Cooking over the fire was a large pot of oatmeal, the gray mush making great swampy belches. Dee ladled a generous helping into a chipped ceramic bowl, and handed it and a metal spoon to Lindsay. Graciously she took it, wondering how she was going to stomach the stuff. Dee gave one to Jack, and he began chowing it down.
    Then again, this was a man who ate scrambled egg sandwiches on stale bread.
    Jack’s eyes narrowed on Lindsay, and taking up her spoon, she nibbled at the gunk. It was good, tasting of sugar and cinnamon, and kind of creamy, too. Lindsay’s second spoonful was heaping.
    The talk between Jack and the Moores was idle at first, revolving around tunnels that had collapsed or been discovered, and to residents that had moved on or found trouble. It was only when Jack had scraped his bowl clean that he got down to business.
    “I’m looking for a lost topsider. Her name’s Seline Sterling. Miss Lindsay’s her aunt.”
    “Oh?” Mr. Moore slid Lindsay a wary look. “Tell us about her.”
    Lindsay opened her mouth, precisely as Jack cut her off. “She’s a Samaritan. Came down here to see if she could help.”
    “One of those outreach people?” the mayor asked in disapproval.
    “No, an independent. Like I started out.”
    “I see.” Mr. Moore turned to a thin-faced youth crouched beside him. “Have you heard of her, Mr. Jarvis?”
    “Yes, sir,” he replied. “She’s been in the subways for a few months, talking to the addicts. I heard she made contact with the APs, can’t say for sure.”
    Jack winced at the mention of the APs, and it took all Lindsay had not to ask about them. “Are any of your other runners here today?” he inquired.
    “No,” the mayor answered. “They’re all either fetching water or out on Mole patrol. They should all be back by supper. You’re welcome to stay and wait for them if you like.”
    “I think we’ll do that. Thank you, Mr. Moore.”
    The formal discussion between Jack and the mayor now over, snippets of conversation began amidst the others in the circle, though their voices remained hushed. Dee, who had been beside her husband, sat on an overturned pail beside Lindsay.
    “This is your first time down here, isn’t it?” she asked.
    “That obvious, huh?”
    “One glance at your eyes and you can tell.” At Lindsay’s confused look, Dee added, “They’ve got color.”
    Lindsay still didn’t understand, then looking more closely she realized why all the tunnel dwellers appeared the same. The perpetual darkness had expanded their pupils so much that their irises had nearly disappeared, and it struck her that they could see things invisible to her. That was worrisome.
    “I suppose if I stayed down here my eyes would become like yours,” Lindsay said.
    “Yes. Your skin would darken too. It takes a few months.”
    “I wouldn’t get paler?”
    “You would, except the grime down here soaks into you after a while,” Dee said contentedly. “Turns everybody the same shade in time, which is good.”
    “It is?” Lindsay asked, eliciting a good-natured laugh from the older woman.
    “Sure. Topsiders are always fighting over who’s skin is what color. Down here we’re all the same. We’re all human. Well, all except for the Moles.”
    Beside her, Jack shifted slightly and she knew that he’d tuned in. “The Moles?” Lindsay asked.
    “They keep to themselves mostly, down in the pits, but they’re awful dangerous when they want to be.” She glanced at Jack. “I imagine Mr. Cole has told you more about them than anyone else ever could.”
    “Actually—” Lindsay began.
    Jack reached across her lap and hooked his hand under her thigh. It was a small gesture of claim. Lindsay stared at the