With a curse, she puts her boot to work with mine. Within seconds, the pipe breaks open. It plunges into darkness, through the fence and down the hill on the other side. A nauseating stench rises from it, but I shove the General forwards.

She scrambles in and I hear her retch. I follow, charges from the automatic guns thudding and burning through the plastic above.

‘Go!’ I scream.

I push myself along desperately on my elbows until the pipe drops away, sending me scrabbling head first down an incline that ends in darkness. There isn’t even time to gasp before I hit the water.

Even expecting it as I am, when I surface the stench almost makes me vomit. Excrement mixed with powerful chemicals, all trapped in a space not much larger than my outstretched arms. I cough sewage from my mouth and nose, kicking madly in the total darkness, the uniform and boots threatening to drag me down.

A fist connects with my face; the General flailing to stay afloat.

‘—hell?’ she half shrieks.

‘One of the treatment tanks.’ I fight down a retch. ‘Don’t swallow.’

Beyond the tank, I can hear the sirens of the base. The General’s fists hammer at the smooth plastic.

‘We’re trapped. I’m going to die in a fucking shit tank.’

‘Quiet.’ With a burst of effort I reach upwards. The liquid level in the tank is too low, the roof somewhere above out of reach. ‘I’m going to lift you,’ I wheeze.

Before she can protest, I reach down into the muck and take hold of her about the waist, boosting her out of the water. It rains down onto my face, and I close my eyes tight. Her fingernails scrape at the plastic.

‘There’s nothing—’

My arms burn, legs kicking desperately as I move us forwards. Then, I hear a grunt of effort and the sound of plastic cracking.

Air spills over us, air like clean water, like drenching rain. Through the hatch I see the dark sky, the sickly glow of searchlights. With a last heave, I push the General up and she scrambles free.

A moment later, her face appears. In the semi-darkness, I can’t quite make out her eyes.

‘General!’ I reach up.

She doesn’t move.

‘Help me,’ I gasp, my lungs burning.

Where are they? I strain my awareness, but there’s nothing. Only sirens and the face of a girl, deciding whether I should live. Is she seeing my death, the possibilities of a world without me?

‘Help!’

She shoots out an arm. I grasp it hard, my fingers like claws, but she doesn’t complain. She hauls me out of the tank, with more strength than any child should possess.

We stagger away from the treatment plant, crawling past its perimeter into a dusty agave field, keeping to the shadows.