As Zeke rummaged through the contents, he explained, “The Doornails keep the far corners stocked in case somebody gets stranded. You never know when you’ll meet rotters, or when you’ll fall through something that ain’t as solid as it looks,” he added, and Houjin jabbed him with an elbow. “It’s easy to get hurt out here, or stuck.”

“That’s smart,” Rector said approvingly. “So what do we have here—food? Filters? Lanterns and such? If you knew this was here, why’d we bring so much fuel?”

Houjin answered that one. “In case we didn’t make it this far. The whole underground works that way—everyone survives by preparing for just in case.”

“Sounds like a lot of trouble.”

“It is a lot of trouble,” Zeke agreed. “But look at this, would you?” He hoisted aloft a long ax that was once painted red, now more rusty than scarlet. It looked solid and dangerous. It also looked almost too heavy for Zeke to hold, much less wield.

“What’s that, an old fireman’s piece?”

Zeke nodded. “Probably. And it’ll take a rotter’s head in two, just like that—” He swung for demonstration, and Houjin deftly stepped out of the way as if he’d been part of this particular charade before. “There’s more in here, axes and even some cavalry swords, but I’m not sure I’d recommend one of those.”

“Why not?”

“The metal’s too thin; it’s getting brittle. We need to seal these trunks better,” Houjin complained. “Blight gets into everything.”

“So what do you recommend?” Rector asked. He stood between Zeke and Houjin and stared down into the trunks they’d opened. He saw another couple of axes; some big saws that had been refitted with longer handles (Must be awkward, he thought); a few clubs, some metal and some wood; an assortment of mining tools such as picks and hammers; and a handful of things that might’ve been smithing tools.

The boys indulged in a brief discussion of the pros and cons of each, and Rector selected an oversized miner’s pick. He tossed it from palm to palm and spun it around his elbow.

“This’ll work, I think.”

Zeke closed his trunk. “All you need to know is, if you see a rotter, you run. Only start swinging if you can’t outrun ’em. You don’t want them to bite you, that’s for damn sure.”

“Of course I don’t want them to bite me.”

Houjin shut his trunk, too, and slung a sharpened metal bar over his shoulder. “No, you don’t understand: Their bites fester. Whatever they bite, you have to cut off.”