When they arrived at their subterranean destination, Angeline whipped off her gas-detecting glasses and stuffed them into a pocket. “Here we are, boys. Mind your manners, would you? Can’t have you getting up to any mischief on my watch.”

Rector heard men shouting back and forth, and the regular percussion of hammers augmented with the dragging, scraping whine of saws. At the end of the tunnel a hint of light came in several colors. When they all emerged into an underground street, he saw that the way was strung with lanterns that were shaded with colored paper. A handful of men sat before a storefront that offered bagged rice and samples of unknown herbs for sale, stacked and sorted in the open, glassless window. They looked up curiously at the newcomers, but smiled and nodded to see Angeline, who smiled and nodded back.

Here in Chinatown, the streets were wider and—in Rector’s private opinion—better kept, with proper curbs and wooden sidewalks lifting the walkways off the perpetually dampened dirt. Rather than having one large structure full of apartments like the Vaults, many individual homes were installed between the tiny businesses and in otherwise unsettled spaces. Laundry was strung and cooking fires dotted the thoroughfares with warmth, feeding their smoke and ash up through great metal tubes that disappeared into the ceiling.

“What are those?” Rector asked, pointing like a tourist.

Houjin said, “Vents. They all join up in the level above. Sometimes when you’re topside, you can see the exit pipes smoking like chimneys.”

“Oh. There sure are a lot of people down here,” he observed as another group of men passed them, and a few individuals looked out of windows or stepped into doorways to get a gander at the outsiders.

Zeke smiled and waved like he was leading a parade and everyone there had come out to see him. He told Rector, “There are a lot more Chinamen than Doornails, that’s for sure.”

Huey said, “About four Chinese to every white person.”

“And even fewer of us natives,” Angeline added. “Most of my kin had better sense than to stick around. They’ve gone up north, or out to the islands.”

“Then why’d you stay?” Rector asked.

She was silent for a few seconds. She looked at Zeke and Huey, who clearly knew something about this story that Rector didn’t. Then she said, “This city was named for my father. After he was gone, I stayed here. I was raised by these folks, more than not. We may not look it on the skin, but I consider them family. And I had other family here who died, same as the rest of you lot. I even had a daughter once.”

“Did she die in the gas?”