Ah, daylight. Or what passed for daylight in Seattle, which was good enough for Rector. But the milky white sky did nothing to warm the low-lying clouds of fog and gas; instead, it made the air look colder—as if it were the frozen, blowing breath of some preposterous monster.

He considered a strategic retreat. He thought about shutting the doors and ducking back underneath the city. It was close and dark and smelled weird (or maybe that was his mask), but there weren’t any flesh-eating creatures roaming its corridors. Up here, dead things walked.

But dead things walked in his head, too.

At the far reaches of Rector’s vision, the flickering, twitching shade of Zeke Wilkes gave a disapproving shake of its head.

You promised. I won’t wait much longer, Wreck. I’ll come for you, if you don’t come for me.

“You come for me all the damn time anyway.”

Outside the air was scratchy and dense. He’d known that already, but had forgotten it in the short time he’d been beneath the streets. He shuddered and climbed up to the last stair, and with all the patience he could muster, he drew the doors back down behind himself until they clicked into place.

Now. Where was he?

An alley.

Navigating half by touch and half by squinting through the thickened air, he struggled to the left … where he encountered a fence, so he turned around to try the other way out of the alley. Hugging the building’s exterior wall, he crept to its edge.

A corner. Excellent.

The steady patter of dripping water sounded nearby, and someplace not too far away he heard a building settle on its foundations, creaking and moaning. No other sound broke the spell. No footsteps. No shuffling. Nothing to indicate that he wasn’t alone …

For one brief, alarming instant he second-guessed whether or not people survived inside at all, Doornails or Station men or anyone else.

He dropped to his hands and knees. The sidewalk was smooth and cold under his probing fingers, but he investigated every stone, every gravel- and dirt-littered brick until he found what he was looking for.

There, a few feet out. An engraving. A name.

Commercial.

And now he finally knew where he was.

Chapter 6

Six

Rector was on Commercial Street, the street which had once run closest to the Sound and the piers. Now it ran closest to the wall, and parallel to it, all along the western edge.

Rising to his feet, he fought to find his bearings. The street ran north and south, but where had he emerged? The air was clumped and uncertain, and he was surrounded by tall shadows. He had no idea where the wall was.

But he remembered now: North went uphill. South ran downhill.

“Psst!”

Rector froze.