Standing water covered the toes of Nathan’s boots. The air was thick with mildew. “Drain’s over there.” He shined his tactical light on the flood map. “To the right.”

The temperature dropped as they entered the large drain. Darkness engulfed them.

Chris’s whistle cut through the eerie stillness. “Wow. It’s a hell of a lot cooler in here. Place smells like feet, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Nathan shined his light on the walls. Colorful graffiti decorated the concrete.

“Someone’s a talented artist.”

The darkness thickened with each step. The odor grew increasingly foul. “Jesus, I can taste the stench in my mouth.” Chris gagged and spit into the dirty water.

Nathan didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to keep the contents of his stomach down and wondering how the people who lived in the tunnels stood the smell and the constant dangers. The drains provided relief from the sweltering desert heat, and free housing, but they were death traps. Large portions ran directly underneath the city streets and inhabitants risked carbon monoxide poisoning and the frequent threat of flooding. Growing up poor in North Las Vegas gave him a better perspective than many, but he couldn’t imagine having no other alternative than to live minute-by-minute.

“We shouldn’t run into any camps,” Johnson said. “They’re deeper in. One of the biggest is right under the Strip.”

“You know we aren’t going to find shit,” Chris choked out. “It’s too dark. Guy planned this for months. He knows his way around. We need to get out of here and check on Adam.”

“Medic called me when they got him to the hospital,” Johnson said. “He’s going into surgery. All we’d be doing right now is sitting around waiting. Still have to do our jobs, Holt.”

“He’s just a rookie. I should have been in front of him.”

“Stop,” Nathan said. “You followed protocol. That was a lucky shot.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

Silence fell over the men as they moved farther into the stinking drain. Something hard crunched underneath Nathan’s boots. He nervously shined his light into the black water. Crawfish swam around his feet, probably on their way to the Las Vegas Wash. A mushy white glob looking suspiciously like used toilet paper floated by, and he focused his light away from the stream. Better not to know what he was stepping on.

A loud splash ahead brought all three to a halt.

“You hear that?” Johnson asked.

“Sounds big.” Chris stepped in front of Johnson and raised his Glock.

“Las Vegas SWAT,” Johnson shouted. “Identify yourself.”

Nothing.

“Maybe it was an animal,” Nathan said.

“That’s even worse than a junkie,” Chris said. “With my luck, Cujo’s man-eating cousin will show up and give me rabies.”

“They have shots for that now.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

A second loud splash was followed by the distinct sound of footsteps plodding through the water.

“That’s no dog.” Chris sprinted after the runner with Nathan and Johnson closely following. The beams of their lights flashed haphazardly against the walls making the tunnel even more ominous.

A strange brightness glowed several yards ahead of them. Their quarry came into view. He was too short and stocky to be their man, but he could have information.