We left the Chapel at dawn. Or what passed for dawn in the Undercity — the yellow bulbs in the ceiling switched from dim to slightly less dim.
Father John gave us supplies. Not much — bandages, water filters, two pistols, a bag of protein bars that tasted like soggy cardboard. But he also gave us something better.
"Take the freight tunnel," he said, standing in the Chapel doorway. His mechanical arm rested on the frame, and his fingers clicked quietly. "It's runs straight from Sector 7 to the Rust Sea. Corp sealed it off years ago, but Jax cut through the locks last month."
"Why?" I asked.
Father John smiled. It was a complicated smile — the kind that belonged to a man who'd been planning things long before I'd stumbled into his church covered in blood. "Because I had a feeling someone would need it soon."
