Chapter 116

Chapter One Hundred Sixteen

Once down the ramp, Connor found himself looking at a broad, high archway. Beyond that was an avenue—a street as large as any to be found in a modern city. In the lights coming from the devices attached to the crates, the walls lining the avenue took on an eerie sense of deliberate construction.

Like homes, he thought.

Mosiah stopped at the archway, head tilted back to study the symbols curving around the arch. “Not so far beyond this. Maybe another fifteen minutes.”

His voice hadn’t been raised but boomed in the vaulted height.

The clones coughed, then Tim shook his head. “Was the stench this bad when you cam here?”

“Hm? Oh.” The old man pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. This is worse.”

For Connor, the stench was so bad that he could taste it: rotten, sour.

Elise shivered. “It shouldn’t get colder like this.”

Mosiah shuffled under the archway. “That would also be something new.”