At midnight that night, Rubberman and I found ourselves standing on the banks of the Roger Gate River, near the Harold Golden Bridge. The Roger Gate River flowed by peacefully, its smooth surface reflecting the lights from the city on either side of the river. Overhead, cars drove over the Bridge, going back and forth from one side of the city to the other, though fewer than during the day.
This was a familiar spot for Rubberman and me and not just because we both passed over the Harold Golden Bridge regularly. Two months ago, during the Storm, Rubberman and I had discovered a secret underground tunnel that went below the Roger Gate River. The tunnel had been hidden behind a secret metal door that we hadn’t even known existed until we found it what seemed like a lifetime ago now. In that
