Up From The Deep Vaughn Jackson (book club suggestions TXT) 📖

Skylar said. “Basically, now that he knows about it, he should be able to regulate it.” She noticed the skeptical look on the two men’s faces. “Biologist,” she said, gesturing at herself. “Welders,” she said, gesturing at them. “Trust me.”

“I guess baby skunks don’t spray, right,” Skids said. He shrugged.

“Let’s get back to work,” Gunner said, taking in the devastation one last time. “The lieutenant’s already on our ass. Wants to mobilize within the hour.” He gave Skylar and Devonte a once over. “Try not to bring the house down on us.”

Devonte scratched his head with a laugh. “We’ll do our best.”

#

Brannigan cursed as he descended into the sewer system for the second time in the past few months. The stink of rot and excrement hadn’t left his nostrils from the last time. He barely reacted while the detective and younger soldier coughed and choked on the sickening fumes.

“Come on kid, we basically just got back from here,” Brannigan shouted to the soldier climbing down just below him.

“Still smells like shit,” Chaplin replied, “and some other less pleasant things.”

Raymond pulled the collar of his trench coat over his mouth and nose. “Like an open grave.”

“Lot of experience with that, copper?” Brannigan looked up at the man above him.

“More than I’d care to remember,” came the reply.

Brannigan realized he didn’t have a response to that answer. “Cool,” he said. “Or…not cool.” The rifle hung heavy around his shoulders. His feet touched down on the slick tunnel walkway. “So I’ve got bad news,” he said.

“You mean aside from the mission we’re walking into,” Arnett said, his voice carrying down from the top of the scaling rope.

“Wading is probably the more accurate term for what we will be doing. The path here doesn’t lead to Alcatraz, but,” he shined his light on the sluggish brown river that oozed its way past them, “that does.”

“Fuck,” Chaplin said.

“I hate everything about that,” Arnett agreed.

“You’re the one who told the general you wanted to help in any way you could,” Brannigan said, grunting with the exertion of climbing down into the murky pit. “What about you, Jet? Anything witty to say?”

“We’re in deep shit,” came the welder’s reply.

Raymond cast a disgusted look at the liquid, though he hesitated to call it that. “Glad I wore layers.”

“Hope you bastards are up-to-date on your vaccines.” Brannigan cranked the bolt on his rifle and flicked the safety off. “Now get in the water.”

The sensation of jumping down into the sludge was worse than anything Brannigan could have imagined. They didn’t splash, they glopped into the mixture. It was his turn to retch. This is going to be a long walk, he thought.

The sewage path was much less of a straight shot to the island than the service tunnel. He pulled out his map and looked at the winding path they had to take. Flood deposits, drainage pits, and much more meant circumnavigating essentially the entire bay before looping back and emerging from the maintenance room in the remains of the prison. All while hunting down baby dragons. He glanced over his shoulder at his four compatriots.

“Fuck me,” he hissed. His flashlight beam illuminated the dark tunnel. Not to mention Tempest possibly lurking around every shit-soaked corner. He noticed that Jet held his finger on the trigger of his rifle. “Trigger safety,” he called over, “and keep the gun down.”

Jet apologized, lowering the weapon. “Coast guard,” he said, “never actually used one of these.”

Brannigan gave him a quick tutorial, cursing in his head the entire time. When he finished, he said, “Got it? That’s about as simple as I can make it.”

“Well enough to point and shoot,” Jet said.

“Which way do we go first?” Chaplin said, sweeping the dank sewer intersection with his flashlight.

Brannigan checked the GPS device on his wrist. “East, for a while.”

Chaplin aimed his beam down the right path. “Well, it looks no worse than any of the rest.”

“I’ll take point,” Brannigan said, “Jet, up with me, don’t need you shooting us in the back. Chaplin and Sanderson take rear. Detective, you’re in the middle.” He looked down at the revolver primed in Raymond’s right hand. Brannigan had insisted he take an assault weapon, but he’d refused vehemently. He had no training with the weapon and no desire to learn. The revolver had served him well thus far, he said, and he wouldn’t replace it for anything.

“Well then, let’s get started,” Raymond said, rubbing his back.

They walked in silence, stopping every now and then to listen for the sounds of any lurking threats. There never was anything, but the nature of their mission had them on edge. They’d been walking for nearly an hour when the first thing went awry. Brannigan rounded a corner and spotted one of the newborn creatures only a few yards away. It looked up when it heard him gasp, a noise he cursed himself for making. The creature immediately bristled, its scales raising and sticking out like spiked mail.

“I don’t see any others,” Chaplin said. “Looks like it’s alone.”

“Take it down,” Brannigan roared as the creature charged them. Even with suppressers on their rifles, the sound was unbearable in such tight quarters. The muzzle fire lit up the dark space as bullets pounded into the rigid scales armoring the creature’s body and clinked to the ground.

Jet sprayed a volley of bullets that decorated the wall behind the creature, missing its body entirely. Chaplin moved up alongside him getting direct hits along the creature’s side.

“It’s like shooting a tank,” Chaplin said pushing Jet aside, leaving him just enough time to roll out of the creature’s razor-sharp reach.

“Tanks don’t have teeth,” Brannigan said, unloading another burst of gunfire on the creature from behind. It whirled to face him with a snarl.

“My gun isn’t doing shit,” Arnett said. He ducked to avoid the sweep of the creature’s tail. “Watch out, Cade.”

“Care to join in, old timer?” Brannigan felt the wind leave his lungs as the tip of the creature’s tail caught him in the ribs,