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

in pain and shit for God knows how long.” He took a cautionary step onto the rusted bridge. It creaked under his weight, but he didn’t plummet into the darkness.

Arnett swallowed hard. “Fair.”

“One at a time, just to be sure,” Brannigan said. The bridge creaked with each of his heavy footsteps. It felt like forever but eventually he made it across. “Next,” he called across. “Arnett.”

“If I die—”

“You can haunt me so long as you pay rent,” Brannigan said.

The police officer frowned in confusion and disbelief, shook his head silently while muttering under his breath, and took his first step onto the bridge. “Oh, I hate everything about this.” Halfway across, the bridge made an angry groaning noise as it settled into place. “Please God, don’t let me die soaked in shit and other people’s garbage,” he said.

“Hurry up,” Brannigan said.

“Will you hush,” Arnett said, taking three steps in a hurry, and then sprinting the rest of the length of the bridge. He pressed his palms into his knees, then flashed a quick thumbs up. “Made it.”

Raymond went next, followed by Jet. Chaplin went last. His first step made the whole structure shudder. Brannigan watched the man suck in a deep breath. Chaplin took another hesitant step, to the continued protest of the bridge. The two locked eyes, and then the bridge dropped. It swung free from its back hinges, sending Chaplin sliding down to its bottom.

Brannigan rushed to the edge of the pit and looked down. “Chaplin!”

Chaplin hung from the bottom, white knuckling on the rusted metal brackets. A jagged piece embedded itself through the palm of his hand. “Definitely going to need a tetanus booster after this,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “Damn, that stings.”

“Can you climb up?”

“I was lucky to grab hold like this. My hands are fucked.”

The bridge creaked against its last two support brackets.

“I don’t think this is going to hold on much longer.” There was no panic in his voice. He spoke like he was talking about the weather or the daily news.

Shit. Brannigan began to unspool the rappelling rope they used to enter the sewer.

“Brannigan!” Chaplin shouted.

“What?”

“Stop.”

Brannigan froze. “What did you say?”

“It’s not worth it.”

“My squad is worth it,” Brannigan replied, “every time.” He handed one end of the rope to Arnett. “Tie this to something stable.”

Arnett found a thick lead pipe and looped the cord around it, tying it in the tightest knot he knew. He posted up next to the pipe and gripped the rope tightly for extra support. Raymond took hold of the rope halfway between the pipe and the ledge.

“Brannigan, you still there?” Chaplin’s voice just barely sounded over the rushing water.

“Shut up, I’m trying to rescue you.”

“If you come down here and the bridge goes, you’re going to drop with me.”

“Cable’s tied to a pipe on the wall. I’ll be fine.”

“We both know that a sewage pipe can’t hold two grown men.”

“God damn it, Chaplin, I’m—”

“Here I’ll make it easy for you,” Chaplin said. The bridge clanged against the brick walls of the drainage pit and shuddered one last time. Brannigan’s blood ran cold. He felt his heart pounding away behind his eardrums. The rappelling cable spilled from his hands and into the slime infested water. He took one nervous step towards the ledge, then another, hoping that what he knew had happened hadn’t actually happened. His legs carried him to the ledge, but he couldn’t bring himself to look down. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gone,” Raymond said, “you don’t have to look.”

But Brannigan knew he had to, or he’d never forgive himself. He peered over the ledge into the abyss below and saw…nothing. No Chaplin, just the rushing waterfalls of sewage and darkness. “That’s four,” he said. “Four too many.”

Arnett stepped forward. “If you need a minute—”

“We have a mission,” Brannigan said, turning away from the pit. “One we have to complete. Leave the cable, we won’t need it.” He pretended not to notice the other men’s looks of concern as he walked into the tunnels. Mission now, mourn later.

Within an hour, they began to hear animalistic sounds echoing throughout the tunnels. Brannigan motioned for them to stay low and stay quiet. He crept forward, sticking to the shadows as much as possible.

The tunnel opened into a wide chamber with a high ceiling. Demons crawled over every open surface in the chamber. They padded across the slick stone floor, several clung to the ceiling, digging their talons into the brick surface.

Brannigan scanned the area from his hidden location. “I count five exits.”

“And I count hundreds of demons,” Arnett said.

“We knew that before we came.”

“It’s just a lot to take in in-person.”

Brannigan nodded. “Yeah.”

“How have they not smelled us?” Jet asked.

“Smell your sleeve,” Brannigan said, and smirked to himself as he heard the other man quietly retch at the scent coming off his own clothes. “We smell like shit. Just stay quiet and stay hidden.”

“What is the next step?” Raymond asked.

“We observe, and we wait for your girlfriend to tell us their mother won’t smash us to pieces so we can start our attack,” Brannigan said.

#

This was too many times in too many days that Greenwood had found herself in the air. On the plus side, her crash landing had stripped away the bigger portion of her panic. Surviving had made her brave. On the other hand, the portion that remained was a deep-seated dread. Her mind reeled about everything that could go wrong, and the consequences if it did. The thoughts competed in intensity only with the steady pulse of the helicopter blades overhead.

“We have full visual,” the pilot said, “the creature appears to be recovering.”

The rain had stopped, but water had gathered in the puddle after the explosion. Inkanyamba lay partially submerged in the brown liquid, taking deep, heaving breaths. Greenwood couldn’t hold her gasp as she took in the sight.

The damage from the bomb was stark against her murky scales. Angry red radiation burns pulsed and oozed across her entire body