It Novel Sewer Scene Novels & Stories

Then the sea comes in. The first breach is small. A wound before a flood. A seam in the lower wall splits, and black water jets into the mother chamber under pressure. It hits the hot stack casing and bursts into steam that smells of salt, ozone, silver, and old metal. The smell goes straight into my teeth. The field in the room changes. Looser. Wetter. Hungry. The child turns toward it. Sarah sees my face. “No.” “I didn’t do anything.” “You thought about it.”

Aria The stench of stagnant water and rust filled my lungs as Zero and I stumbled out of the sewer drainage pipe, collapsing into the muddy grass of the canal bank. The iron foundry was miles behind us now, but the echo of the gunfire still reverberated in my ears. And so did the sight of that obsidian mask.

We crept through a broken bar leading into the sewers, ducking through a warped door and into the tunnels. “Why isn’t this more closely monitored? Anyone could come in here.” I frowned, my heart pounding in my ears. “Less people know about these tunnels than you think,” Alaric replied, flipping on the little electric lamp he’d brought with him. Darkness engulfed us as he bent the door back into place, our only light now coming from the weak little lamp. “This is awful,” I mumbled, the smell smacking me right in the nostrils, invading them so intensely that my eyes watered.

“The old storm drains. They run from the wine cellar to the river, past the old village.” “The village,” Elena echoed. Where the clinic burned. Where it all began. The hatch opened to a narrow, wet pipe smelling of rust and decay. They crawled into the absolute dark. The earth pressed in on all sides. It was a birth canal of stone and mud, a final, grueling push out of the nightmare. They crawled for what felt like hours, guided only by the faint, cold draft of outside air. When they finally pushed out, they were in a ditch, a mile from the smoking crater. The night air was shockingly clean and cold. In the distance, the city glowed, oblivious.

The sewer entrance was located two kilometers east of the manor, hidden in a patch of pine forest that had been burned black. The cast-iron manhole cover was badly rusted. Dark green moss crept along its edges. Rex jammed his sword tip into the seam and wrenched it open. The cover flipped and crashed onto the ground with a dull, ringing clang. A cold, damp rot billowed from the wellhead. A mixture of rust, stagnant water, and a deeper decay.

I begin to wish I had chosen travel companions who were better communicators. Tidiane shimmers and re-emerges as Mrs Choudry. It's disconscerting to see her fling her long black braid over her shoulder and raise a finger at me as she says, "Sewer Trolls." I actually feel myself turn green. Of course I should have expected this. A city with so many living beings, especially magical ones, is going to be a land of milk and honey to a sewer troll. Or a land of ... ugh ... I can't bring myself to think of what flows in the sewers beneath the city. The viaduct tunnels run underground. Luka was imprisoned there and somehow escaped. The tunnels lead to the sewers.

I forced my body through the narrow opening behind the bins. The rough stone scraped across my bare back as I carried Elina deeper into the charcoal flue. The air was thick with old soot. The ceiling dropped so low that I had to bend until my head nearly touched my knees. Then I caught it. The scent of wild clover. It was stronger now, cutting through the smell of wet soot and animal fat. Behind us, the portcullis let out another long, painful groan. The main kitchen drains burst apart.

I crouched down and pressed my hand flat against the ground. The first winter after the end of the world was the coldest one I could remember. Later, Elliot told me that Rhett had sat at that same intersection all night. They found him there the next morning, frozen, his arms curved in the shape of someone carrying a child. I laughed at that, a short, humorless sound, and said nothing. When I looked up at Elliot, the snow was coming down harder. It covered everything quickly, blanketing the ground in white, burying the past the way snow always does.

I couldn't remember the last time I actually slept. My nights were full of insomnia and vivid dreams, and getting any rest seemed impossible. I leaned back in the recliner with my eyes closed, and before I knew it, I was back in that dark cellar. Those filthy, degrading insults flooded my ears. "Ms. Johnson? Ms. Johnson?" My eyes flew open, and there was Julian's face. He looked calm and collected, though there was a crease forming between his brows.

The dark hall bathed in a dusty crimson glow, the low-ceilinged space like some ancient, forgotten tomb. She wasn’t alone. Something bumped against her calf. Too tired and too confused, she didn’t look. Not until four fat fingers wrapped around her ankle. Below her, it crawled. A torso with a large head squatting awkwardly on slender shoulders, one arm reaching forward, the thick fist on her ankle, pulling forward, pulling near. The large mouth opening, the sharp stench of something spoiled and infected and threatening to burst rising from the nubs of yellow teeth.