Alone in the Muck

By Anton Kukal and Jason Whitley

There are creatures lurking in our world. Obscure creatures long relegated to myth and legend. They have been sighted by a lucky-or unlucky-few, some have even been photographed, but their existence remains unproven and unrecognized by the scientific community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: NeoParadoxa
• Release date: Apr 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781949691504

Anton Kukal

Anton Kukal is an author, actor, and adventurer. After serving in the United States Army as an armor officer, he graduated from law school and enjoyed a highly successful legal practice, then he decided to embrace his creativity. Anton is now a full-time writer. His fiction appears in the award-winning Defending the Future anthology series. His website is antonkukal.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

Maxwell Dalton had spent the best years of his life in the sewers of Philadelphia. At fifty-nine, he was only a few years away from retirement. He’d worked for the Department of Water and Sewer since high school, starting at the bottom and working his way up to training supervisor. He knew these sewers, every pipe, every grate, every outflow, and shutoff valve. He knew where the blockages commonly occurred, and where the trash washed up.

How long ’til lunch? Scott asked.

Max stopped and turned to stare. Lunch is the same time every day.

Scott Ventnor shrugged. He was a big kid, who always talked about playing football for his high school team. Can you check the time?

Max didn’t reply. This kid was so lazy. No initiative. No drive. Whenever he gave Scott a job, the kid found a dozen reasons why he couldn’t do it. Max could fire him, but that wouldn’t help. Scott was just like almost every other kid that applied for a job at the Sewer Department these days. Truth was, most kids didn’t want to work at all. For them, this job was a temporary thing, a way to make quick cash and then bail out. Truthfully, most of them looked down on the job as if working in the sewer were beneath them.

It’s eleven forty-one, Darcy said looking up from her phone. Nineteen minutes till lunch.

Darcy Danvers was Max’s other problem. She wasn’t lazy, not like Scott. She was actually one of the few kids who genuinely seemed willing to learn, and that was the problem. She always had questions. She never shut up. When he gave her a job, he had to explain every last detail before she would start.

Darcy’s phone rang. She answered, whispering. Is everything okay? I’m working right now. I know you forgot. Don’t worry. I’ll call you back on lunch.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket.

That was the third call today, he said.

She gave him an apologetic smile. Sorry.

You can’t take calls.

I know, she said.

Max hated when these kids made him be the bad guy. Please tell your friends not to call while you’re working. This is your last warning.

I’ll work on it, she said, sudden tears in her eyes.

Max opened his mouth to apologize but closed it again. He couldn’t be easy on these kids. They needed to follow the policies.

Can we eat early? Scott asked, interrupting. I’m hungry.

There’s no place to sit here.

Let’s head back to base, Scott said. It’s disgusting to eat in the sewers, anyway.

Policy requires work teams to eat on site. Max explained. We’d waste too much time walking back and forth.

Come on, Scott pleaded. We’re not doing real work. It’s just training. Let’s head back to the air conditioning.

We have a bunch of things to go over, Max explained. I only have you for two weeks. I don’t want you to flounder. I want you to look sharp, to know what you’re doing. There’s room for advancement in the Sewer Department. This is a good career. More stable than many jobs these days.

Scott laughed, derisively. Like I plan to make a career out of crawling through the sewers. I’m just here to make some quick money. This pays more than a retail job.

Max sighed. These kids were lured in by the paycheck and driven out by the hard work. Just about the time he got one of them trained to do a passable job, they quit, and he had to start the process over again. It was almost like clockwork.

What about you? Max asked Darcy. This a career path?

No. I’m here for the summer, she replied. I’m going to medical school in the fall.

Max wanted to ask her if she’d put that on her resume. He didn’t bother. Even if she had, the dimwits in personnel would have probably hired her anyway. The kids they saddled him with these days were just unbelievable.

So you’re going to med school? Scott asked.

Yeppers. I studied biology.

This new information made sense to Max. Darcy was always talking about the sewer ecosystem, whatever the hell that was. She often spent lunch photographing bugs and rat droppings with her phone. She was one silly kid.

Scott nodded knowingly. I thought about going to med school.

The way she smiled almost made Max laugh. Scott was not that bright. What did you study in college?

I’m working on the college thing, a couple of courses at community.

That’s cool, she said, nonjudgmentally.

Scott must have taken that for encouragement.

You must be smart. He flashed her a wide grin. I’m always attracted to smart girls.

So am I, Darcy replied, shutting him down.

Darcy wore a lip ring, and the right side of her head was shaved. Tattoos peeked out from underneath her jumpsuit at her wrists and her neck.

Scott was a big guy, the former high school football player-type who still thought he was the star of the field.

Alright, time for some instruction. Max got their attention. We’re in one of the oldest sections of the sewer. I like to bring trainees here because it demonstrates how long good solid construction can last if it’s properly maintained.

Neither one of them looked very interested.

The sewer inspector’s main task in a tunnel like this is to look for and record cracks in the brickwork. We log the location of every crack, carefully measuring the size so that later inspectors can compare the results. When cracks become too large, repair teams are dispatched.

Is there any chance of a methane pocket? Scott asked.

We discussed methane in yesterday’s classroom period. Max knew Scott had fallen asleep halfway through.

Yeah, sure. The methane’s got me worried though.

We explained how to check for methane.

I must have missed it. A mind can only absorb so many facts at a time.

Max sighed. Well, I’ll go over it again. The best way to check for methane gas is to use a lighter. Did you bring one? Max asked.

No, Scott said.

What about you? Max asked Darcy. She had put headphones in at the start of yesterday’s briefing and watched Netflix through the presentation.

Sorry dude. I don’t smoke. I don’t carry a lighter. Besides the video said we use a meter like that. She pointed to the one clipped to the chest strap of his backpack, and then added, By the way methane is a highly explosive gas.

Scott looked confused. Then why use a lighter?

Darcy rolled her eyes. He’s messin’ with ya.

Scott laughed. Good one. I use a lighter and blow up. Funny.

I wouldn’t have let you blow up, Max said. You both need to pay attention in the briefings. They go over important stuff.

It’s all flood schedules and safety warnings, Scott complained. Same stuff every week.

And if you’re in a tunnel on the flood schedule what happens? Max asked.

Scott grunted.

It’s not a trick question, Max pressed.

You drown, dummy, Darcy said, punching him good-naturedly in the arm.

I knew that, Scott replied, but then I thought I was missing something.

Max held up the methane sensor. So for Scott’s benefit, I’ll repeat what was discussed yesterday. This is a methane meter. If you experience dizziness, nauseous, headache, or drowsiness tell me immediately because you could be exposed.

Got it, Scott said.

Why are you smiling, Max asked, Darcy. You need to pay attention too.

I listened, Darcy said.

You watched TV on your phone.

I can multi-task, Darcy said.

Max led them through the tunnels. The beams of their headlamps danced over the brickwork.

Darcy’s phone rang again. She moved away so Max couldn’t hear. When she returned, Darcy’s eyes were teary.

Don’t yell at me, she said. My friends aren’t calling. It was my mom, again. She has Alzheimer’s and can’t remember that I’m working.

Max’s mouth hung open, but he really didn’t know what to say. He’d spoken to Darcy at least a dozen times about getting phone calls. He might have been a little rude. Now he felt bad. The poor kid.

How old are these tunnels? Scott asked.

Max blinked at him. Darcy moved away.

Why’s Darcy crying? Scott asked.

Concerned for Darcy, but not knowing what to do, Max replied to Scott. These tunnels were built in the 1920s.

Scott whistled. "That’s old. Hey,