CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
As I fall, obscenities in all the languages I speak repeat on a loop in my head.
Sploosh.
The gooey substance closes over my head, and I don’t feel anything resembling a floor under my feet. The sewer must be really deep. Don’t think about flesh-eating bacteria and the open wound in my neck. Or brain-eating amoebas. Or the people-eating monster that’s made these sewers a home. Or where the monster goes to the bathroom. Or—
Survival instinct wrenches my hands away from my face, and I begin to flail. My head emerges, and I suck in a breath. The stench is unbearable, as if someone had formulated the worst odor that could exist in nature. What the hell is this stuff?
I’d rather not know. That way lies insanity.
Everything around me is dark, but there’s a faint light in
