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    Of Things Beneath
    Of Things Beneath
    Of Things Beneath
    Ebook63 pages56 minutes

    Of Things Beneath

    By Scott Stoecker

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    About this ebook

    Toronto has been decimated by the plague that has ravaged the rest of the world. During the day, the few survivors salvage what they can to survive in the dead city. At night, the things beneath emerge. This short story follows Jacob, one of the few remaining humans, as he attempts to avoid the monsters that lurk under the streets.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherScott Stoecker
    Release dateJan 4, 2014
    ISBN9781311489272
    Of Things Beneath

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      Book preview

      Of Things Beneath - Scott Stoecker

      Of Things Beneath

      Scott Stoecker

      Copyright 2014 by Scott Stoecker

      Smashwords Edition

      Table of Contents

      Part 1

      Part II

      Part III

      Part 1

      September 29th

      Reflected sunlight from the glass-covered, abandoned mall across the street awoke Jacob. Relief – he had survived the night.

      The barricaded corner office, last night’s home, overlooked Dundas and Yonge, formerly one of Toronto's busiest intersections. As he looked out at the city in the morning light, there were no cars, no people, no life. No screens illuminated Dundas Square, no lights beckoned shoppers into the stores.

      Jacob listened at the door. Nothing. He doubted they would find him in the daytime, but caution had kept him alive this long. He pulled the desk aside and, shotgun in hand, opened the door to reveal a deserted office, the cubicles quiet and empty, as they had been the previous evening.

      They usually slept until sundown, but sometimes, when dark clouds lurked over the city in the late afternoon, they rose early. He was lucky this time – he had spotted them before they had spotted him, and he had ducked into this building for the night.

      Shouldering his backpack, he crept across the debris-strewn floor, his finger hovering near the trigger as he descended the stairs. They ended at the back of a decimated technology store. His feet crunched on broken television screens and cell phones as he walked out into welcome sunlight of Yonge Street.

      As far as the eye could see, the signs of abandonment were clear: Trash-strewn streets, shattered windows, silence. He started north, keeping to the center of the street - it was safest to be away from darkened doorways. But the two-block trip to his Elm Street home was without incident.

      He checked his doors, and both were undisturbed. Once inside, he barred them and scanned his selection of canned foods. Today’s breakfast was ravioli. He should have eaten cereal - it would go bad long before the canned food did - but he was sick of dry cereal.

      He relaxed for much of the morning, enjoying the peace that daylight provided.

      Electricity he didn’t have, but time – that he had plenty of. He would have loved to spend another day sitting on the roof with a book and a beer, but his desire for fresh meat was more pressing. With a sigh, he gathered his rifle, ammunition, and granola bars (speaking of foods he was sick of) as he left.

      A short walk away, College Park was prime hunting ground. Five months ago, before the event, he thought about pigeon hunting not at all, let alone doing it a few blocks from home. It still sounded absurd. But life was different now.

      He was in luck – the park was full of birds this morning, strutting carefree through the overgrown grass. They scattered after his first shot, which struck true, and he killed another in flight. He paused a moment to examine a half-built condominium tower bordering the park. It would have had beautiful views of the park, he thought, and retrieved his meals.

      Jacob gutted the birds in a parking lot across the street. Back at home, he grilled them, eating one and saving the other for dinner. The basement was no refrigerator, but it would do for a few hours.

      He checked his watch - 2:30. Plenty of daylight remained, but he wanted to get his next task over with. He exchanged his rifle for a shotgun, added a propane torch to his backpack, and started off on a shopping trip.

      An unusual sound echoed through the nearly empty city. Common sense urged him to ignore it. Curiosity won. He guessed there were about fifty people living in Toronto – he hoped it was one of them.

      Shotgun in hand, he crept around the corner. Sitting at a gas station was a red Toyota pickup with two dozen red gas containers in back. A rubber tube lay beside the truck, a sure sign someone was siphoning gas.

      You huntin' rabbits or somethin’?

      The voice startled Jacob, who barely kept his finger from pulling the trigger. J.P. was leaning against a wall just inside the gas station's garage, watching Jacob as he moved closer to the pumps. He was smoking, which Jacob absurdly thought was unsafe. Humanity had been driven to near extinction, and smoking at a gas station was worrying him.

      J.P. grinned at Jacob's slight jump. You seem a bit jumpy, man. Bad day?

      Jacob shouldered his shotgun. Bad night.

      Yeah, been there. Many times.

      Jacob nodded towards the truck. Taking a road trip?

      J.P. laughed,

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