Chapter Thirty: The Clockwork Abyss

Joel stood on the ridge, the wind whipping through his hair as he gazed down at what was once Kitimat. The view before him was both haunting and mesmerizing: a patchwork of flooded streets where debris floated lazily on dark waters, skeletal remains of skyscrapers jutting from the depths like forgotten tombstones.

His thoughts drift back to the stories his grandfather and dad used to tell. They’d often sit on the back deck, up north, watching the summer lightning storms, sharing a bottle of beer—Joel, too young to join in, perched nearby as the tales flowed.

"Kitimat back in my day," his grandfather would start, voice steady but touched with nostalgia, "It was something else. You had the mountains standing like sentinels, the river running clear and wild, and that rain—Lord, the rain—kept everything alive." He’d pause, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he recalled the endless stretches of green and the way the mist rolled in from the valley, cloaking the town in a quiet kind of magic.

Joel’s dad would always chime in, less poetic but no less proud. "Yeah, but it wasn’t just a pretty postcard. It was a working town. You had Rio Tinto, one of the biggest smelters in the world, spitting out aluminum day and night. Kept food on a lot of tables, ours included. And then came the LNG boom." He’d gesture as if it were all still laid out before him, pipes and facilities gleaming under the overcast sky. "Brought people in droves. Money, jobs, new faces. Changed the place, for better or worse."

Joel could still hear the mix of awe and concern in their voices. His grandfather always mourned the slow encroachment of industry into the wilderness, while his dad, ever practical, had seen it as a necessary evolution. "Sure, the winters were wet, the summers were cool," his dad would say, shrugging, "but it’s BC for you. Was then, always will be."

Joel was glad that his grandfather hadn’t lived to see what the climate crisis had done to the province. A few more steps forward, he blinked and he was back in reality, what he was seeing snapping him back to the here and now.

Nestled amidst the destruction, is an enormous clock tower. Its steampunk design gleamed eerily in the overcast light, its gears and pipes belching occasional puffs of white steam into the chilly air. The tower stood out, impossibly pristine in contrast to the desolation around it. The rhythmic click-whir of its exposed machinery echoed faintly, carried up by the wind like a mechanical heartbeat.

Joel let out a shaky breath, his thoughts swirling with the faces of those he'd left behind.

“Darren... Craig...” he muttered under his breath. Their absence felt like fresh wounds. Survivors, sure, but at what cost? Every decision, every moment, seemed to carve deeper into his resolve.

He crouched down near the edge of the ridge, staring at the flooded expanse below. Somewhere out there was the company depo, the next step on his journey. He squinted, trying to pick out any sign of it amid the wreckage, but the water had swallowed much of what he once knew. Roads were submerged, and landmarks were obscured. Even the mountains on the horizon looked warped, their snow caps melting into the sea of clouds above.

Joel pulled his jacket tighter around himself and shook his head. “I can’t stop now. Not when I’m this close. Oliver and... they’re waiting for me.” His voice cracked, his daughter bringing both hope and anguish.

He fished the battered map out of his pack, smoothing it against his thigh. The old world’s geography was now a cruel joke, but the depo's location was burned into his memory. Northwest, near the edge of the industrial zone. If the clock tower was real and not some hallucination cooked up by exhaustion, it might serve as a marker to guide him.

Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes. His heart card pulsed faintly at his chest, an almost imperceptible warmth that reassured him, a subtle reminder of his growing power. But even that wasn’t enough to stifle the creeping doubt.

“How do I get through this?” he asked the silence. “How do I survive the monsters... the system... my own damn mind?”

The wind howled in response, carrying the faint smell of salt and oil. He thought of Craig's steely resolve, Darren's biting humour, and Kevin's nervous first-day jitters. All of them were carved into his memories like names on stone.

And then there was the system—the cruel game that had reshaped everything. The deeper he got, the less human it felt, as though it were bending reality into something unrecognizable.

The ridge gave him perspective but no answers. Only a sense of how small he was compared to the chaos below.

Joel stood, stuffing the map back into his pack. His breath fogged in the cool air as he took one last look at the ruined city, its sunken streets shimmering under the afternoon light. The depo had to be out there, beyond the clock tower.

He tightened his grip on the wrench strapped to his side. “One step at a time,” he muttered. “Just like always.”

Without another glance, Joel began his descent, the ridge crumbling slightly under his boots. Ahead lay the drowned ruins of Kitimat—and whatever horrors waited within.

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Joel thought, “The city was no place for a truck. Not anymore.” He would go to the depo, and check in there. Hopefully, find a better man, get some more supplies, come back, and loop around the outside of the city district.

He steered the vehicle off the gravel trail, the tires crunching over scattered rocks as he searched for a spot to stash it. The tree line just beyond the ridge offered decent cover—twisted evergreens and sprawling brambles. Joel eased the truck into a thicket, wincing as branches scraped against the sides like nails on a chalkboard. He killed the engine, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Climbing out, he moved quickly to conceal the vehicle. Branches and brush were pulled over the hood, the work more frantic than precise. A few steps back, and it looked like just another abandoned relic of this broken world. Good enough, he thought.

He double-checked his gear: wrench secured at his side, his heart card humming faintly in his chest, and a small pack of essentials slung over his shoulder. The depo was somewhere in the ruins, northwest if his memory held. Getting there by truck would have been suicide—every flooded street and collapsing structure screamed for subtlety.

"Stealth it is," he muttered under his breath. He tightened the straps of his pack and set off toward the city, his boots crunching against loose gravel before hitting the softer ground near the edge of the water.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

What had seemed hauntingly still from the ridge now felt alive with tension. The wind carried strange sounds—a low groan of metal warping under unseen strain, the occasional splash as something moved in the water, and the faint ticking of the clock tower in the distance, like the heartbeat of some lurking beast.

Joel crouched low, moving deliberately as he picked his way through the outskirts. Every shadow felt sharper, every sound louder. His pulse quickened when he spotted movement—a ripple across the water’s surface, too steady to be the wind. He froze, eyes darting across the canals and sunken buildings. Nothing. But the ripple was still spreading, its source unseen.

“Stay sharp,” he whispered, gripping the handle of his wrench.

The city loomed closer with every step, its ruined silhouette swallowing him in its shadow. He stuck to the edges, where the brush offered cover, ducking beneath collapsed beams and clambering over broken concrete. His goal was clear: find the depo and get out. But the unease coiling in his gut wouldn’t let him forget—this place wasn’t empty.

As he moved deeper into the wreckage, the sound of the clock tower grew louder, each tick cutting through the oppressive quiet. Joel glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the truck was well out of sight. No turning back now.

With a deep breath, he pressed on, the city waiting to reveal whatever horrors it held.

Little did he know, eyes were already on him.

From the shadowed remains of a second-story balcony overlooking the ruins, a group of lithe figures crouched low, their tall ears twitching at every movement Joel made. Their fur glimmered faintly under the dim, filtered light—a patchwork of browns, whites, and blacks—and their noses twitched, scenting the air. These were no ordinary rabbits. Humanoid in shape, their sleek forms carried the sharp edges of survivors, their ragged clothing adorned with scavenged bits of metal and leather.

The tallest among them, a broad-shouldered figure with dark, black fur around his eyes like a perpetual mask, leaned over the edge of the balcony. His voice was low, a whisper that carried with authority.

“Keep it quiet. Don’t let him see us yet.”

One of the others, a smaller rabbit with a mottled gray coat, adjusted the scope on an improvised rifle, her whiskers twitching. “He doesn’t look like much. Just another drifter trying to play soldier.”

The leader shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. He crossed into the boundary. Jeremy’s bound to notice.”

At the mention of the name, a ripple of unease passed through the group.

“Think he’ll make it?” another asked, his long ears flattening against his head.

The leader’s gaze didn’t waver from Joel, who was carefully navigating a narrow stretch of cracked pavement near the water’s edge. “Doubt it,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m curious to see how hard he fights before Jeremy gets him. Might be worth talking to if he survives.”

As if summoned by the name, the water nearby rippled unnaturally, spreading outward in slow, deliberate waves. Beneath the surface, something massive shifted, its movements sending faint vibrations through the ground.

Joel paused, his wrench gripped tightly in his hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he scanned his surroundings. The ripples grew closer, their source hidden beneath the murky water.

“What the hell…” Joel muttered, crouching low and bracing himself.

From their perch, the rabbit humanoids exchanged glances, their ears flicking in unison.

“Here we go,” the gray-coated one murmured, her rifle trained on the water near Joel.

“Stay sharp,” the rabbit leader ordered, his voice tight. “If Jeremy doesn’t finish him quick, we’ll need to make our move. We can’t let him get too close to the den.”

Joel stepped back as the ripples reached the edge of the submerged street, his eyes darting across the water. Then it hit—a massive form bursting forth with a spray of brackish liquid.

The gator was a nightmare-made flesh, its hulking frame nearly three the size of any normal alligator Joel had ever seen. Its scales glistened with an oily sheen, and its eyes burned with a strange, unnatural glow. Jagged metal plates jutted out along its back, and its massive tail whipped through the water with a force that sent shockwaves rippling outward.

Joel’s breath caught in his throat as the beast let out a guttural, bone-shaking roar.

“Well, shit,” he muttered under his breath, gripping his wrench tighter. “Guess we’re skipping introductions.” Joel’s heart card flared out, and his armour covered his body.

From above, the black-haired rabbit leaned forward, his sharp teeth glinting in a predatory grin. “Let’s see what you’ve got, stranger.”

Joel stood frozen for a moment as Jeremy, the man gator, emerged from the water, the massive gator’s tail slicing through the murky depths like a scythe.

The monster was a hulking nightmare dredged from the depths, a grotesque blend of gator and something far darker. His massive frame was covered in jagged, obsidian-black scales that shimmered with an oily iridescence, giving him the appearance of a beast forged in shadow. His elongated snout bore a mosaic of deep scars, each telling tales of battles won, while rows of serrated teeth jutted unevenly from his maw, their tips gleaming like rusted blades. Along his spine, chunks of jagged metal fused with his natural armour, forming a chaotic ridge of industrial ruin that clanked faintly with his every move.

His eyes burned with a molten orange glow, unnatural and hypnotic, like twin embers buried in a pit of tar. His legs, thick as tree trunks, churned the water as he moved, while his colossal tail, lined with protruding spikes, swayed menacingly, sending ripples across the surface with every twitch. Steam occasionally hissed from vents along his armoured back, a sharp reminder that Jeremy was more than a predator—he was a living weapon, a monstrous relic of a world gone wrong.

The gray-furred rabbit adjusted her rifle and smirked. “Five rations says the guy doesn’t last thirty seconds.”

A lanky buck with patched ears snorted, leaning against a rusted railing. “Thirty? You’re generous. I’ll give him ten. Look at him—he’s barely holding that wrench right.”

The broad-shouldered leader shook his head, amusement flashing in his dark eyes. “You two have no imagination. He’s made it this far, hasn’t he? I’m betting he at least survives the first hit. Ten rations say he dodges it.”

“You’re crazy,” the gray-furred rabbit shot back. “Jeremy hasn’t missed yet. New guy’s toast.”

A younger rabbit, his white fur streaked with dirt, chimed in, his ears twitching nervously. “What if... what if he actually beats Jeremy?”

The group fell silent for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

“Beats Jeremy?” the patched-eared buck wheezed, slapping his knee. “Kid, Jeremy’s chewed-up raiders twice his size. That thing’s a tank with teeth. This guy?” He jabbed a thumb at Joel. “He’s a snack.”

The leader chuckled but didn’t completely dismiss the idea. “You never know,” he mused, his gaze narrowing as Joel braced himself, the wrench gleaming faintly in the dim light. “He’s got a good card. I can feel it. Might surprise us.”

“Surprise us by screaming louder than the last guy Jeremy ate,” the gray-furred rabbit quipped. “I’ll up my bet—twenty rations he doesn’t even scratch Jeremy.”

The youngest rabbit fidgeted, glancing at the others before muttering, “I’ll bet... uh, three rations he gets at least one hit in. At least one.”

The patched-eared buck snickered. “Big spender, huh? Fine. I’ll take your three.”

The leader smiled faintly, his ears twitching as he focused on Joel. “Hold your bets, then. Let’s see what the stranger’s made of.”

Below, Jeremy lunged forward, jaws wide and snapping with lethal precision. Joel dove to the side just in time, sending a spray of water into the air.

The gray-furred rabbit groaned. “Oh, come on!”

The leader grinned. “Told you he’d dodge the first one.”

“Beginner’s luck,” the patched-eared buck muttered, already eyeing his pouch of rations warily.