Rats

He took a final drag from his still burning cigarette before flicking it off onto the street. The smoke he exhaled came through his two nostrils and the opening on the right side of the bridge of his nose. There were more scars all over his face as if he had been sown together. He coughed a deep, mucous-filled cough. He gripped the sides of his body, right where his lung would be. There was a high possibility there was a new scar or bruise underneath his tattered denim shirt outside of the lung, or it could be the lung itself. He spat a blob of green onto the sidewalk. There were a few specks of red mixed within the emerald saliva. He grimaced at the sight as if it annoyed him, reminding him of his weakness. I wished he would have gotten help.

"It started with the rats," his words burned out of his throat like old wood in a fire. "Most folks who live in the big city tend to live clean lives; have good hygiene. No one really knew where the sickness came from in the beginning. Most still don't. They think it was just some natural calamity, but it was more complicated. Always is."

My dad took out his crumpled Marlborough pack from his shirt pocket. There were two sticks left, one turned over with the tobacco facing upwards. He slipped the face-down one out and put the butt between his lips. He padded his pockets for a moment in search of his light. It was sitting beside him on the stone step. He grabbed it and sparked the flint

"Once they figured it was coming from the sewers, most of us were called upon to get rid of 'em," he spoke with the cigarette still in his mouth. Wisps of smoke were escaping with each word uttered.

"It was good money too, exterminatin'. We knew what we needed to do. We had done it for so long, but now it was so easy. There were so many, we had to watch our steps. You plant down on a live one, and it scurries, you could find yourself on your ass surrounded by a whole lot." He scoffed at this last line. It made me think he had been there one too many times. He smiled and shook his head like it was a bad joke. He seemed to be relishing these memories of his past life.

"God, you find yourself flat on your ass in the middle of a swarm, with the ACID underneath – shoo," He exclaimed. He took a long drag off the cigarette and exhaled through his mouth. Some escaped through the hole in his nose. He leaned back on the stoop and looked up at the sky.

It wasn't a terribly nice day that day. There were clouds hanging over us as we sat before our house on East 92nd St in the upper east of Manhattan. Due to the need for liquifiers in the last ten years, my father's wealth increased exponentially. He was an exterminator by trade in the early 2030s, handling any sort of vermin that needed to be eradicated. In New York City, it usually meant rats.

Before the outbreak, there were about 2 million rats living in the underworld of Manhattan. Most transplants saw them as spectacles, never really knowing how there could be so many all over the subways and sidewalks. But for us locals, those born in the five boroughs, they were neighbors. There was nothing to them that made them special, much like the pigeons. We didn't care about them, had no need. That was until the sickness.

It was during the summer of 2027, after the almost decade-long lockdowns and re-openings caused by COVID, that New Yorkers started to see a peculiar sight. Pigeons were lying dead on the sidewalks; blood and pus foaming out of their eyes and beaks. It was disturbing, but so were other sights in the Big Apple. People would just step over the carcasses and went on their way. There were questions as to what was causing these deaths, and if it was contagious. Our leaders looked into the problem and believed that it was a strain of some sort of flu, limited only to birds. Satisfied, everyone moved on. But, that was the beginning.

Soon, people were dropping dead in the streets. Their eyes were dissolving, and blood was foaming out of all their orifices. And I mean all. It was downright revolting. Panic was beginning to ensue. Neighbor against neighbor. Families locked away within their apartments once again. We didn't know what to do.

Most people didn't trust what any major media outlet, scientist, or politician had to say. They had been lied to before, and they were not going to be lied to again, not when the stakes were much higher. There was a concerted effort to educate the public, but the people refused the advice. This time the officials and specialists were right. The science was concrete.

Production of the pharmaceutical industry started at full speed. There were a few pills and treatments produced, in record time, that stopped the actual virus from liquifying the insides of humans. New York was quarantined. Every potential entrance and exit was boarded up. The spread outside was stopped, but it caused mayhem inside. It was lawless. Roving gangs were taking over different districts. Murder was a regular occurrence in broad daylight. God had vacated the island. Order was restored through sheer force. Police were given, somehow, military riot gear to calm down the people. Chores and jobs were given to those who could work, no matter what age, but one task needed to be taken underway: extermination. The source of this disease needed to be culled, and fast.

At first, just regular exterminators were hired en masse to take out the scourge. They were assigned to the birds since the rats with wings seemed to be the most contagious. They would use their old tactics, baits, and poisons, but they didn't work. There were not making a dent, and the deaths of citizens were rising. Soon, they noticed that the rats were exhibiting the same symptoms, but they were still alive. Efforts turned towards the sewers and were met with similar results. It had to be the rats spreading the disease, but why weren't they dying? Public attention turned to the scientists to help make heads and tails of the situation.

The powers that be found that it was cheaper to research ways to destroy the rats rather than figure out the cause of the disease. It had been a full year since the first New Yorker died of the sickness; they needed a quick fix.

It was ironic, the way they decided was the best for exterminating. The reason I say this is because the disease was turning our insides into liquid, and the fix, turned anything it touched into liquid. It was not by design, although some believe that it was. What most of the brightest minds of New York could come up with was an agent. I've forgotten its scientific name, but that doesn't matter. Everyone calls it ACID.

This stuff is potent. A single whiff would have blood running from your nose. You wouldn't even think about getting it anywhere near your skin. The smallest drop would start eating away and slowly spread out over the entire area until the being was a puddle. I don't have a word to describe the sheer power one could hold if using the ACID right. It was that good.

The exterminator's work had never been easier. An ounce sprayed onto a single rat would disintegrate it into a steaming, puddle of goo in a few seconds. It worked so easily that many of the exterminators got lazy and would spray all around covering everything before them. The job was done; the issue was that ACID was just as rampant as the disease. Normal people were succumbing to the effects of ACID as their exterior and interior parts were being disintegrated. It would seep into the concrete turning it into a spongy platform that would secrete the liquid with each step. People now had two reasons to fear going outside. There were calls to ban ACID, but many still believed it to be our savior in this fight. There were arguments and debates, but ultimately ACID was too good.

Precautionary measures were made for the normal citizen. Masks, protective gear, and other accessories were produced from all over the country. First for practical measures, but soon, after the constant use of these items, fashion and other cultural insecurities took over the design and production of the gear. Soon, all were protected, and the liquifiers, were now able to perform their duties, but the maladies did not stop.

Rats were evaporating by the hundreds, and so were the exterminators. They were dealing with such a high volume of ACID that their protective gear needed to be replaced after a single cleaning session. Most of the liquifiers were of the rugged, masculine type that felt they could handle any sort of sickness thrown their way. They didn't need the protective gear; it was there just in case. This ignorance and stubbornness lead to many deaths. Many were not reporting back from jobs, only to have their clothes covered in their liquid. Soon the profession became one of natural selection.

It was found that some people had a natural immunity to ACID, which scientists found to be a rare mutation within their blood cells. It was prevalent in O positive types mostly, but there were outliers. So, those who had the exemption were asked but really begged, to continue the process and eradicate the rats. Many joined up since the pay was a seven-figure sum, but many had their apprehensions due to the dangers, which brings me to my father.

Marvin was an exterminator of rats before the disease and the ACID. He did well enough to take care of us, but the trade of an exterminator wasn't as luxurious as it is now. Yet, he was proud of what he did; he believed in respect for one's duty. My mother had a job of her own that helped pay for things once the bills had been handled. There were fights and arguments throughout my childhood about money, but ultimately, he was never going to give up that life, and thank god he didn't.

My father was eager to wipe out the rat infestation of Manhattan. He saw the opportunities of greater pride and honor to be earned now than ever before. He toiled endlessly, working himself into an unbridled frustration as he tried to rid the sewers all by himself. Until ACID, he made no progress. It was driving him mad. When he tested positive for the blood mutation to continue, it was the biggest weight taken off his shoulders. They complemented one another. It couldn't have been more perfect for him.

As one of the few who could withstand the chemical, my father was granted the luxury only the top tier of liquifiers could earn. His paycheck increased exponentially allowing my mother to stay home and tend to me. He moved us to the Upper Eastside of Manhattan, in one of those brick townhouses that had been around since Theodore Roosevelt's time. My father bought his dream car: a jacked-up FORD 150 King Ranch edition. My mother was allowed a credit card with no limit, and I was given the most freedom that anyone could afford at this time. We were the elite class of the time. We had ascended the cultural ladder overnight. However, this luxury and prestige did not translate to my father's appearance.

I mentioned his looks briefly before, but my father is not what you consider handsome. His hair is cut in a quick and cheap way. His stomach sticks over his belt every time he sits. He's got one leg shorter than the other. His spine is bent in a few different directions making it even more difficult for him to get around. In addition to the hole in his nose, and scars on his face, my father has a plethora of other battle scars. He's missing half of two fingers on his left hand, and his pinky on his right. The tip of his left ear has been nibbled off and he wears a glass eye. This all occurred after the outbreak. For many, the average joe would be turned off by the deformities, but for my father, it only added to his charm. My mother used to say he looked incomplete without all his wounds. Now, he was easily distinguished as a liquifier. He desired to be nothing else.

My father sucked in a breath, kicking up more phlegm from the bottom of his lungs. The current illness he displayed came from some unknown source. It wasn't the rats, it wasn't the ACID, it wasn't anything tangible. The sickness had appeared like it was an alarm signaling his time was at its end. It didn't bother him like it did my mother, or like it did to me. He accepted that times were changing. That's all it was. He took a few more inhales, forcing that last little bit of mucous to shoot up through his esophagus. He spat it out, looked at me, and smiled.

"What's going on?" I asked him. His smiles of pure joy were a rarity.

"I'm trying to remember what it felt like to be in your shoes now," he said in a relaxed voice. "The fear and excitement that was tingling through my body made me recognize that something great was on the horizon. You feel it too, right?"

I nodded. I was lying. My father had served his time as a liquifier. Being his kin, the weight of continuing this practice fell on me. I had the same genes, as well as the recessive trait in my blood. I was destined to be like him.

My father cheered when the news came in that I was a certified liquifier. My mother remained silent. I felt nothing. I didn't know what my purpose had been up to that point. School had never been a top interest, but I wasn't stupid either. I didn't have the anger or aggression, or whatever you want to call it, to be an exterminator. Compared to all my peers, and my family, I was gentle. I had never squashed a bug, but now came the time to do much worse.

With a groan, my father pushed himself off the stoop. He found his footing. The green spot with red flecks was turning brown. The cigarette no longer burned.

"Let's get you fitted," he said looking down at me. "I had the gear ordered in yesterday." He waddled up the stone steps with great excitement. I still sat on the last one. I looked up at the sky once more. This was the last day of peace I was going to have, I thought. I sighed. I couldn't fight what fate had been ordained for me. As much as I felt out of place with this purpose, it was now time for action. I took a deep breath and followed my father inside.

We walked through the wooden foyer against the polished brass rail leading up to the second floor. The corridor was tight. I had to follow my father in single file. He stopped before we reached the rear of our house and opened a door underneath the staircase. This led down to the basement where his office, and now mine, was located. The entrance was completely dark. He reached his hand in without a thought, his movement memorized, and flicked on the lights. I stood outside the door a moment before following his descent. I looked up to see my mother at the top of the stairs looking down. A worried glance of premonition was covering her face. It's the kind of recognition that only mothers seem to possess. At the time, I didn't know that this look was full of awareness of what lay in store. I nodded with a smirk to let her know I was alright, but her glance did not change.

The stairs into the basement are steep and uneven. It was easy for my father to descend with an unbalanced gait, but I always found the descent an unnecessary struggle. I had to twist myself in different ways to maintain an even stride down.

The bottom opened up into a spacious work environment. The ceilings were higher than I expected. The bottom of the house's foundation was covered in yellow-green work lights. A wooden desk, stained with old age, held all my father's work materials from paper records of past employment to a few contraptions he had made to help in his killing. There was a gun of sorts, like a super-soaker from when I was a child, laid out across the top. The rest of the walls were bare except for the closet that was embedded within the concrete. It had metal grate doors, but it was too dark to see what lay inside. The floor was stained from a few rats my father had liquified. He would check every week to see if any new openings had appeared for the rats to get in, or that's what he told me. This was the first time I had ever been down in this room. He never allowed me to enter, fearing that I may injure myself - or worse. There was a strange sense of comfort I was beginning to feel from this decrepit space.

My father moved to the desk and dropped to one knee. He grabbed the handle of a metal case and dragged it out. It screeched a terrible sound made only from metal and rock scraping together. With a heave, he lifted it up and slammed it down on the desk beside the super-soaker. He popped the two locks on each side that made satisfying clicks as they unlatched. He lifted the top, and with a smile of pride, he stepped aside.

"It's all yours," he said as I slowly made my way to see what lay before me.

The light hit the work trousers with a muddied beam. They weren't shiny, nor did they have any features of something brand new. When I felt them, they were like rubber, but slicker as if they were meant for sliding. They were liquifier pants of the highest price. They were brand new. I pulled them out and looked at them in the light. They didn't seem like much.

"Try them on. If they're a little tight, that's good."

I looked around the room. There was no place for my privacy. My father sucked through his teeth.

"What are ya' a fag? It's just us. Throw 'em on."

I sighed. I moved away and traded in my current pants for those of my new profession. They didn't have that slick, slimy feel of the exterior. They were quite comfortable inside. The legs tapered around my ankles tight letting no air come through. My bottom half was already starting to become quite warm.

I turned around still getting a feel for the new clothing. They were tight, but they moved with my body. They were kind of comfortable. I faced my father. He was holding up the jacket I was to wear.

"Now this."

He threw the jacket at me. I caught with both hands. It was the same material as the pants. I threw it on. Much like the pants, it was tight as well but fit my physique perfectly. All the edges were tapered on my body so nothing could come in or out. My body's temperature was rising steadily. The heat was bouncing off the inside of the jacket back against my pores. It was a little overwhelming. I did not think I was going to last long in the sewers.

The remaining articles inside the metal chest were a pair of gloves, a mask, and boots. They were made from the same material as the jacket and pants. Everything was tight fitting, yet it was easy to move. The only issue I found was the heat that seemed trapped underneath.

"How's it all fit?"

"Fine. I'm a little hot."

"You'll get used to it."

My father hobbled over to the metal grate closet. He pulled them open and the lights flickered on, shining their green haze onto the display. There were different instruments to dispense and hold ACID. The containers lined the bottom shelf while the sprayers hung on the wall, like guns in an armory. Each one looked the same, yet with a simple deviation that made it stand out from the others like a curve of the handle, or if there were 3 finger grooves instead of 4.

He stepped aside asking me to choose my weapon. I felt too ignorant to appreciate the display. None of them stood apart from the other in my eyes. I looked around hoping one of the sprayers would call out to me, but none did. I picked one at random off the wall. My father shot a quick breath out of his nose, surprised.

"Same one I used on my first day. Grab a container. I'll meet you outside."

My father moved to the stairs and hobbled his way up. I looked around at the different containers underneath the wall of handles. I grabbed the container in front of me. It looked relatively new, so I didn't have to worry about it disintegrating while I was down there. Supposedly, this was a common occurrence for many liquifiers, although they were of the unprepared type. I slipped the container out from its cubby, surprised to see that it was empty. I thought my father had kept ACID down here, but I was mistaken. I shut the doors of the metal cage and the lights faded. I headed towards the stairs, finding myself in a state of confusion. Was it really time for my first cleanse? Was it already here? I couldn't believe this moment was real.

I emerged from the basement and shut the lights. I looked up at the top of the stairs, but my mother had left her post. Both of my parents had disappeared. They were outside waiting for me. I took a few moments to take in my home. The creaks and groans the old brownstone made felt as if the entire weight of this place was slowly falling on top of me. It was my time now to earn our keep. It was my duty to maintain this place for my family, and the one I may have in the future. I took a deep breath and straightened myself up.

My father stood in front of his truck, the beheamoth of a vehicle towered over him, with my mother beside him. His body was loose and relaxed, his arm drapped around her hip. My mother gripped herself around the stomach, holding onto my father's hand. My appearance at the threshold of the door had caused their conversation to end. I didn't hear a word as I made my way down the stoop. They watched me with wide eyes as if I was accepting a diploma. My mother had he gaze of knowing, as if the end was upon us. My father couldn't have been more proud. As I stood before them on solid ground, my father tossed the keys of his truck at me. I dropped my container to catch them.

"She's yours now. The assignment's on the dash. ACID's in the trunk. Any questions?"

"What's it look like down there?" Fear tied my stomach in a knot. I was frozen. I could see my mother look at my father wondering the same exact thing.

He chuckled.

"Nothing you've ever seen."

Those words sent only tighten the knot, but my limbs were free to move. I wished he hadn't been so cryptic, but he wouldn't have been himself. I stood tall not letting my emotions get the best of me. I picked up the container and made my way to the driver's side door. As I was half way across the hood, I felt someone grab onto my arm.

"Don't do it!" My mother's plea shot out like a shotgun. She gripped my forearm tight with both of her hands.

"Please! We can figure something else out. We don't need this. Don't go!"

"Mom-"

She looked at my father.

"He doesn't need to do it! It's not for him. This isn't his line of work!"

My father sighed and shook his head.

"He must."

There was nothing more to say. My mother began to cry. My father pulled her hands off of me. She leaned onto him as he did his best to console her. I moved to the driver's side, doing my best to block out the noise of her sorrow.

"He's gotta' do it. Everyone's relying on him."

I knew my father wasn't just him mentioning our little unit. Everyone was the city. I was one of the few tasked with upholding the lives of all New York.

I stopped before opening the door. I looked at my mother.

"I'll be home soon. I promise."

She began to cry louder. I stood up straight. My father nodded at me as if recognizing the attempt to console her. We looked into each other's eyes.

"We'll see you when you get back."

I nodded and opened the car door. I placed my chosen weapons on the passenger seat beside me and climbed in. I turned the key in the ignition and engine roared to life. I pulled out into the street. In the rearview, I saw my parents fade away over the tanks of ACID sloshing back and forth in their transparent containers. My mind drifted away from the task and onto another topic: Could I be as strong as him? Guess I'd find out soon enough.

••••

In my assignment papers, I was told to head over to the westside, 54th and 9th ave, to be exact. A lot of the restaurants in the area had seen a large number of rats crawling in their kitchen and on the sidewalks in front. Usually, infestations weren't so much cause for concern, but something about the amount of these vermin popping up had the Dept. of Health and Safety concerned. The task fell on me, it seemed my father had talked me up to my new bosses, to handle the issue. I was supposed to clear out the sewers from West 54th Street all the way down to 31st. I was told I might have some backup if I took long enough. Other liquifiers had been tasked with the same job. Clearly, the government wanted this issue to be taken care of fast.

I pulled the King Ranch into a spot demarked for DHS officials only. The sign was the nicest of all the others. I noticed that my car was in the best shape of all the others, and the only one that could still drive. Since New York had to quarantine itself from everywhere else, there had been a lack of automobile parts being imported into the city. Most cars were banged up, lopsided, and wheelless. Some were just left dead in the middle of streets. The west side hadn't always been the nicest area to live in the city, but it had truly fallen from the graces when the walls came up and the bridges fell down.

The ACID was waiting in the truck bed, still sloshing from the ride. There were pumps on the of the containers meant to fill up my container with ease. I was still careful. I didn't need to lose a finger or anything else on my first day of the job. I did get a whiff of ACID for the first time which was a major shock to my sense: it smelled sweet. I had never heard anyone say that it smelled as nice as it did. I took a few more deep breaths of the serene scent but immediately covered my nose. What was I doing? I pulled my hand away to see if there was any blood. There wasn't. I truly was one of the lucky few, but I wasn't going to get carried away like that again.

I finished filling up my container and screwed on my nozzle. I finished putting on the last of my protective gear. Before I slid my mask over my face, I caught a final glimpse of the sun falling below the horizon. I was in the middle of 54th and 9th Ave. There were no cars around me, no pedestrians, and no rats. The air was still. It felt how the City used to at night when I was younger. It was peaceful and undisturbed. I felt like I was the only one left alive in this godforsaken place. I watched the light of day disappear below the street in distance. My first day of adulthood had ended. The black weight of night laid above me as I pried open a manhole cover and descended.

••••

I don't think any of you reading truly understands how awful the smell of the sewer system is in New York City. You've probably seen someone on TV drop down without a grimace, barely evening moving a hand to cover their nose. Occasionally, there will be a quip or some "smart-alike" comment about the stench, but it will be done in such a PG manner that there would be no way to understand how abbrasive the aroma is of such a place.

Over 12 million New Yorkers' shit and piss flows down there. Not to mention the waste from the rats, and whatever else may be down there. It's offensive, to say the least. That first waft I was granted, as my head ducked below the street, almost had me quitting. Vomit wanted to spew form my belly, but I kept it down. The deeper I went, the warmer it felt. When I landed on the shoulder, the warmth that hung in the air made my suit tighten around my skin. It made breathing difficult. The worst part was when I finally stood above the slowly lurching stream of waste. I did my best to breathe through my mouth, but the stench was finding its way into my nose. I wanted to start moving, but I had gotten turned around. I had forgotten which way was south. I had needed to get my bearings before I moved any further. I could've easily lost my way. I could've been trapped down there with those – things.

I took a few deep breathes to steel my nerves and my stomach. I felt claustrophobic in the tight suit. I pulled at the rubber, but I could barely get a grip. I could only hear the muffled breathing of my anxious breath as it forced its way out of my mask.

"Get it together," I kept telling myself. I would not fail on my first task. I could not. My mind needed to calm itself so I could function properly. It was that damn smell that had me wanting to retreat to the world up top. It was almost painful to inhale the thick air as my lungs strained to pull in as many stained aerosols as possible. But once my head was back on my shoulders, connected with my body, I felt the ease with each breath. I was ready.

"The first thing you gotta' do when you drop onto the shoulder is get the sprayer connected," My father's first words of advice came back into my mind. "A lot of guys get overwhelmed by the stench and that causes them to fuck up. You DON'T wanna' fuck up down there. That sprayer is your lifeline."

I pulled the plastic handle from my jacket. It looked like the head of a garden hose, like the ones used to spray down sidewalks outside of buildings. That was when it mattered what the exteriors looked like before the sickness.

The tank that held the ACID has a long rubber hose snaking around on the slimy shoulder. I lifted the limp coil and made the connection. I squeezed the handle a few times and the first drop of ACID flew out onto the sewer stream. They landed on the shit instantly sizzling the excrement. Little wisps of steam rose to the top of the tunnel.

I watched in amazement and fear, paralyzed by the knowledge of the destructive might of the ACID. I knew it was powerful, but I had never seen it in action. It was scary.

I turned toward the direction of my task. I clicked on my headlamp. There's some light down there, but not enough to see fully. The headlamp was included in my father's equipment package.

I reached down and lifted the tank with a sigh. I didn't realize it before, but the tank weighed about 15 pounds or so. There were no straps, only a handle that was part of its body. It was going to take a little longer than I had anticipated, carrying that thing a mile or so, but no matter. I aimed the nozzle and began to spray.

I was told to cover every inch of the concrete down there. That didn't mean to use the whole amount of ACID I had brought with me. A drop would spread as long as there was some sort of carbon-based life form, so there was no need to go overboard. There was enough grime covering the shoulders that 2 sprays every few steps would suffice. The difficult thing was keeping the steam from fogging up my mask. I couldn't see a thing each time a few drops landed on a piece of crap. I had to wipe the condensation away every few seconds. I squeezed the handle too hard and sprayed out more than I expected. I was engulfed in the mist. I stopped to let my vision come back to me naturally. I looked back to see I had sprayed down about 100 feet of concrete, but I did not imagine what the end result would look like.

The black, green, and brown grime was now an ash white. The surfaces were soaked if that makes sense. The ACID seemed to seep deep down into the tiny pores of the concrete, loosening the rigid structure. I stepped onto it just to see what it felt like. My foot began to sink into the surface as if I was stepping on hot rubber. I pulled away fast fearing that my boot might get stuck and potentially lose a foot, or my life. I had never heard of this side-effect of the ACID. No one said that it could warp stone. But then again, there hadn't been a long trial period for this stuff. We were only just beginning to learn of its actual potential.

I turned back around to continue on my path when I saw my first rat. It was the refracted light on its eyes that made me notice it. I stopped in my place ready for an attack, but it didn't move. It sat there watching me. It seemed to know what I was, and what I was here to do. It didn't leave its hiding place in the shadow until I lifted the nozzle of my pump. It scampered away before I could even trigger my fingers to squeeze. I waited, ready to fire, to see if it would come back to inspect me once again, but it did not. I took a step forward and stopped.

Four glowing orbs looked up at me. They stood just outside of my headlight. The beam refracting from their eyes.

I squeezed the pump nozzle.

The rat on the left scampered away, but the one didn't. The sizzle was long. The sounds of suffering that came from the rat were not what I expected. I thought it would be a high-pitched squeal, one that almost made you feel sorry for the poor animal. No, this was a wretched sound from some damned creation. It was hoarse and guttural. It should have come from something much larger. I stepped closer to see what my work had done.

Slowly, the acid was eating away at every molecule of the rat. It was spreading across its face from the initial spot right on the bridge of its nose. The rat was trying to scrape off the destructive liquid, but it only contaminated its hand, which was now eating up its arms. It now lay on its side, squirming as best as it could trying to get the ACID off of its hide. A few moments later, the brain of the creature had disintegrated. It ceased to live. After a few more moments, it was now liquid.

I could feel the lack of blood in my cheeks. I was mortified. I had never seen something so vile and cruel. I was so ashamed of myself that I wanted to toss the ACID container into the sewer stream and head back the way I came. I felt wretched. I felt a weight inside of me drop to my stomach.

More orbs appeared in front of me. Too many to count, nor can I really remember. They were standing around their fallen comrade, but they didn't seem concerned about the pool of liquid rats. They were staring at me with the same thought: murderer.

The first one moved directly into my headlight. I saw what the rats had become. They were pale, covered in bulging sores that leaked puss all over the bodies giving them a shiny coat. Their eyes were a deep red. Their teeth were jagged and short. Their claws were long and curled. They were disgusting aberrations.

With a shriek, it charged. I squeezed the nozzle over and over sending intervals of ACID flying through the air. I didn't need to be accurate with my aim. A single piece needed to touch them, even if it hit the shoulder first. All I needed to do was keep them away.

They were smarter than I had anticipated. They swerved around the different spots that were steaming. It was like they were calculating where I was going to spray next. They would get close, but eventually, their luck ran out. I dosed the stone in a semi-circle around me to keep them at bay. I had succeeded in stopping their charge, but that wasn't the only attack.

I felt the jagged teeth of a rat that had snuck behind me bite into the rubber of my boot. It didn't pierce, but I could feel each tip of its nasty little incisors. I turned back and sprayed it down with more than enough ACID. It liquified in a matter of seconds. There were others behind it that were slowly backing away down after seeing their friend's demise. Their retreat didn't cause me to hold back. The liquid flew through the air. Multicolored puddles began to appear all around me. I was driven by rage. I had let my guard down and had almost lost my life. I wanted these disgusting creatures to suffer for my stupidity. I was not going to relent.

I took a deep breath while the steam from the ACID began to fog up my glasses once more. The shrieking wails of the plagued ceased and were drowned out by the sizzling of their remains. I could feel a heat growing on my forehead and sweat sticking to my back. I took a few deep breaths to regain my composure. I lifted my mask up to see what I had done. The amount of ACID had filled the room with steam, and I wanted to see if my task had been completed.

The smell of the ACID and the liquified rats was confusing. The smell of chemically burned organs mixed with that sweet aroma was too much for my brain to even comprehend. My head was light and dizzy. Everything I had eaten a few hours before was now on the floor being consumed by the ACID. I had to walk a few feet away and take a seat on a portion of concrete I hadn't sprayed. My head fell in between my knees. I needed to rest.

Soon, I became adjusted to the smell. I was no longer out of it. I looked up to see a few remaining wisps of steam rising to the ceiling. I was alone in a wasteland.

The blotches of the liquified rats were all mixing into one another. Soon the entire floor was covered in a brown-white sheen that made it difficult to tell if I was stepping in rats or not. I was mesmerized when I heard a sound:

tick-tick-tick-tick.

The scraping of claws on the concrete. More were on the way.

I continued forward on the shoulder spraying as much as I could. From time to time, my headlamp would catch rising towers of steam from the rats I was hitting. I didn't stop to give them an opportunity to get anywhere near me. I would give a spritz out into the darkness. I listened for the sizzle and the shrieks. Occasionally, I checked my six. None were following me. I was being left alone. My task became a lot easier.

I had passed my initial trial and was now free to move through the underground. I checked the next manhole cover I came across to see where I was located. Only three more blocks to cover. I checked my tank and found that I was a few sprays away from being empty. I had to strategically spray the remaining stretch with what I had left, but to be fairly honest, I didn't think I was going to need anymore. The orbs had disappeared, and it seemed as if I was alone in the subterranean swamp. It felt like I was already done.

I could see the ladder that indicated the end of my stretch. A few more steps and I would find myself climbing out back onto the surface. It had felt like days being underground. I didn't know what time it was, but I knew the light had not returned, and I would be leaving one darkness for another. Still, it filled me with relief. I was tired.

My tank had grown light on my right arm, but my muscles had grown hard and tense. It was difficult to hinge at the elbow and I needed to stretch out my shoulder. Sweat had grown all over my body. My suit was sticking to my skin making it even more difficult to move around. I knew if I tried to pull it off at this moment, I'd pretty much be pulling at my own skin. Luckily, I had kept the mask off after I doused the brigade of rats from earlier. I could breathe a little. I had grown accustomed to the stench and didn't mind it as I took deep inhales through my nostrils. I pushed forward to the exit. I was so close. A few steps more, and I would be able to reach out and grab onto the metal rung. I was there, I had done it.

Nails scratched on the damp, spongy concrete of the shoulder. It wasn't quiet or quick like the sounds the other rats had made. The sounds of the little hooks were distinct. This was something far larger, yet it was similar to the rasps of rats that had come earlier. This was just a deeper resonance than those little bastards' – and it was moving just as fast, if not faster.

I looked behind me into the darkness of my path. I could see two orbs bouncing in the darkness of my headlamp. They were coming straight towards me. I straightened up and my body tensed. I looked to face the charging creature. I needed to wait till it was close enough, I couldn't waste anymore ACID. All it would have taken was just one spritz of the and that thing would have spent minutes writhing in its agonizing death. I just needed to wait, and I did, but I lost all sense of reality when that fucking thing appeared in the light.

It was a rat, but it was too damn big to be real. It was, at least, the size of a labrador, maybe even bigger. Its thick, sharp claws seemed to dig into the spongy concrete below it as it galloped at full speed. I didn't know they grew that big. There was no way they grew that big. It wasn't possible.

I was too late to regain my edge. I aimed the nozzle at the creature for one final spray, but it hit me before I could squeeze the trigger. It took me down to the ground hard. I fell on my back with its full weight pressed into my chest. The nozzle and tank were knocked out of my hands. It tried to reach but its paws flattened my biceps.

It was heavy, probably ninety to one hundred pounds of angry, boiling muscle. Its claws wrapped around my arms, keeping me firmly against the concrete. If I made a move to squirm out, I think it would've broken my bones. Regardless, I couldn't move, nor did I want to.

I looked up into the mouth of this massive beast on top of me. Its teeth were sharpened down to jagged triangles that seemed to follow one another in odd intervals. There were more teeth peeking out of its gums like they hadn't caught up to the massive growth of its body. Its breath was rancid. It was worse than the sewer, way worse. I luckily had nothing left to spew. Its red, glowing eyes seemed to be looking into mine, trying to capture what current emotion I was feeling. It stared at me for a while, unmoving. We were locked into each other's gazes. I awaited certain doom, while the other tried to understand the prey it caught. However, our special moment was broken by the ticking of its backup.

A group of regular-sized rats began scurrying up to me. It seemed they were ready to take me down after all of the destruction I had caused them. This was going to be their final moment, their sweet revenge was nigh. I closed my eyes waiting to feel the sharp needles break through the rubber, into my skin, shredding my muscle. I guess this is what I deserve for carrying out such a sadistic and inhumane task. This is what I get for falling in line. This is what I get for just nodding my head to my father's desires. I was going out with regret.

That deep guttural shriek emanated from within the belly of the goliath that was still pressed upon my chest. I opened my eyes to see the beast had turned to face the oncoming herd. They had stopped before him, crawling back slowly in fear from their compatriot's warning roar. They looked identical, but clearly, the goliath, the only fitting name, had established its dominance amongst the group. I thought that maybe this one was different than the rest, but it didn't matter: the rats were crawling away.

Once the orbs had disappeared into the darkness, the goliath that kept me in place turned back to face me. He stared into my eyes once more. He wasn't going to eat me. He was making a deal. I stared right back at him and gave him a nod. A moment later, I could feel his talons slowly release their pressure on my muscle as he walked away from me. He backed away into the darkness watching me, those red orbs locked onto my movement. I kept my hands in front of me until he fully disappeared. I kept still even after it was gone.

Once the silence grew around, and all that I heard was the rippling of the stream of waste beside me. I snapped into action. I grabbed my things and sprinted up to the surface. I climbed as fast as humanly possible and pushed the manhole covering with all my might. It slowly came off, but I got out.

The breeze had never felt so good. I zipped open the chest portion of my suit as much as possible to feel the coolness. My body loosened up to the point where I could feel my muscles melt towards the ground. A laugh built up deep inside of me. I knew it was from what I had just encountered. I didn't hold back and let it fill the night in Manhattan. I was so happy to be alive.

I walked the twenty blocks back without a care in the world. It hadn't felt like I walked another, but before I knew it, I was approaching my father's truck. I hopped in and took off.

The first-floor lights were on. I knew my father had waited up for me, but I wasn't so sure about my mother. I knew I was going to have to tell my father about what happened down in the sewers, but I wonder how my mother would've handled the news. I decided to wait till she went to sleep. Regardless, it was going to be hard to tell him the conclusion I had made on the way home.

I stepped into a home that no longer felt like mine. It seemed like decades had flown by in the short span of time I had spent underground, and I was now supposed to support myself. I had come against death and survived; I could no longer rely on others for my sustenance.

My father opened the door before I made it onto the stoop. He had a wide smile on his face. It was like he was standing for the national anthem. He was proud, the proudest I had seen him in my entire life. I thought I saw a tear welling in his eye, but I think that could've been from the street lights.

"Not tonight," I whispered to myself.

"How did it go?" My father was holding back his excitement. He waited at the top step.

"First successful cleanse on the books," I said with as much enthusiasm I could muster. I reached out my hand to shake my father's, but he slapped it aside and pulled me in for a hug. He squeezed me hard. I squeezed him back.

"My boy," he said with such tenderness. It was as if this was the first time he had truly been able to claim me as his own kin. He squeezed me tight once more and sighed another breath of relief. I could hear the wheeze of his damaged lungs. He let go and sized me up seeing me for the first time.

"Let's celebrate. C'mon, how about a drink?" he pulled me into the house. We walked down the hallway, between the stairs and living room, to open the door leading to the cellar. I had no intentions of going back down below the surface, but I didn't want to give up this moment.

I followed him down the creaking stairs, into the dim basement, landing on the spongy floor. I realized now that the foundation underneath my house had the same sort of consistency to it. I could feel myself sinking in, slowly, as I watched my father pull out a bottle of 1942 from his work desk. Two dirty glasses clinked against one another as he gripped them in between his fingers. He put them down on the table and poured us two drinks, but, if I'm being honest, it was more like four. The tequila was spilling over the rim as my father did his best to hand me a full drink. He slurped at the surface of his glass to keep it from spilling all over his hand. Once I had mine balanced in front of my mouth, he raised his slowly to the ceiling.

"I just want to say," my father wheezed. "I'm proud of you. You've been asked to do some damn hard work and you didn't shy away. You came back in one piece on your first, which is better than most. You will be one fine liquifier, one of the best, I can already see it. But now, drink up. Enjoy the time off. You'll be called back soon."

My father took the entire drink down. He gulped multiple times without even uttering a sound of pain. I think he was already drunk, but I don't know. I took a few sips of my drink. The tequila tasted good, but it was way too much right now. I placed it down on the desk as my father placed his empty beside it.

"So, tell me," he wiped his mouth. "How'd it go?"

I didn't know if I wanted to tell him the whole thing, but I did. The entire trip below the surface escaped from my mouth like a prison break. I withheld nothing, not even the part about the goliath. I didn't want to tell him that part. I shouldn't have told him about that part. As soon as it left my mouth, I cringed at my lack of restraint. I felt weak.

I looked at my father's mangled face. His smile had disappeared over the course of my rant and now was looking at me with a stern, inquisitive look. He wasn't trying to understand me, he was trying to figure out what to say to my insane story. A few silent moments passed by as I waited to hear his answer. He leaned back against the desk and nodded.

"I see," were the first words he uttered to combat the silence. He wasn't shocked, nor afraid of the new type of vermin that was patrolling the underground. I think he was trying to figure out how he'd kill it.

"I'll talk to some of the others. We'll see what we can do. You'll need to come with us though. Show us where it came to you."

With that, my father stood up signaling for me to get out of his office. I headed towards the stairs and made my way up to my bedroom. I was still in my uniform. I peeled it off and left it on the side of my bed. I opened the window to let the breeze roll in. It was a comforting feeling that cold rush over my suffocated skin. I fell asleep. I didn't wake up till the afternoon the next day.

Three days passed by as I awaited my father's plans. He would barely come out of the basement, and when he did, he would avoid me. I'm not sure why.

I spent most of my time walking around the neighborhood. I had heard nothing from the Dept. of Health about my report and performance, which according to my father is a good thing, so I was trying to figure out a way to keep myself sane. The longer sat still, the more the goliath's face consumed my thoughts. I was a few blocks away when my father called me to meet him down at his office. I ran back.

There were about 10 of them all cramped up in the basement. They all had similar scars as my father, the marks of veteran liquifiers. No one looked at their fellow compatriot with jealous or superior eyes. They were brothers bound by the ACID. They were talking amongst themselves as I landed on the spongy concrete, but they hushed up once the first of them noticed me.

My father called the meeting to start and began to explain the dilemma that we found ourselves in.

"My son, here, has told me of his discovery of a new type of rat. A real big son of a bitch," he stated to the anxious men. "So far, it's just one, but we all know how quick these things multiply."

The men nodded in agreeance. They trusted my father's opinion. They spoke more civilized than most people in regards to the extermination of the goliath rat. They all agreed immediately to not share this issue with the Dept. of Health, as the government involvement would halt any sort of productive extermination. What was decided was for myself and my father to enter at the 31st street and 9th avenue sewer entrance. The rest would enter at intervals all the way up to 54th street. We would go down at the same time and see if we could herd up this freak of nature and give it a bath (my father's words).

The plans were made. They dispersed to prepare. My father donned his old suit, I donned my new one. We got in his car and made our way to the 31st street manhole. We didn't speak the entire ride.

We arrived at our position. I hopped out and my father followed shortly after. We filled up our tanks and zipped our suits up to our necks. I took a final breath of the fresh breeze as my father pried open the manhole. I looked down the street and saw another team doing the same. I clicked on my headlamp a few times, and they repeated the same motion. It was time.

The shoulder beside the slowly, churning sewage river was spongier than I had left it. I seemed to sink deeper into the rock bed than before. My father had his headlight aimed forward towards 54th street. In the distance, I could see tiny little specks of our compatriots' lights. It would be hard to miss for the damn beast. My father squeezed his handle a few times and the test ACID shout out towards the river. We moved forward.

We met up with the first group at 34th street, then the second at 37th street, continuing to pick up the last of the teams as we made our way finally to 54th street. There was not a single rat to be found. We all huddled up with the final team to reassess the situation.

"Kid must've done a damn good job," one of the liquifiers snorted out. "Didn't see any of those fuckers while we waited."

"Don, are you sure you saw what you saw?" My father asked me with concern rather than aggression.

There was no way I could've made that up. Not the pressure, nor the smell.

"No," I stated with confidence. "It was real. It probably made its way to another section of the city, but it's down here."

The others nodded, but I could tell that their eyes were squinting at me, trying to get read. I didn't move. Anything sort of twitch could be cause for suspicion. I stood tall.

tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

We all turned to face the sound. They were coming behind us - fast.

Those who hadn't prepped their sprayers did so as fast as possible. ACID sprayed left and right hitting many of us. One missed my skin by an inch causing me to flinch and contort my back so it rolled slowly to the floor. We were panicking, and it made us all sloppy. I looked back to see who had hit me, but clearly, they were more focused on the menace ahead of us. I don't recall how many orbs there were bouncing. I didn't even dare to count.

"Fuck!" My father screamed. "It's an ambush!"

I looked behind me. There were more orbs. We were surrounded.

"Let 'em have it!" one of our team screamed out. Simultaneously, all of the exterminators began spraying. ACID was flying left and right, covering the rats in a brown glaze, slowly turning them into beige pools. We were taking them down with ease, they didn't seem to stand a chance. The amount of ACID we were spraying was making it difficult for them to get near us, but they just kept coming.

"How many are there?" another liquifier shouted. "They aren't stopping."

"Keep fuckin' sprayin'!" my father retorted.

There was a lot of steam coming from the ACID on the ground. I could barely see through my mask. We were getting swallowed by the white cloud. I just kept myself positioned straight ahead trying my best not to spray anyone. But, we weren't so lucky-

The first blood-curdling scream came from the liquifier directly behind me. He was shrieking and flailing trying to get the ACID off that had gotten in through his suit. He bumped me forward and I found myself sliding all around in the pool of disintegrated rats and ACID. I was able to catch my footing, but the liquifier fell taking down a couple more of our team. The shrieks got louder, and so did the sizzling. I kept focused on my tasks. There was nothing we could do for them.

I was still shooting my ACID blind when I heard the scratching of the talons. I stopped for a moment to focus through the men and rats screaming to find the direction of the noise. Through the steam, I could see the red orbs bouncing as the creature charged straight toward me. I didn't make the same mistake as last time.

The ACID flew. It hit its eye. The creature ducked its head hoping to get the liquid off its face, but it lost its footing and crushed a few of its compatriots as it rolled on the ground. It flailed out as it slowly disintegrated.

"I got it!" I screamed. "I got the big one!"

I turned around to tell the men our job here was done but was petrified. There were more goliath rats, a lot more, charging from the other direction. The other liquifiers didn't see them, and I didn't have enough time to warn them as the monsters leaped through the steam, landing on my teammates. They fell to the ground, crushed by the weight of the rats. Their screams were mixed with the sounds of grunting as the behemoths tore into their flesh. The jagged needles of the rats were ripping and tearing them to pieces while the ACID was slowly burning their backs. They weren't eating the men, they were destroying them. It was like they were trying to exterminate us, in their own, primeval way.

I felt a pull at my collar and turned around to see my father with his mask off. He was sweating. There was blood on his face. I don't know if it was his. He looked worried.

"You have to get out," he said as he pulled me over to the ladder going up to a manhole.

"We can take them all," I tried to plea with him, but he was being pretty forceful, pushing me up against the ladder.

"You need to go now! I don't want to hear anything else. Go up. Tell the department. We'll do what we can here. You need to go. We can handle it. Climb. Climb up." My father pushed me as his eyes moved to a Goliath coming straight at us. He sprayed ACID that flew everywhere before it landed on the hind legs of the charging rat. It kept running towards us as its body began to fall to the floor. It crawled up to my father's boot, which soon came down on the poor creature's head as an act of mercy.

"You need to go!"

I turned and began to climb up the ladder. I left my tank and nozzle. I wasn't going to need it where I was going. I raced up the grimy metal, slipping with almost every step I took. I made it to the top and pushed at the manhole cover.

It wouldn't budge.

I pushed once more, my hand was pressed deep into the grooves of the metal saucer. I took one step up onto the next rung of the ladder and pushed with my entire body. I strained every muscle fiber I could as I lifted the cover. It slowly rose from its nesting ledge. I felt that I might pass out, but I needed to get out. I lifted the metal cover like Atlas and the world. I got its outer edge onto the tarmac and pushed it, grinding the metal against the asphalt. When I got it up, it felt surprisingly lighter.

The hole was open. I was barely conscious. I looked down to call out to my father, but I couldn't see past the steam rising from the canal. I tried to block the hot, condensed air from my eyes, but it was too powerful. I assumed one of the containers broke off from a nozzle and its entire load of ACID fell out into the area. It was starting to make me tear up, so I climbed out.

The manhole cover had been blocked off by a broken piece of an apartment building. The shattered limestone had been resting on top and rolled off when I got it on the road. I was just glad it wasn't blocked by a vacated car. I'm not sure if I would still be writing this post if it had been.

I stood by for the steam to dissipate. I was going down to see if he was still alive. I wasn't sure how long it had been but the sun was beginning to rise. I took another look down the hole: it was pitch black. No more steam. A little sunlight was glinting off the pool of whoever had been disintegrated. My father was the closest to the ladder, but I didn't think about that. He was going to be down there. He had to.

I stepped off the final rung onto the soft, spongy concrete. I could feel my foot slowly sink deep into the rock that had been soaked by the ACID. I moved quickly so my boot didn't get stuck, but I didn't spend much time on the concrete. There was nothing down there except reddish-beige liquid.

They were all gone. The rats. The men. All of them.

I turned back. I wanted to cry, but I kept it together as I climbed up the ladder. There was no way he could've survived. I beat myself up for not forcing him to come with me.

I climbed up. I pushed the cover over the manhole. The metal fell perfectly in its cradle as if the air had sucked it down onto the hole. I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks, my chest tightening, and the sadness rising in my throat. God, I wanted none of this. Why? Why had it been me? Why him?

I called the Dept. of Health and Safety. Agents arrived within minutes as if they had known all along about this clandestine raid. They asked me questions and I told them what I could. They took me to their headquarters downtown. I was forced to leave my father's car on the street. I haven't seen it since.

I was held in an interrogation room for an indescribable amount of time. I was still in my liquifier's suit and my body odor was beginning to sink into the cheap fabric of the chair. I unzipped as much as I could without taking the top completely off.

My representative came in, asked me questions, wrote down my answers - the typical procedure after an event like mine. The whole interview took a matter of minutes. They left me alone in the room for another period of time during which I fell asleep. I was awoken by the slamming of the door and two men from the federal government. Their interrogation was more intense than the Health Dept. rep. They seemed to want to know what I had seen and why we hadn't called them before. I told them the others didn't think that was a good idea, and I wish I hadn't said that. They growled like animals at the notion that the citizens of the godforsaken city wanted to take matters into their own hands. The interview was concluded and I was told to head home.

It's been a few months since the incident occurred. Liquifiers have been barred from heading into the sewers alone without a federal representative to accompany them. The process of extermination has gotten slower, but I haven't heard of goliaths running around the streets, so I guess the program is working.

As for me, I've fled the city. I packed up my shit and found the first smuggler that would get me out. Ironically, we escaped through the sewers, which doesn't make me feel so good, but I haven't seen any rats.

I'm not sure why I wrote this story for you all. I've tried to forget my past with the rats, but I can't seem to keep it out of my head recently. Maybe this will help me deal with the past. Maybe I just miss my dad. Fuck.