McHumans Excerpt part 3 (Lovecraftian horror)

Last month I started writing a new Lovecraftian horror tale for an upcoming StrangeHouse Books anthology called "McHumans". I decided to serialize the tale and post it here, in its entirety over the months leading up to the anthology. Here's part One
and part Two
if you missed them. This is part 3:

Boss Crab drops the hunk of flesh into the helmet and quickly snaps it shut before continuing. “So we're gonna have a lot of dirty vertebrates coming through here this week. I expect my team to be on your A game. Do I make myself clear?”
Still in shock, we all nod and Boss Crab scuttles away with Fishbowl in tow.

***

That was last week. Now the gang and I stand at the front entrance to R'lyeh, Cthulhu's great sunken city, with handfuls of people we cooked. Behind us, our scuba gear lays discarded on the rim of a gigantic, pressurized moon pool, one of many such pools that the denizens of R'lyeh use to come and go. See, most of the monsters that now rule the planet are amphibious, so these sunken cites are habitable to air breathers. This particular one is about half the size of a freakin football field. And it's a good thing, too. The leviathan fish-frog beast carrying the rest of the food for Cthulhu's party barely fits through the hole. Man, this is going to be a massive feast.
Fishbowl steers the leviathan out of the moon pool, and up the jaw-bridge type thing we stand in front of. We step out of the way so the gargantuan thing doesn't crush us. It reminds me of a monitor lizard wearing a fish-head Halloween costume—the size of a city block.
Twin emerald doors covered in glowing glyphs and runes that ooze a glowing green goo—rising so high above our heads, I have to lean backward to see the very tops—open slowly, allowing Fishbowl and the leviathan to pass into the belly of grand R'lyeh.
“I fucking hate this place,” Ty says, as the leviathan stomps into a spiraling decent across a floor that is sometimes a ceiling, sometimes a wall, depending on how you set your eyes. R'lyeh is funny like that, what with the non-euclidean geometry and all that. Nothing in the sunken city is quite where you think it should be, relatively speaking.
We step through the entrance.
Ty is wearing a blue wig set in pigtails. He wears a matching blue sun dress with black polka dots. A pair of black and white converse sneakers rounds out his outfit.
Chef shifts his bags to his right hand, giving Ty a long, hard look. I know what's coming. “Cracka, you rob the teenybopper section of the Gap when shit went down upstairs, or what? I do not understand where you find those godawful clothes, man!”
We continue walking. I try to keep my eyes closed so I don't notice that my feet are where my head should be.
Ty doesn't flinch. He's heard it all before. He looks Chef right in the eye and says, “They're my daughter's clothes. I grabbed two trash bags full of them when the rivers flooded over into the cities.”
Chef raises an eyebrow.
“We didn't even make it out of town,” Ty says, stopping, turning his body to face the burly black man. The rest of us stop, too. “Remember the... things that burrowed up out of the ground? The things with too many legs and eyes that squirmed? They took her. They ripped her right off my arm and dragged her down into those fetid mud pits—pulverized her body into mush right in front of my eyes. And you know what? Maybe if I didn't have my fucking arms full of her clothes, I could have saved her. If I'd just dropped the bags, I could have pulled her free. But I didn't. I lost my daughter on day 1, and all I have left to show for it is these clothes.”
“Damn,” Chef says, breaking eye contact. “That's fucked up.”
Before the big bear of a man can say any more, three hideous looking things slither their way down the long corridor, right up to us. Down here, everything looks awful. You just have to get used to it or you wont survive. You have to learn to shut off the part of your mind that screams in agony and begs you to find the nearest hole to crawl into when it sees the fucked up monsters that live down here.
These particular horrors, believe it or not, are even more stomach turning than the normal fish-frog, octopoid, monsters. These things have long, slender bodies with six or eight skinny, insect-like legs on either side. The bodies end in what look like a pair of twin scorpion tails, each tipped with with dagger-like stingers. Their heads are just a mess of tentacles with long, sharp hooks on the ends of some, eyeballs on the ends of others. Right in the center of this cluster of tendrils sits a drooling, multi-segmented mouth, snapping and undulating.
Karen cries out as one of the scorpion things skitters up to her and starts grabbing at her bags. She leaps behind me, leaving the thing to squirm its revolting appendages at me. I hold my bags out of reach as another of the monsters assaults Ty in the same way, pinning him up against the wall that was the ceiling last time I looked at it.
“What the fuck is this thing doing?!” he screams, as it plucks his bag from his hand, ripping it to shreds, dumping its contents on the ground at his feet. It tears the cooked human meat apart, shoving huge hunks of it into its writhing mouth.
“Sniffers,” Chef says. “They're here to make sure the food isn't poisoned. Don't worry, just let em do their thing and-”
The Sniffer goes stiff, shrieks, then vomits up all the meat it's just consumed and falls over dead.
“I poisoned the food,” I say, as everyone looks at me with wide eyes and slack jaws.
Before anyone can react, one of the two remaining Sniffers lunges itself at Ty, dragging him down to the ground with its face-feelers. He's screaming bloody murder as Chef runs forward saying, “Aw, hell!”