Brian Keene - Deluge - The Conqueror Worms II

“I’ve already considered that. Ben has had experience and I’ve been watching. Studying. I think we’ll manage. And besides, who said anything about killing you? We’re not savages.”

“Well,” Mylon said, “you’re gonna have to kill me, cause there’s no way I’m putting up with this happy horseshit.”

He snorted and then spat at Morgan’s feet. Morgan twitched, and Ben trembled harder.

“Then I guess there’s nothing more to say.”

Morgan raised the pistol, extended his arm, and pointed the weapon at Mylon’s head. He stepped closer, until the barrel was only inches from Mylon’s face. Then he motioned with the gun.

“Get over there by the rail. Ben, you keep the others covered.”

Mylon swallowed. “N-now wait…”

“No? Change your mind? I thought you were ready to die?”

“I…”

“That’s what I figured. It’s one thing to talk about it in the galley. It’s another to actually face it head on. Get out of here, Mylon. You too, Paris. Go below. Dry off. Wake the others if you must. Tell them there’s been a change in management.”

Riffle grabbed Paris by the arm. “Don’t. He’ll shoot you soon as your backs are turned.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” Morgan said, sounding offended. “How many times do I have to say it?”

Paris wiped her eyes. “You’ll really let us live?”

Morgan nodded. “Now go.”

Mylon and Paris hurried past them. Mylon glanced over his shoulder once and mouthed an apology to Riffle. Then they went below.

“So what now?” Riffle asked.

“Get on over by the rail.”

“I knew it. You’re gonna kill me after all. Fucking lying bastard.”

Morgan sighed. “No, Riffle. I’m not going to shoot you. I’m going to give you a chance. The same chance your boss offered me.”

Riffle’s eyes went wide. “W-what?”

“You’re going overboard. You can take your chances in the water. If I were you, I’d swim for the island. You wanted to stand beside your shipmates. I’m sure they’ll welcome you.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m jumping into that shit.”

“You jump or I will shoot you. If you think I’m kidding, just try me.”

Riffle stared at them both. Ben refused to meet his gaze, and turned away. Morgan returned the glare, and what Riffle saw in his eyes convinced him. Mouthing the Lord’s Prayer, he stepped over to the rail and fought to keep the panic out of his voice.

“You’ll pay for this, Morgan.”

“Not today I won’t. Now jump.”

Shaking, Riffle climbed over the side. The water churned below him. The waves suddenly seemed louder. His hands clutched the cold, wet rail. He dangled there, heart pounding in his ears. Salt spray stung his eyes.

“Let go,” Morgan said.

“I—I can’t…”

“Then let me help you.”

Morgan spun the pistol around and smashed the butt against Riffle’s fingers. Screaming, Riffle plummeted into the ocean and sank beneath the waves.

CHAPTER 38

Riffle came up screaming. He sucked air as a wave smashed into his face, filling his mouth and nose with seawater. He choked, tasting chemicals and salt. The foul mixture felt slick on his skin. His nostrils and eyes burned. A second wave forced him below the surface again. He kept his eyes closed, too terrified to risk glimpsing what might be swimming around beneath him. When he came up again, the ship’s motor thrummed.

“Morgan,” he shouted. “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”

There was no response from the ship. The deck remained deserted. He spotted two silhouettes on the bridge—probably Ben and Morgan. Bobbing on the waves, he could only watch helplessly as the engine grew louder and the vessel pulled away, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as the motor throttled higher.

“Morgan…”

Thunder boomed overhead. Sputtering, Riffle treaded water and tried to get his bearings. He glanced around, searching frantically for the mysterious island, but it was gone. Mist and rain swirled around him, hampering his vision. He pushed his wet bangs from his eyes and squinted, searching for the lifeboat, or some other sign of Novak and the others, but all he saw was a grayish-white haze.

“Oh, hell.”

Riffle began to tremble. Whimpering, he kicked harder, struggling to stay above the waves. His breath came in short, labored gasps. Another wave slammed into him from behind, plunging him beneath the water. When he surfaced again, he was not alone.

A black stalk-like object was sticking out of the water about ten feet away from him. It was as thick as his forearm and covered in sleek, fine hair. Muscles rippled beneath the flesh. The tendril bent in the middle and leaned toward him. The tip held a single hooded eye. It stared at him without blinking.

Four more tentacles thrust up from below, surrounding him. Each was like the first—just an eyeball and an appendage. They had no mouths or nostrils. Not even a discernable head. One by one, they bent in his direction and studied him. Panicked, Riffle swam to the right, hoping to dart between two of the tentacles. They swayed quickly, matching his movements. He darted to the left and the creatures did the same.

Fuck it, he thought. Whatever these things are, they don’t have mouths or arms. What are they going to do? Stare me to death?

He slapped the water. “Go on. Get out of here.”

The tentacles straightened up again, stretching to their full height. Riffle stared up at them, blinking as raindrops splattered against his face. The sea churned around him and suddenly, he was no longer treading water—he was standing on something solid. He looked down and saw a huge oval shadow beneath him. The five tentacles were attached to it. As he watched, the black object opened beneath his feet, revealing a wide, crescent-shaped mouth full of teeth. He slipped inside, up to his waist and the mouth slammed shut. Impassive, the eyestalks watched his death-throes as the water turned red.

CHAPTER 39

Gail plunged into the ocean. She had a momentary sensation of striking something with her feet. Then the waves closed over her head. She opened her eyes and glanced around. The water was dark and murky and she could only see a few feet in any direction. Warren thrashed beneath her, his arms and legs flailing weakly. She reached down, grabbed a handful of his hair, and tugged him upward. He extended his arm and she grasped his hand. Together, they kicked for the surface, and emerged, gasping and choking. They clung to each other and treaded water.

There was no sign of the others.

Gail spat seawater. “Are you okay?”

Warren nodded. “You kicked my head when you came down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Where are the others? Where’s the…?”

She noticed that he couldn’t bring himself to call it an island. Not now. Islands didn’t have eyeballs. They didn’t move when you stabbed them.

The surf was stronger than it had been. The sea churned around them, almost tearing them apart. They clung tighter to each other, legs kicking together.

“Hope I don’t need a breath mint,” Warren said.

Gail laughed, but then it turned into a sob.

“It’ll be okay, Gail. All we need to do is find the lifeboat. If we can’t find that, we’ll swim back to the ship.”

“How? We can’t see anything out here? The ship could be gone and we wouldn’t even know it.”

“They wouldn’t leave us. Riffle would make sure… oh shit.”

Warren’s mouth hung open. He stared up over her shoulder. Gail noticed that it had gotten darker outside, as if a great shadow had fallen over them. Slowly, she turned her head and looked. Then her sobs turned to screams.