Brian Keene - Deluge - The Conqueror Worms II

“Come on,” McCann said. “If we’re going to do this, then let’s get it over with. I’d like to sit down at some point tonight.”

Nodding, Gail led the way. She hoisted the shotgun in her cold, wet hands, using it to push open the office door. It led into a dark, dank hallway. Mildew stains covered the once-white walls. The carpet squelched beneath their feet. Other than the roar of the surf, steadily beating against the walls, the building was silent. Gail and McCann went from room to room, making sure each one was clear and also looking for anything useful. Most of the offices were identical to the first, but they also found two restrooms, a lunchroom with several vending machines, and a storage closet full of cleaning supplies. On the top shelf of the storage closet was a first aid kit. It had been rummaged through—probably by the man with the goggles, Gail assumed, but there were still plenty of antiseptic wipes, bandages, an assortment of over-the-counter pills, and half a roll of medical tape. The vending machines had also been broken into. The doors were unlocked, and swung open with the slightest touch. The soda machine was about half-full of bottled water and various soft drinks, all warm. The second machine held bags of potato chips, snack cakes and other junk food. The third vending machine had held perishable items—sandwiches, yogurt, juice, and other food that had long since gone bad. When McCann opened it, a terrible stench wafted out. Both he and Gail coughed.

“Close it,” Gail gasped, her eyes watering. “That stinks!”

“I don’t think we’ll be eating any of that,” he agreed. “Looks like our attacker left us with some food and water, though. At least we won’t starve to death or die of thirst anytime soon.”

“Hooray. Instead, we can fatten ourselves up for those things in the water.”

They continued onward, passing by a set of closed elevator doors and then coming to a stairwell. Gail nudged the door open and listened. It was quiet. Far below, she heard the sound of water lapping.

“Lower levels are flooded,” she whispered. “Probably better to be quiet until we come out on the next floor. If something’s down there, we don’t want it to hear us.”

McCann nodded, and she led him upward. They emerged onto the floor above, and found an identical layout to the floor they’d just left. Shutting the door behind them, they resumed their exploration.

“Do you really think something could be living down below?”

Gail shrugged. “I don’t see why not. The building is submerged. Something could be swimming around down there—those flying fish or maybe the shark men.”

“What do you think they all are?” McCann opened an office door and peered inside. “These creatures. I mean, if they’ve always existed, how come we never saw them until the rains started? And what else is there? We’ve seen shark-men, flying piranha, snakes made out of seaweed, starfish with faces like humans, mermaids, fuzzoids, and giant worms, crabs, lobsters and octopuses—not to mention that fucking island thing that landed us in this position.”

“Octopi,” Gail said.

“What?”

“You said octopuses. I think it’s octopi rather than octopuses.”

“I don’t give a shit what they are,” McCann said. “I just want to know where they came from and how the hell we can get rid of them all.”

“I can help you with that,” a voice called from the end of the hallway. “Provided you help me first.”

CHAPTER 48

The shotgun wobbled in Gail’s trembling hands. She and McCann glanced at each other in surprise, and then stared into the gloom at the end of the hallway. Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but the shadows were thick.

“Who’s there?” She hoped her voice wasn’t shaking as bad as the rest of her.

“You can call me Simon. And you are?”

“Never mind that,” Gail said. “Come on out with your hands up, and do it slow.”

“Sadly, I can’t comply with your request.”

“Listen,” McCann shouted. “Don’t fuck with us, buddy. We’ve had enough of this bullshit. Keep it up and you’ll get what your friend just got.”

“I don’t know who you mean.”

“The asshole with the aviator goggles. He took a shot at us. Last thing he ever did.”

The sound of chuckling drifted out of the office at the end of the hall.

“What’s so funny?” Gail called.

“The man you describe,” Simon said. “He was no friend of mine.”

“I don’t care what your relationship was. Come out slowly with your hands up.”

“As I said, I’d like to, but I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

“Why?”

Simon’s tone grew annoyed. “Because I’m chained to a desk.”

Gail and McCann turned to each other again. McCann arched an eyebrow. Gail shrugged, and then nodded toward the door. She took a hesitant step forward, then another. She moved to the side, keeping her back against the wall, and crept into the shadows. McCann followed behind her.

“Hello?” Simon called. “Are you still there?”

Neither of them answered him. They paused in front of the closed office door. Gail knelt on the floor and trained the weapon on the doorway. Then she took a deep breath, and nodded at McCann. He reached out, turned the knob and flung the door open. It banged against the wall.

“Well,” Simon said, “I guess that answers my question.”

Gail stood up and rushed into the room, making sure to keep the shotgun extended. McCann hurried in behind her. The office was identical to the ones on the floor below, with one noticeable difference—the naked man tied spread-eagled to the desk. His wrists and ankles were bound with black rubber bungee cords of the type usually reserved for tying down furniture in the back of pick-up trucks. His pale skin was slick and covered with open sores, cuts and scratches. Both Gail and McCann winced at the stench wafting up from him. A broken fish tank lay on the floor, shards of broken glass glittering in the gloom. Atop of the tank’s stand were a number of household tools—pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers, box-cutter, claw hammer and more. Judging by the dried blood crusting their edges and the captive’s wounds, they’d been converted into instruments of torture. In the corner was a large coffee can half-filled with human waste.

“Jesus,” McCann whispered.

Simon grinned. “Oh, I called on him, among others, to help me, but as you can see, my situation didn’t improve.”

“Hang on,” Gail said. “We’ll untie you.”

“What if it’s a trap?” McCann glanced back out into the hall. “What if there are more of them, waiting to rush us.”

“I’m not the one you need to be worried about. Indeed, I may be the only hope you have left. All you have to do is free me.”

Gail leveled the shotgun, pointing the barrel only inches from Simon’s head.

“Untie him,” she said to McCann. “If he so much as breathes funny, it will be the last thing he ever does.”

Simon studied her calmly. “Believe me, madam. If we don’t act soon, our actions here may very well be the last thing any of us do.”

CHAPTER 49

McCann approached Simon timidly, with all of the caution normally reserved for a soldier navigating a minefield. Gail kept the shotgun pressed against the bound man’s head. Simon seemed unperturbed. He licked his lips and then smiled at her. McCann tugged on the bungee cords, and Simon winced—his smile vanishing.

“Sorry,” McCann mumbled.

“That’s okay.”

The rubber cords fell to the floor. McCann stepped back and glanced at Gail. She took a deep breath and then removed the shotgun from Simon’s head. She backed away, just out of arms reach and nodded.