Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 5

The sound of the rain no longer lulled Henry to sleep. Each time he shut his eyes, the weird dreams came back again.

So did the pain in his stomach.

Before the flood, Henry used to see commercials on television, asking folks to send money to help starving kids in Africa. Henry had always felt sorry for the other children, but he didn’t think his parents would be helping out. They barely had enough money to feed themselves. If it wasn’t for their garden and food stamps, they’d have probably been like those people in Africa. Henry had often tried to imagine what it would feel like—being so hungry.

He didn’t have to imagine anymore. He knew all too well.

So did Moxey.

During one particularly severe bout of hunger, he’d considered eating her. Then, horrified that he’d even think such a thing, Henry had pulled the cat to his chest, cuddling her while she purred, letting his tears soak her fur.

They had plenty of water. When they’d climbed to the top of the grain silo, Henry had brought along a case of bottled water and a backpack full of provisions. The food was all gone now, even after carefully rationing it, but they still had some water left. He didn’t trust drinking the rainwater, and there was no way he was drinking the water surrounding the silo.

It was full of things.

He had no way to catch fish, and wasn’t sure he’d eat them even if he could. The few fish he’d seen looked sickly—a white, mucous-like substance covered their bodies. Some type of waterborne infection, he guessed. Daniel Ortel had caught a catfish like that before evacuating with the National Guard, and when Daniel touched it, the fish’s skin sloughed off like pudding. Soon after, Daniel had gotten sick.

He doubted anything was still alive in the water, anyway. It was full of dead folks and animal carcasses, fuel, oil, chemicals, and other debris. It stank, and the lapping waves left a film on the side of the silo.

Stirring, Henry got to his feet and stretched, working out the kinks he’d developed while lying on the wooden platform. In the center of the platform was a large, open pit that led straight down into the silo’s depths. It was slowly filling with water. Henry didn’t know what he’d do once it breached. At that point, he and Moxey would have to swim.

The pit was surrounded by an iron handrail. Henry leaned over the railing and spat. It didn’t take as long for his saliva to splash down as it had the day before.

“Yep,” he muttered. “Still rising.”

The sound of his own voice, echoing inside the silo, disturbed him. Henry didn’t talk much these days.

Moxey meowed in response.

“I know, girl. I know.”

Henry picked up his .17 gauge rifle, uncapped the scope, and decided to see if his luck would be better this time. He was hoping to shoot a bird, or maybe a snake that had been forced from its den by the floodwaters. If they were close enough to the silo, he could grab them before they floated away.

He shuffled over to the small double-doors in the silo’s curved wall, and fumbled with the hasp. It was growing rusty, due to all the moisture in the air. His fingers were numb and wrinkled like prunes. Henry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt warm or dry.

He managed to get the hasp unlatched, and then slowly opened the doors. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was—there were no more sunrises or sunsets. The moon and stars and sun were just hazy, gray shapes in the sky, hidden behind the dense cloud cover. Still, Henry’s internal alarm clock told him it was evening.

Evenings had always been his favorite time of day. Home from Lewisburg High School, assignments finished, chores completed, he’d sit out on the front porch and stare out at the mountains, wondering what lay beyond them. Renick was Henry’s world. He’d only been out of West Virginia a few times, and then, only to go to Virginia Beach with his family. He’d always wanted to see the rest of the world. Feel it under his feet. Marvel at how different it looked from the place he called home.

Now, it didn’t matter. Henry was pretty sure that all of the world looked the same.

One big ocean.

The breeze ruffled his hair, and Henry shivered, clasping his damp jacket closer. He stared out at what was left of Renick. Everything was gone. The only things that remained above the surface were the grain silo and the steeple on the Presbyterian Church. All of the small town’s other landmarks—the concrete and steel bridge that had spanned the Greenbrier River, the Ponderosa meeting place, the park, the sub shop, the gas station—were submerged. The mountain remained, jutting far above the waters, but even that was slowly eroding.

He wondered how folks in Punkin’ Center were faring. Unlike Renick, which was situated in a valley, Punkin’ Center was located halfway up the mountain. Most of the folks there had been evacuated when the National guard came through, but Henry knew that there was at least one person still alive. Old Mr. Garnett.

Henry had seen him. He wasn’t sure how many days had passed since then. Two weeks, give or take. But he’d seen Mr. Garnett—standing in the road, next to his old pick up truck, staring down at the remains of Renick. Henry had waved at him, tried to get his attention, but the old man hadn’t heard. Or if he had, he’d ignored Henry’s cries.

No, Mr. Garnett wasn’t like that. He was a nice old-timer, unlike that crazy bastard Earl Harper. Smart, too. If anyone knew how to survive what was happening, Mr. Garnett would.

All Henry had to do was cross the water, climb the mountain, and find him. He stared out across the wide expanse, and then cursed. While he was at it, he might as well wish for a trip to Mars, too. That would be a lot easier than getting to dry land.

The bloated carcass of a dead deer floated by. Something had been chewing on it. He searched the sky for a bird to shoot, but the sky was filled with rain.

Henry’s stomach grumbled again. This time, it didn’t hurt so much.

He wondered if that was a bad sign.