Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 29

They gathered in the galley. When they were all assembled, the small space soon stank of body odor and bad breath. They’d run out of toiletries weeks ago. Normally, Gail’s senses were dulled to the smell, but with everyone in a group like this, the stench became overpowering. Caterina cleared her throat, and Mylon cracked his knuckles, but no one spoke. The silence was disconcerting.

Gail glanced around at the group and saw the same expressions mirrored on each of their faces—exhaustion and a grim sense of hopelessness. She felt the same things. How much longer could they go on like this—traveling aimlessly, scrounging for increasingly dwindling supplies of food and fuel, and picking up the occasional survivor stranded amidst the flotsam of the civilized world? Indeed, could they even handle more castaways onboard? As Novak had explained to Gail when they’d first rescued her, the multi-hulled super catamaran was one-hundred and twenty five feet in length. While the large vessel looked imposing from the outside, the interior was actually cramped. Living space was limited, especially given the size of the group, and finding a quiet place to be alone was almost impossible.

Novak, McCann and Riffle had been among the original crew. There had been two other crew members, but both had been killed before Gail came aboard. In addition to Gail, there was Lynn, Caterina, Paris, Mylon, Morgan, Tatiana, Ben, and Warren. It was funny to think that only hours before, Hansen had also been a part of this group. Now he’d joined the ranks of those they’d lost.

There had been many more castaways at one point. Howard had suffered a massive heart attack. His death had been the only one from natural causes. Dickinson had been killed by a human-shark hybrid. Diane became infected by the white fuzz and had been immediately set adrift with enough food and water to last her seven days. She hadn’t been the only one to go into the water, either. Lieberman had jumped overboard one night, lured by the siren song of a vampiric mermaid.

The worst death, in Gail’s opinion, had been Andre’s. He’d bravely jumped into the ocean to retrieve a floating crate of produce after their efforts to snag it with poles, hooks and fishing rods had proven unsuccessful. Andre was a strong swimmer, and he’d reached the wooden crate and dragged it back to the boat without incident. It wasn’t until he was below deck and drying off that they noticed the leech on his thigh—a squat, bloated thing, the length of an index finger and the width of a quarter. Its skin was the color of liver. Novak had safely removed it and then they’d put antiseptic over the pinhole-sized bite. Everyone had assumed he’d be fine.

Andre began complaining of a stomachache a few hours later.

Two nights after that, he was dead, eaten from the inside out by a horde of tiny leeches. The creature had impregnated him with thousands of her young. Andre had remained alive through the entire grisly process, even as the spawn wriggled from his mouth and nose and ears and anus.

Shuddering at the memory, Gail studied the group again. Everyone was present, except for Riffle, who she assumed must be on the bridge, piloting the ship. She wondered what Novak was waiting for.

As if reading her mind, the makeshift captain cleared his throat. Immediately, all eyes turned to him.

“I guess you all know that Hansen’s dead.”

Some nodded. A few shrugged or looked away. Nobody spoke.

“Riffle’s piloting. I told him if that guy from Boston comes back on the radio, he’s supposed to patch it through the intercom immediately. Meanwhile, we’ve got some things to discuss.”

“Like what?” Mylon asked.

“Well,” Novak continued, “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Lynn flipped her blond bangs from her face. “What kind of bad news?”

“The kind where, once I’ve told you what it is, you guys will have to decide if we want to continue on, or if we’d be better off forming some kind of suicide pact and just ending it all now.”