Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 30

Gail felt the boat rock beneath her feet as it encountered what must have been a particularly large swell. She wondered if she’d ever grow totally comfortable with being at sea—not that she’d have a choice anymore. At least the seasickness had passed after a few days. Now, the only time she got nauseous was during a bad storm, or if she drank a lot of fluids without eating first.

For a moment, nobody spoke. They all sat staring at Novak. Mylon cracked his knuckles again. Then Warren snickered, and everybody glanced in his direction. The young man smiled at them, clearly nervous with the sudden attention, and then shrugged.

“What’s with all the drama, Novak?”

“No drama.” Novak’s voice was low and steady. He stared at Warren without blinking. His expression was grim. “We’re in a world of shit, and things are about to get worse.”

“How so?” Ben asked.

Sighing, Novak leaned back against the bulkhead and raised one hand, counting off on his fingers.

“One, we’re almost out of fuel. Both of our engines are in good shape, which is sort of surprising, given all the debris in the water. McCann’s been doing a good job of keeping the intakes free of junk and making sure the engines are running.”

McCann nodded from his position by the hatch.

“It also doesn’t hurt that we’ve been sticking to a relatively slow speed,” Novak continued. “But even so, we’re running low on fuel. Only reason we’ve been able to conserve it is because in addition to our two engines, we’ve got a pump-jet engine hybrid. I know that doesn’t mean shit to the rest of you. This was an experimental super catamaran. We were supposed to be researching various methods of propulsion and fuel reduction.”

He paused, took a puff of his cigar, and blew a smoke ring in the air. Then he continued.

“Well, we’ve reduced the fucking fuel consumption, all right. We’ve got maybe enough gas to run for another four or five days. Then we’ll be drifting.”

“Is that so bad?” Tatiana asked. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been coming across any dry land anyway. Drifting is better than drowning.”

“Sure it is,” Novak replied, “but there are a few things to consider. If we get attacked again—and let’s face it people, we will get attacked again—we’re going to have a hard time outrunning whatever it is if we have no fuel. Drifting might work if we’re dealing with something like those little fish that killed Hansen today, but we’ll be shit out of luck if something big shows up—like one of those sea serpents we saw a few weeks back. The other problem is our location. If the GPS is right, we’re over the middle of Kentucky right now. I was hoping we’d find some dry land—mountaintops or whatever. But we’re not. As hard as it is to imagine, the waters are still rising. Either that, or the world is melting.”

Morgan snorted in derision. “Don’t be ridiculous, Captain.”

“I’m not,” Novak said, “and I’ve told you before, Morgan. Don’t call me Captain. Anyway, my point is this. There’s not a lot of stuff above the waterline anymore, but there’s a whole bunch of shit beneath us. Buildings and treetops and hills—hitting those is like hitting a reef. We’ve been luckier than most. Because of our multi-hull design, we’ve been able to ride above a lot of it. But sooner or later, we’re going to hit something and it’s going to bash a big fucking hole in our side. And then we’ll be screwed. I’ve been trying to avoid the cities since Cleveland. Figured if I got us out here over the country, we’d have less debris. Now, I’m not so sure. I’ve talked it over with McCann and Riffle. Our plan is to head for the Atlantic—or the place where the Atlantic used to be. Shit, the whole world’s the Atlantic Ocean now. But I want to get us out over the original ocean, where we won’t have to worry about running aground.”

“Do we have enough gas to get there?” Mylon asked.

“Not without drifting. That’s problem one. Problem number two is that our chances of scavenging anything useful are probably lessened out on the open sea. Granted, we’ve been seeing less stuff as time goes by, but we’ve still been able to snag stuff from the debris. There will be less chance of that in the real ocean. Which brings me to problem number three.”

Caterina groaned. “You mean there’s more?”

Novak nodded. “Fuel’s not the only thing we’re running low on. Beginning immediately, we’re going to have to start rationing our food and water. Riffle says if we keep eating the way we have been, we’ll run out in the next two weeks.”

Mylon frowned. “But what about all the stuff we found a few days ago? Those crates of food?”

“Most of it was already spoiled. Some of it had that white fuzz shit growing on it. I had Riffle toss it back over the side.”

Several of them stirred restlessly. After a moment, Gail asked what everyone else was thinking.

“He didn’t come in contact with the fungus did he?”

“No. He’s fine. You don’t have to worry about that. But the fact remains, we’re running low. We’ve got rainwater to drink, of course, although I personally think we ought to stop drinking that unless we absolutely have to.”

“Why?” Paris asked.

“Well, keep in mind, I’m no scientist—but what if that white shit is in the rain? What if that’s how it’s spreading?”

Ben sighed. “Then we’d be pretty much screwed.”

Nodding, Novak took another puff on his cigar, which was now burned down to a stub. Then he took it out of his mouth and snuffed it out, grinding it on the tabletop until it was extinguished.

“That was my last one.”

He didn’t seem to be speaking to them. His eyes remained focused on the floor. Gail thought his voice sounded sad.

“So,” Novak said, looking back up at them again, “to recap—we’re almost out of gas and food, and tomorrow’s forecast calls for rain. The only thing we’re not low on is ammunition. So we need to decide if we want to keep going and take our chances in the Atlantic, or if we want to explore a more final option.”

“You can’t be serious,” Morgan scoffed. “You’re talking about a suicide pact?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”