Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

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.”