Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 53

When they were all together, Gail suggested they move to the secure room that McCann had discovered, but Novak was against that idea. He wanted to stay where they were, pointing out that should something happen to the small boat anchored to the side of the building, they’d have no means of escape.

“I don’t know,” Gail said. “I think I’d almost rather take my chances in here than out there on the open water. At least in here, we can defend ourselves. We’re sitting ducks outside.”

“I’m not against staying here a while,” Novak agreed, “but we still need the boat. We’ve all seen the size of some of those things out there. Some of them could smash this building with one flap of their tail. Then there’s the shark-men and those starfish-headed things to contend with. If they attack, we may have to leave in a hurry. If something happens to the boat, our only option is going to be swimming, and that’s as good as suicide.”

“So we’re back to that again?” Gail asked him. “You still think we should commit group assisted suicide?”

“I’m not saying that. I’d like to live long enough to track down the others and kick their collective asses for leaving us behind. But I do think it’s still an option.”

“They’re dead already,” McCann muttered. He sat huddled in the corner, gutting and skinning the rat with a knife. “So are we.”

Gail shot a worried glance at Novak. Nodding, he sighed and shook his head.

“We’re not dead, McCann. You need to get your shit together, shipmate. You’re starting to lose it, and I need you with us and clear-headed.”

Simon sat cross-legged, his back against the damp, mildewed wall, observing their conversation with the air of a stranger figuring out their group dynamic. He said nothing, and his expression remained calm, almost serene—but Gail saw a deep weariness in his eyes.

“Let’s not talk about all that right now,” she said. “We’re all tired and banged up. Novak and Simon could both use some rest, McCann, and so could you and me. I vote we eat something and try to relax, if just for a little bit.”

McCann held up the bloody, skinned carcass of the rat and arched an eyebrow. “Dinner is served, but I don’t know how we’re going to cook it. I found some matches in the cubbyhole, but they’re wet.”

“I’ve still got a lighter,” Novak said. “But it was in my pocket when we ended up in the water. I don’t know if it will work or not. Even if it did, there’s nothing in here that’s dry enough to burn.”

Simon leaned forward. “Please, allow me. Mr. McCann, if you could gather some wood for us? Perhaps some of that office furniture?”

Grumbling, McCann lay the rat aside and did as Simon requested. He returned a short time later with the legs and drawers from a wooden desk, along with several cans of vegetables and some bottles of water from the secure room.

“How’s this?” he asked, dropping the wood on the floor.

“That will be fine.” Smiling, Simon arranged the wood in a pile. Then he simply sat there, staring at it. His brow furrowed as if he was concentrating on something. Gail noticed a vein standing out in his forehead.

“I still don’t know how you’re going to get it to burn,” Novak said. “Damn moisture gets into everyth—”

The kindling burst into a bright, smokeless flame. Gail and Novak gasped. McCann scampered backward.

Gail turned to Simon. “How did you do that?”

“It was easy,” he replied. “However, like any other fire, it won’t last without more fuel. I suggest we cook our dinner and savor the warmth the fire brings. While it’s cooking, perhaps we can gather some more wood.”

“Do you have pyrokin…” Novak frowned. “Pyrokinesis?”

“That’s the scientific name for it,” Simon agreed. “I must admit, it is a useful ability in situations such as ours.”

“Won’t the floor catch on fire?” Gail asked, eyeing the flames nervously.

Simon shook his head. “It’s controlled. We’re perfectly safe.”

It occurred to Gail that all of them, herself included, were apparently taking this all in stride. Maybe they were all suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or maybe they’d just been through too much weird stuff for this to really faze them. After all, when you’d been hunted by shark-men and giant worms, and ninety percent of your planet was flooded, was a magical campfire really that disconcerting?

“Gather round,” Simon suggested. “Warm yourselves.”

Novak grinned. “Mister, you are one spooky son-of-a-bitch, but right now, I don’t care. Let’s eat.”

Their moods picked up as the room filled with the aroma of roasting meat. Gail felt a little queasy over the fact that it was a rat, and tried to tell herself it was chicken she was smelling. Soon, however, her hunger took over and she decided that rat would be just fine. They divided the meat into four portions. Some of it was burned and other parts were still half-raw, but all of them agreed that it was delicious. They topped it off with the vegetables and washed it all down with a bottle of water each. When they were finished, the four of them huddled around the fire. Novak licked the grease from his fingers and burped in contentment. McCann gathered some more wood and fed it into the flames. Gail warmed her hands and feet, relishing the feeling of being dry for the first time in months.

“Better?” Simon asked.

All three nodded. Novak belched, long and heartily, earning a round of laughter.

“Well then,” Simon said, staring into the dancing flames, “I suppose it’s time I told you my story.”