She wanted to run away, but she couldn’t.
“What happened?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The eyes stared at her, but the mouth said nothing. Whoever he was, only the thinnest of barriers separated him from the next world. But somehow she knew, though he was almost entirely still, that he was in agony. Tiny movements, little convulsions, almost inaudible moans.
She wanted to run away, but she had to see it through. She was in too deep and if she simply left him here, he would haunt her dreams forever.
“Help.” It was a croak of desperation.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Pain.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything to help.”
The hand raised a little and its blackened index finger curled around and contracted.
“You…you want me to shoot?”
A sigh. Unmistakable.
“I can’t…I can’t kill you!”
“Please.”
She settled back, feeling the cool of the forest floor penetrating her pants as she pulled out the Glock—big, ugly death-giver, the weapon of a monster—and laid it on the ground where it sat, garlanded by the tiny blue flowers. The forest waited. The man beneath the canopy moaned again, and she realized he was sobbing.
If he were a dog she wouldn’t hesitate, would she? Well, she hadn’t shot a dog either, but the decision was clear enough. And if it was the right thing to do for an animal, surely this man, who had clearly told her what he wanted her to do, was owed at least the same mercy, wasn’t he?
But she couldn’t ask someone else to do it; there was no one else here. She’d have given everything she owned for Patrick to be the one having to make this decision.
She crawled forward again, holding her breath against the stench of rottenness, and pushed the tarpaulin farther back until she exposed the whole of the man. His lower half was covered in filth and she wondered how long he’d been here. Surely not since the day of the wave? She felt tears running down her cheeks as she fought the overwhelming urge to throw up.
A hunting rifle lay beside him and she could now see that he’d made himself a place to sit against the bole of the tree, but had long ago slipped onto his side. He wore a hiking vest that he’d torn open, exposing a T-shirt soaked in a dark fluid. His boots had gone, and one leg had been wrapped in a bandage from a medical pack that was open and empty beside the tree. The bandage was soaked in purplish black. So, he’d injured himself—maybe when getting out of the truck, and he’d made this shelter to tend to his injury. Perhaps he’d been worried that the water would continue to rise.
But an injury like that, properly treated, shouldn’t have turned septic. She thought back to Jodi and Lewis. They’d caught some sickness from the water—maybe that’s what had happened to this poor soul. He’d gashed his leg on something beneath the water line and it had become infected.
“P…please…”
She started as, with a heave he reached out to her, almost grabbing her leg.
Ellie picked up the hunting rifle and pulled back the bolt, then pushed it forward again, loading a round into the chamber. It was a little heavy for her, but it seemed like the right weapon to use rather than the Glock.
She pulled it backward and the man moved again, his arm coming up. “No…”
“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to do what you ask.” But she had to be farther away, like a hunter. She didn’t want to see him up close when she squeezed the trigger.
He collapsed again. Could she take him back to the boat? No, that was ridiculous. This poor devil wouldn’t survive even in a modern emergency room. He was too far gone. Far too far.
And so she would have to kill him.
A numbness crept over her body as she moved a few yards away. She’d briefly thought about giving him the Glock so he could do it himself, but he didn’t have the strength. And she was many things, but she wasn’t a coward. She liked to think she wasn’t cruel either.
So, she settled in among the violet blooms. She didn’t think about the stranger lying there. A human being with his own life story and as deserving of being able to continue it as she was. If she’d have arrived a few days ago, she’d have tried to save him, but he was already close to death. If he’d been an animal, she told herself again, she would see it as a mercy. So, she thought of him that way. No longer a man, now simply a barely living thing that was in pain.
Crack.
Now he was free.
Chapter 7
Chase
Ellie couldn’t leave him to the birds and racoons, so she dug a shallow grave beside the tree he’d died beneath and dragged him into it by the heels. She kept her eyes focused on his feet, but she couldn’t help glancing at his face as she began back-filling the stony earth. He was younger than she’d thought, much younger. Sickness, pain and desperation had ravaged him, but she guessed he was probably in his early thirties. On the ground next to where he’d lain, she found his wallet and, inside it, a crumpled photo of a smiling woman and a young baby.
She put the wallet beside the grave and hurried away. She sensed another wave threatening to overwhelm her, this time within her own mind. She staggered back to the truck that stood half in, half out of the water and then, quite suddenly, the wave caught up with her. She’d cried for the man beneath the tree. Now she cried for herself.
She’d killed a man in cold blood.
The Ellen Fischer of two weeks ago couldn’t even imagine such a thing. What had she become? And why was she struggling, after all? To deliver a spoiled brat to her uncle—assuming he was still alive. Assuming she was still alive. What Ellen should have been doing was going after her daughter. She couldn’t bring herself to believe Maria was dead, though she knew that was probably her inability to face the truth.
And instead of sailing west, she found herself on what had once been a mountain in Arkansas, with the blood of that man on her hands. It had been a mercy. He had begged her. But still, she’d killed a man. And she knew she would never be the same again.
Mechanically, she lifted the fuel can, then stumbled under its weight, banging her head against the side of the truck. The pain brought the tears back and she kicked out like a child having a tantrum, roaring with frustration. The sun was low in the sky and she couldn’t face the prospect of a night out here or, even worse, trying to find her way back to the boat in the dark with a can of fuel to slow her down.
Then she had it. Like a sunbeam cutting through a cloud, she saw the man’s wallet in her mind’s eye. And something beside it.
She got to her feet and ran back to where he’d lain. She had spent as little time as she could under the tree because it stank, but she breathed in and looked around in the shadows. Where had the wallet been? Beside the trunk where he’d propped himself up. And beside it, a small pile. She put out her hand and her fingers closed around a cell phone and, underneath it, a car key.
Her heart raced as she ran back. Please, in God’s name. Please work.
Ellie pulled the door open and sat in the driver’s seat. She took a deep breath, said another prayer, and turned the key. The starter motor made a noise like a mule with a migraine and then, suddenly, it roared into life.
“YES!” she cried. All the grief, exhaustion and desperation were gone in an instant. She left the truck running and loaded the fuel can in the back. Getting back in, she checked the fuel gauge—a third full. Would it be enough? It would have to be.
She put the car into reverse, released the handbrake and put her foot on the gas. The front wheels spun on mud and she went nowhere. Trying to keep her panic in check, she found sports mode and put it in fourth, then eased it forward a couple of feet. Water leaked in under the door. She dared not take it any farther back. She turned the wheel right as far as it would go, then shifted into reverse and eased backward. Then, her foot slipped, she stabbed down on the gas and, with a roar the truck spun backward, spraying water and mud as she took her foo
t off the pedal and waited for the spitter-spatter of filth to stop falling before she looked to see where she’d ended up.
She was on the road. At last, Fate had rolled a double six.
Ellie gave herself a few seconds to calm down before putting the car in drive, flicking the lights on and retracing her steps back to Kujira.
“Put the gun down and give me a hand!” Ellie called as she saw Patrick’s flashlight swing around. She was picking her way along the spit of land the boat was tied to. Now that she’d finally made it back, after being convinced she’d taken the wrong turn on the return journey more than once, all she wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep the rest of the night away.
“Ellie! Oh, thank God,” Patrick said. “Wow, you brought transport. Clever.”
Ellie nodded. “Yeah, long story. Let’s get the fuel can back onto the boat and we’ll deal with it in the morning. I need to get some sleep.”
“You need a shower first.”
“Oh, I smell do I? Well, how could that possibly have happened? I’m so sorry to offend your British sensibilities.”
“Hey, keep your hair on,” Patrick said, raising his hands and backing away. “I was only joking.” With a grunt, he lifted the fuel can out of the flatbed and began to follow her back through the trees toward the boat.
She didn’t say anything. She knew she’d been unfair, but was too exhausted to care. Her mind was focused on getting back to her cabin on Kujira and, yes, having a shower before collapsing onto her bed.
Bright sun touched her face, warming the skin and bringing her around. A beautiful morning in Clearwater Bay. Fun, champagne, and maybe, a chance to sunbathe and show off her legs to Brad Pitt.
Then reality ruined everything as her mind brought her up to date. They were tied up to some trees in a lagoon that was once Arkansas, survivors of a drowned world with no future beyond the vague hope they’d get some answers when they found Jodi’s uncle.
She sat up in bed and contemplated taking a second shower before realizing three things at once. Firstly, she didn’t know how much clean water they had and certainly shouldn’t have used it for showering. Secondly, how were Jodi, Lewis and Tom? She hadn’t bothered to ask last night. And finally, where was Patrick?
She found him sitting half asleep on a deck chair, looking out at where the pickup lay at the end of the little spit. “I owe you an apology.”
His head snapped up and he made an odd noise in his throat before focusing on her as she pulled up a chair and sat beside him. “What? Why? Oh. No, forget it.”
“When did you last sleep?”
“You mean, aside from just then?” he said, grinning. “Three nights ago.”
“You’d better take a few hours. I’m going to need your help getting the rest of the fuel aboard and casting off. How are the patients?”
He sighed. “No change, except that Tom’s got worse. Can’t speak properly to any of them. They just sleep. Haven’t we got anything we can try? No antibiotics?”
“No, our friendly neighborhood Coast Guard took all our drugs. Even the medicinal ones.”
“Jeez, I think we’re going to lose them.”
Ellie took his hand. “Not if I can help it. We’ll find her uncle. He’s a scientist and, by all accounts, he’s got somewhere she’ll be safe, so he must have something he can give her.”
“What if nothing helps? What if it’s incurable?”
“That kind of thinking will get us nowhere. Where’s your British blitz spirit?”
He squeezed her hand. She found she liked it. “I’m not quite that old, Ellie.”
She ordered him to bed when they’d emptied all the truck’s fuel into Kujira’s tank and checked on the others. As he’d said, none of them showed any sign she was even there. She slipped latex gloves on and measured their temperatures—all were north of 104 degrees—but she was most worried about them dehydrating. All three had soaked their sheets and Jodi’s eyes had shrunken in their sockets. One thing was certain; without treatment, they would all die.
As Patrick slept, she began to unwind the ropes attaching the boat to the little spit of land. She would wait for him to wake up so he could let them go gently while she brought the boat around. He could then climb on board via the aft ladder. At least, that was the plan.
She was unwinding one of the two ropes, intending to leave it only partially attached when she saw movement in the trees. Then she heard voices. They hadn’t seen her.
“Hey, Jasper, look at this!”
Peering around the trunk of the tree, she saw two figures emerge onto the bank opposite Kujira. Both were armed.
“Keep back, you idiot!” a second voice hissed, and they stepped away, though she could still hear them. “You go get the others, but make sure they don’t show themselves. Whoever’s on that boat’s not likely to be friendly if they see how many of us there are. It’s our ticket out of this place. Now, go!”
She watched the foliage move, then caught sight of the first figure—a tall man in a hunter’s jacket—regarding the boat with envy and hope. She guessed they must have been a hunting party stranded here when the water rose. She wondered what they’d been living off for the past two weeks.
Then she saw his eyes flick along the spit, working out how the boat was tethered. She snapped back into the shadows, waited a few seconds, then looked again. He was gone. Probably back into the undergrowth. She had no time to lose. If they came back with reinforcements then all was lost. So, she began to ease the rope gently around the trunk, paying it out inch by inch. She cursed her own stupidity for not bringing the shotgun with her: all she had was the knife stuffed into her shorts.
All the time, she kept her eyes focused on the trees. So, she didn’t notice the boat begin to drift out as it came loose. And she didn’t notice the shape slinking from tree to tree until she heard the voice coming from feet away. “Now then, what d’you think you’re doin’?”
In shock, she let the rope go completely, and Kujira swung around, its stern pointing out into the channel as its stern remained firmly attached to land.
Strong fingers gripped her arm as a knife appeared inches from her face. “My, you’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” She looked into a gap-toothed smile surrounded by a wiry brown beard.
Ellie slapped his face hard, then kicked him in the crotch with every ounce of strength. He groaned and fell back, and as his shoulder came around, she grasped for the rifle. She grabbed the stock and yanked, but as he fell he flailed at her and it flew out of her reach and toward the water. She gave him another kick, pulled the knife from her shorts, and ran along the little beach toward where the aft of the boat was tethered.
She could still hear him groaning and cursing as he waited for his groin to recover enough so he could come after her. And he still had his knife.
Ellie hacked at the rope. But, of course, this wasn’t the movies, and she’d barely cut through half of it before she heard him behind her.
“I’m gonna hurt you bad, real bad for that.”
And she heard cries from the shoreline. Many voices calling out to their leader.
He growled as he lunged at her, his Bowie knife whipping through the air. She ducked and staggered back from the half-sawn rope that kept Kujira tethered to the land.
He kicked out at her, trying to take her feet from under her, but she grabbed the tree and pirouetted. She wasn’t scared. Not anymore. Yesterday, by the pickup of that poor man, she had reached rock bottom. But she’d slept since then. Now she was mad. Really, really mad. All her life she’d been hit on, and she hadn’t survived without knowing how to deal with scum like this. She knew he was dangerous, but she also knew that fear was the bigger threat.
She brought her free leg across and into his abdomen, instantly knocking the wind out of him.
As he fell back, she stamped down on his hand and pulled the dagger out of his grip before casting it into the sea. She sliced through the remaining rope as he writhed on the ground, and the boat
began moving. Too quickly. The wind caught it and it swung around, taking the aft ladder out of reach.
His hand gripped her ankle, and she tripped, but she recovered and kicked out again.
“Shoot!” he yelled to the figures following him along the spit. “At her!”
Ellie ran along the spit, darting in and out of the trees as rounds fizzed through the air. To stop was to die.
The boat was drifting along the tiny bit of land, getting closer and closer to the end. She knew that if it emerged from the shelter of the trees, it could be blown in any direction and she’d have no chance to catch it.
She emerged past the final tree and Kujira, caught by a gust of wind, leaped out into the open sea, far beyond her grasp. She ran into the sea, crying out in despair as she heard a roar of triumph from the man hobbling along after her. She was lost. Her pursuers would catch her and, at best, she’d become their prisoner. She yelled in rage and fear, standing in the water as feet splashed behind her.
Then something brushed against her leg, just under the water’s surface. She reached down, gripped the wet rope and flung herself into the ocean, only barely holding on as Kujira pulled her behind it.
A yell of rage from behind told her she was already out of reach of her pursuers and she wound both arms around the wet rope, only just able to hold on against the power of the water as it tried to tear her off. Already, her muscles protested, and she could feel her grip weaken. Inch by inch, she felt herself slipping off the rope. Soon enough, she would be cast adrift, just one more victim of the wave.
And then something yanked at her, pulling in the opposite direction. She looked up, but could see nothing as she tried to look between her eyelashes while keeping her eyes firmly closed against the salt water. But the boat was getting closer, there was no doubt of it. Tug by tug, it got bigger until she was almost at the stern. The rope seemed to stop, as if it had been tied up, and a hand grabbed her arm.
Deluge | Book 2 | Phage Page 5
