The Drowned: Deluge Book 1: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story)

by Kevin Partner

  Without warning, Tom pulled her into an embrace. “We’ve got to risk it,” he said. “I know the likes of Fletcher. He’s got his eye on you and maybe that’s why May’s giving us a chance to escape.”

  “Did you hear what she said? The others eat at seven? She wants us to sneak out and get away. Or at least try it. I doubt she cares whether we make it or not, as long as we don’t come back.”

  “Maybe she’s jealous,” Tom said.

  “What?”

  He let her go and sneaked to the door, pushing his ear against it. “I mean it,” he whispered. “She might think you’re a rival.”

  “What?”

  Tom ignored her, standing silently at the door and listening. “Nothing. I think he’s gone. It’s now or never.”

  Ellie kissed him on the cheek and was rewarded by a flash of white teeth, then he gently opened the door and peered out into the cockpit.

  Ellie froze as she heard voices echoing from the front of the boat. “They’re in the saloon,” she hissed. “Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

  They crept out of the cabin on hands and knees, and Ellie sneaked a look around the corner and into the saloon. There they were, Krasinsky and Fletcher at the banquette while Linus stood facing them, his back to Ellie. Now for it.

  She pressed herself to the floor and, as quickly as she could, crawled along the floor of the cockpit until she could pitch herself over the first step and then down to the waterline. Moments later, Tom followed her.

  “So, what’s the big idea?”

  “Pull the dinghy in,” she said.

  When it was within arm’s reach, she slung her legs over the side and used them to pin it in place while she tore the seal from the emergency chest. “This ought to get their attention,” she said as she lifted out the flare gun.

  “Are you serious?”

  “You got any better ideas?”

  “But if you shoot it, they’ll know we’re here!”

  “What?” Her jaw dropped. “You think I’m going to send up a flare? I’m not a complete idiot, Tom! I’m going to fire it into the saloon.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because you’ll kill someone.”

  “May I remind you they’re pirates? The sort who throw dogs over the side?”

  “But what about the damage?”

  “Better to ruin the furnishings than lose the boat.”

  He paused for a moment, looking out to where Jodi had been hiding before. No sign of movement.

  “Okay, on one condition.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Go on.”

  “You’ve got to give them a warning.”

  “No way!”

  He put his hand on her arm. “We’re not like them, Ellie.”

  She stared into his serious, deep brown eyes. “Okay. But only one.”

  She took the gun and climbed up the steps, keeping as low as possible. She peered into the saloon. They were all sitting, all except May who was presumably preparing the food. Ellie’s food. The scraps left by the Coast Guard.

  The sensible thing to do would be to fire now, but she’d promised Tom and, besides, she was no cold-blooded killer. Heck, a few days ago, she’d been a tour guide for spoiled celebrities who wanted to see dolphins. Her hand shook as she grasped the gun. She knew that the next short period could define the course of the rest of her life. If things went very badly, these might be her last minutes. And if that was the case, she was going to be seriously ticked off when she arrived at the pearly gates. Oh, who was she kidding? She wouldn’t be heading upstairs—she’d be going where it was warm.

  She shook her head to stop her mind racing.

  “No one move.”

  Oh no.

  Patrick Reid appeared from the other side of the saloon. He was holding a shotgun. For an instant, all Ellie could hear was the sound of sea water dripping from his pants.

  “Who the hell are you?” Linus went to get up, but Patrick swung the weapon in his direction.

  “I said no one move! Now, where’s Ellie?”

  With a sigh that, she suspected, could be heard from one end of the boat to the other, she got to her feet. “I’m here, Patrick.”

  “Ah, there you are,” Fletcher said. He was looking directly at her, as calm as could be. “I was expecting you to join us for dinner.”

  Ellie dropped the flare gun onto a chair and they made their way into the saloon to stand near the slowly drying actor. “Jodi saw you, so I guessed plans had changed.”

  “I had everything under control,” Ellie said.

  “Really? You could have fooled me.”

  Ellie raised her eyebrows as if to suggest that anyone could have fooled him.

  “Well, I hate to break up this reunion, but you’re disturbing our meal,” Fletcher said.

  Linus stabbed a fat finger at Patrick. “Hey! Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Despite the situation, Ellie rolled her eyes.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Linus continued, as if they were having a casual conversation at dinner. “You’re a debt collector. You work down at the pawn shop on Third and Lime.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Fletcher said, showing the first hint of emotion. “He’s an actor. Pat Reid.”

  “Wow! A movie star?”

  Fletcher smiled. “Ten years ago, maybe. These days, he’s a has-been. And yet here we find ourselves. Perhaps you’ll find this script familiar, Mr. Reid. Our hero has the villains cornered and then they turn the tables.”

  Patrick scowled at Fletcher, but didn’t bite. “Time for you to leave,” he said.

  Still Fletcher smiled at them.

  “Get up!” Reid snapped, bringing the shotgun up to eye level.

  “Wait a minute,” Ellie said, looking around. “Where’s May?”

  Fletcher applauded. “At last! I wondered if you were ever going to notice. I know she’s pretty forgettable, always lurking in the background. But that has its uses from time to time. You didn’t think giving you the key was her idea, did you? Oh purlease! Come on, May. Show yourself.”

  Ellie turned at the sound of footsteps on the short stair leading down to the galley.

  “Lewis!”

  Behind the boy, gun pointed into his back, walked May, a look of triumph on her face.

  “Now, you see,” Fletcher said, “I had the upper hand all along. We were never in the slightest danger as long as we had the boy.”

  “Are you okay?” Tom asked.

  Lewis nodded. He looked pale, his eyes red and clotted with dried tears.

  Fletcher put his hand out. “Give me the shotgun and I won’t have May shoot the boy. And don’t think she won’t do it. She’s lost so much these past days that one more child counts for nothing.”

  Ellie glanced across at May. The woman’s eyes had been fixed on Fletcher, but they flicked to Ellie for a moment and she gasped as she saw May’s grief and desolation revealed.

  “Why should he be alive when mine are gone?” she said, visibly shaking. “All gone.”

  “Pat, hand over the shotgun,” Ellie said.

  Reid’s shoulders dropped as he flipped the gun over and held it out. Krasinsky took it and pointed it directly at him.

  “What now, boss?” Linus asked.

  Fletcher pointed at Reid. “Take him outside and shoot him.”

  “What? No!” Ellie cried out.

  “Why not? Tom is a sailor, and I have uses in mind for you. Who needs a has-been B-list actor?”

  Reid had stood transfixed as his fate was pronounced. “You b—”, he hissed.

  Ellie leaped forward as Krasinsky got to his feet. “Get back, missy,” Linus said, drawing a revolver from under the table and pointing it at her and Tom.

  Reid turned and went ahead of Krasinsky as Ellie’s mind feverishly tried to find any way out of this.

  “Don’t kill him,” she said. “I’ll do what you want, I promise, if you let him live.”

  Fle
tcher’s eyebrows lifted and his smile widened farther. “But you have no idea what I want, my dear. Be careful what you promise. And my, you would make a pleasant plaything. Quite the improvement on the current model.” His greedy eyes swept up and down her, freezing the blood in her veins. “But I think I will have you whether Reid lives or dies. I do not need your compliance. Indeed, I don’t want it. Where would be the fun in that?”

  “Go!” Krasinsky said, and Ellie couldn’t look Patrick in the eye as he was shepherded out of the saloon.

  Fletcher waved lazily toward the galley. “Turn the lights down, May. I want to see this. The famous actor meets his end.”

  Ellie watched with grim interest as the legs of the two men appeared through the narrow window of the saloon. They stepped onto the foredeck, making their way along the trampoline until Patrick stood between the two bows.

  Krasinsky raised his weapon and looked through the window at Fletcher who gave a thumbs-down like a Roman emperor at the games, a glass of wine in his other hand. Ellie braced herself. If Patrick’s death was going to mean anything, she would use the distraction to reach her signal flare and pray that Lewis was out of range of the pyrotechnics.

  Ellie saw Krasinsky aim the weapon.

  She gritted her teeth as she saw his hand squeeze on the trigger.

  During the moment in which the gun didn’t fire, Reid grabbed the barrel and pulled it toward himself, knocking Krasinsky off balance. Metal flashed in his hand and Krasinsky fell into the sea.

  Fletcher leaped up, pulling a gun from his seat as Ellie darted for the flare.

  “Stop!” May yelled, dragging Lewis forward.

  But then she yelled again. “Get off me!”

  And Ellie used that moment, that confusion, to reach the seat where her gun was hidden, pulling it down onto her.

  Bang! Bang! Rounds fizzed through the air, shattering a lamp just over her shoulder.

  Gunfire reverberated around the saloon. Ellie cried out as Tom fell backward. Linus pointed his gun toward where May was standing out of view.

  Ellie fired.

  Pink and white exploded behind her closed eyelids. Screams, screams from all around.

  She opened her eyes.

  Flames everywhere.

  She ran to Tom, pulling him away, then darted to where she’d last seen May. Jodi was on top of her, struggling to pull the gun from her reach as May let out a feral scream.

  Ellie forced the woman’s hand back to the floor, then backhanded her around the jaw.

  Lewis yelled.

  Something was lumbering toward him. It was wreathed in flames and it yelled in agony as it moved step by step toward them. A Ruger emerged from the inferno, and Ellie saw it moving in her direction as the voice began screaming expletives.

  Something moved behind it, but its arm swung around and threw off its attacker. The gun never wavered as it came within feet of Ellie and she looked into the dark circle and waited for the end.

  Another shape, leaping into the flames. It grabbed the arm between its teeth and dragged it down.

  “Aaah!!”

  Whoosh!

  The saloon disappeared within a cloud as the fire extinguisher swept from side to side.

  “Hector! He’s hurt!” Lewis kneeled beside the dog as Hector wiped at his singed muzzle, blood on his teeth.

  The thing that had been Fletcher writhed, feebly clutching at the floor as if it could get to Ellie. It screamed as Tom grabbed it by the arm and dragged it across the saloon. It screamed as he lifted it. And then the screaming was cut short and replaced by a dull splash.

  “No!” May cried out, wriggling beneath Jodi.

  “Let her go,” Ellie said.

  May jumped up and ran to the rail. Ellie followed her, looking out at where ripples spread above the still-visible, but still, body of Fletcher.

  “You’ve got a choice. Stay with us and we’ll let you off at the nearest safe place or …”

  The woman leaned forward and fell into the water. Ellie watched as she half swam, half waded to where Fletcher floated.

  Ellie turned to Tom. “You okay? You’re bleeding.”

  “I’m okay. Nicked me.”

  “Then get us offshore. I don’t want to start the cleanup until we’re safely out to sea.”

  Patrick put down the fire extinguisher and stood beside her. “It’s a wreck in there. And we’ve still got the other body to deal with.”

  “I know,” Ellie said. “Oh, and thanks for rescuing us.”

  “I love it when a plan comes together so perfectly.”

  Ellie put her arm through his and kissed his cheek. “So, the shotgun wasn’t loaded?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “What sort of idiot attempts a rescue mission without ammunition?”

  He looked down at her. Ellie couldn’t deny that, from a particular angle and after a near-death experience, he had a certain rugged, moth-eaten appeal. “Why, my dear Ellie, I’m British, you know. We don’t do guns.”

  “No wonder you lost your empire. And us.”

  “But we won, Ellie. Between us, we won.”

  She nodded as the boat began to move away from the shore and toward the bloodred sky. “For now.”

  Chapter 22

  VP

  Marian Buchanan sat under the bright lights and drummed her fingers on the table before running her hands through dry, brittle hair. She hated to think what she must have looked like, but a week below-ground and without sleep will do that to you.

  Finally, footsteps echoed along the corridor outside. She swallowed a last mouthful of coffee and gathered herself, sitting upright and pulling in a lungful of air. She felt like a prosecutor at Nuremberg, waiting for the accused.

  She nodded to Ted, chief of her security detail and pulled the door inward, his colleague Lexa—the ice queen—covering him with her Glock 22 as the gap widened.

  A pale man in a gray suit appeared. In fact, he was the whitest man Buchanan had ever seen, with barely a hint of pink to the skin visible around the trimmed white beard. Beside him strode a woman who she’d originally taken to be his assistant—Buchanan chided herself for her own sexism—but who soon accelerated past, hand outstretched.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Madam President, though the circumstances are…troubling.” She had a soft Scandinavian accent.

  “I am not president, Professor Lundberg,” Buchanan said, glancing at her name badge. “Until it is confirmed that President Turner has been lost, I am merely vice president.”

  Lundberg shook her head dismissively. “But he was in DC, was he not?”

  “Yes. He remained at his desk, coordinating the response.” Or so she’d been told. She knew the man, however, and unless he’d suddenly grown a spine, he’d have been running at the first news of the wave. But then, if that were the case, why wasn’t he here? God knew, she didn’t want his job, especially now. But she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him to have it either.

  Professor Else Lundberg took a seat and waited for the vice president to speak as her colleague sat down beside her. She was a petite woman with prematurely gray hair that was so stunning and suited her so well that Buchanan was forced to wonder if it was colored.

  Marian Buchanan, on the other hand, was taller, wider and entirely unremarkable in appearance. She hadn’t gotten to her high position because she looked good in a suit—or, indeed, a lab coat. She’d gotten there through talent. And family connections. And a career in pharmaceuticals.

  “I’ve called you to this private meeting, Professor, to offer you an opportunity to explain how it was that your revolutionary technique that would save the world actually ended it.” She spoke lightly, as if discussing some minor matters of business. The sorts of minor matters that had clogged up her past three years as VP. But she’d spent the last week coming to terms with what had happened and she knew that if her nation, such as it was, was to recover, then the recovery began with her. “You will, of course, be held accountable for this, bu
t if there is any way to mitigate your actions, I would like to know of them.”

  Lundberg’s face twitched and Buchanan saw the despair in her eyes. Here was a woman who’d spent years hunting a monster, only to discover that it was holding even greater horrors at bay.

  “The truth is, we don’t know why it happened. The operation proceeded perfectly to begin with: the seed was activated at our base in Antarctica and the population spread throughout the ice sheet, and then beyond it into the ocean.”

  “And then?”

  She sighed. “There was a mutation, we think. A random event. Somehow a new population emerged with properties the precise opposite of the old. Where the original population raised the melting point a fraction, thus causing liquid water to remain frozen at a higher temperature, this new mutation lowered the melting point, turning ice into water. This happened from the pole outwards, causing a massive buildup of liquid water within the continent that surged catastrophically when the curtain wall of remaining ice was breached.”

  Buchanan shook her head. The woman had spoken robotically, as if chanting a long-rehearsed incantation.

  “But surely you built safeguards?”

  “Of course. But they also failed. We could not have known.”

  The man sitting silently next to Lundberg twitched as if stung.

  “Professor…” Buchanan said.

  “My name is Rath. Doctor Frederick Rath of the Bonn Institute.”

  “And do you have something to say? Could you have known?”

  She’d struck a nerve, she could tell.

  Lundberg tensed and she would have warned her colleague to keep quiet if she could. Buchanan had spent long enough in the presence of politicians to recognize the signs.

  “We were warned.”

  “What?”

  Lundberg hissed. “Rath!”

  “Let him speak, Professor.”

  The white man drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “One of our people warned us, but the committee did not consider his argument credible.”

  Buchanan slammed her fists on the table. “Are you serious? You didn’t listen? And because of that, tens of millions of Americans, billions worldwide, have drowned! Why? Tell me why!”

  Lundberg removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “His data was incomplete. If we had called off the experiment, the chance would have been lost. It took years to build the political, scientific and industrial consensus. We judged that, for such a small possibility of failure, we should proceed for fear of missing the opportunity to save the planet and humanity’s place on it.”