Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 18

The first thing Henry noticed when he woke up was that he was soaking wet. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on a slant.

Being wet was relative. He hadn’t actually been dry since the rain began. The moisture seeped into everything, permeating buildings and clothes like they were tissue paper. Even if he stayed inside, the pervasive dampness in the air eventually got to him. He was always wet and always chilly, and as a result, he’d developed constant cold-like symptoms. Nothing serious. No fever or rattling in his lungs. But his nose ran a lot and he sneezed quite often. This morning was no different. The only change was that when he’d gone to sleep, his burlap sack kilt had been merely damp. Now it was soaked.

The odd angle he found himself in was more of an immediate cause for concern. He’d gone to sleep with Moxey curled up in the cardboard box next to him. Now she was gone. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking around for her, yawning, and trying to figure out what was going on. His legs tingled as if asleep and his head pounded. When Henry sat up, he realized why.

The grain silo had moved.

Sometime in the night, the entire structure had shifted on its base far below. The floor had sloped downward, leaving his legs at a slight angle above his head. Worse, the water filling the center of the silo had sloshed out over the rail and was running across the floor towards the open door, which was now tilted towards the ocean outside. He wondered how he’d managed to sleep through it. They were lucky the entire thing hadn’t crashed into the water.

“Shit.”

He shook his legs, rubbing them to get the circulation going again, and waited a few minutes until his headache had subsided. Then he called for Moxey. She came to him, timid and nervous, walking at an angle, her claws gripping the wooden floorboards. She expressed her displeasure at this new turn of events with a weak, mournful howl. Henry pulled her to him and put the cat in his lap. Wet fur came off in his palm as he stroked her back.

“Well, I told you we were getting out of here today. This just proves it. We can’t wait around any longer, girl. We’ve got to leave now, or else starving will be the least of our worries.”

Purring, Moxey raised her head so that he could scratch under her chin.

“I just don’t understand how the silo could have shifted like that. I mean, I know the bottom half is underwater, but the foundation should still be strong. It’s concrete and steel. Water couldn’t weaken it that quick, could it?”

He thought about the strange white fungus. From what he’d seen so far, it slowly liquefied whatever it grew on. Could it have been growing beneath the surface all this time, slowly liquefying the grain silo?

Moxey closed her eyes and snuggled closer. Henry stopped petting her.

“Don’t you get too comfortable. Come on. Get up. We can’t stay here.”

Moxey squeaked as he gently pushed her off his lap. Henry clambered to his feet, struggling to keep his footing on the slippery, treacherous new incline. He felt the floor vibrate through the soles of his feet. Somewhere below the water, the foundation groaned. Debris fell down from the rafters—an old bird’s nest, pieces of straw, and a length of rotten, moldering baling twine. Halting, Henry held his breath, expecting the entire structure to crash into the water at any second. Instead, it shuddered once and then stopped.

More brackish water splashed out of the center of the silo and swept across the floor, churning around his ankles. Moxey hissed in alarm. Moving quickly, Henry bent over and plucked her from the stream before she could be swept out the door. Once more, he was shocked by how weightless she’d become. It was like lifting a stuffed animal, rather than a real cat.

With Moxey under one arm, Henry glanced around at their few belongings. There wasn’t much. A few remaining bottle of water, the rifle, half a box of bullets, a cloth to clean off the rifle’s scope, empty food wrappers, a cigarette lighter, his pocketknife, and the claw-hammer. Everything else had either been tossed into the water after his encounter with the thing in the church steeple, used to fashion the raft and his new clothes, or was worthless—like the bucket full of rusty nuts and bolts. He was pretty sure that he could fit both himself and Moxey onto the door-raft. He worried about keeping the gun and ammunition dry, but his main concern was how to paddle the raft and keep Moxey safe at the same time. If she remained in his lap, everything would be fine, but if she became frightened or nervous and tried to jump off…

Get real for a minute, he thought. Even if I do get her to shore, I’m gonna have to carry her through the woods, all the way to Mr. Garnett’s house. That’ll be tough on her. Tough on me, too. Maybe it would be better to put her out of her misery now. I could do it quick.

And then I wouldn’t have to try this on an empty stomach.

The silo shook again. This time, Henry felt it slide. He fell to the floor, dropping the cat in the process. His elbows and knees banged against the floorboards, and then he was slipping toward the open door. Henry grasped at the floor, but could find nothing to hold onto. Water gushed over him and tumbled out of the opening. Howling, Moxey scrabbled for purchase with her claws. Then, the silo tilted again, and with a final tremble, stopped shaking. His plunge halted, Henry lay on the floor, gasping breathless prayers.

Getting to his feet, Henry called Moxey to him. After making sure she wasn’t injured, he glanced around for the rifle, only to find it missing. Assuming that it had washed out into the ocean with the last surge, he decided not to delay any longer. He grabbed the raft and pushed it through the open doorway. It splashed into the water and floated in place. Henry took the claw hammer and his pocketknife, and decided not to search for any of the rest of their gear. Although the lighter and the bottled water would be good things to have, another delay could cost Moxey and he their lives. Too late, he realized that he had nothing to paddle with. Frantically casting about, he noticed that one of the planks in the floor had come loose. The twelve-penny nail holding it in place had popped out, probably during one of the tremors, since they’d all been secure the day before. Using the hammer, he pried the floorboard loose. Then he slid down onto the raft. Moxey fought and struggled, and for a moment, Henry thought she might bite through his hand. But then she settled down. She trembled against him, and she wasn’t purring, but neither was she trying to get away. If anything, she seemed resigned to her fate.

After making sure the cat was settled, Henry started to row. His nose wrinkled at the stench wafting from the toxic water—a nauseating mix of oil, gasoline, and chemicals. He saw a few dead bodies floating and bobbing, and many more partial corpses—severed arms or legs, an ear, and something that was either a scalp or a wig. He stayed alert for water moccasins or other snakes, but saw nothing. It was hard for him to gauge how far away the shoreline was, because of the thick mist enveloping the mountainside. Henry peered through the fog, catching glimpses of fallen trees and boulders. With his attention so focused on what lay ahead of them, he didn’t notice the disturbance behind them until it was too late.

There was a tremendous splash from the rear of the craft. Water splattered them both. Moxey hissed and spat. Her claws sunk into Henry’s thigh. Her attention was focused behind them. Henry pulled the oar from the water and glanced over his shoulder. A black, wheelbarrow-sized dorsal fin glided toward the raft.

Henry had time to think, There aren’t any sharks in the Greenbrier River…

Then the creature leapt from the water and he saw that it wasn’t a shark at all. It was something much worse.