Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 31

“So,” Ben said, “do we like, take a vote or something? A show of hands?”

Novak shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever you guys prefer. I don’t think we should decide right now, though. My point was to apprise you of our situation—make sure you understood just what we’re facing. Personally, I think we should take our time. Mull it over. Talk about it amongst yourselves.”

“I agree,” Warren said. “I mean, we’ve got time. We don’t have to decide right this second.”

Paris nodded. “It’s not like we’re going to die tonight.”

“Tell that to Hansen,” Mylon muttered in his thick southern accent.

“Which reminds me,” Novak said, “we’ve still got to divvy up his stuff. Anybody want to volunteer to help McCann inventory it?”

Gail raised her hand. She’d done it before, when Andre had died after being infected with leeches. The act itself was morbid and sad—separating and listing the belongings of a dead shipmate—but it made her feel useful. Also, she didn’t trust some of the other survivors to be honest with their tally. After Lieberman had been lured over the side by a mermaid, Paris and Riffle had been assigned to inventory his personal belongings. Gail suspected—but had no proof—that they’d kept four packs of Juicy Fruit gum that Lieberman had hidden beneath his pillow. Gail had known about the gum because he’d shared a stick with her. The day after his death, she’d seen both Paris and Riffle chewing gum. When she stood close enough to talk to them, she’d noticed the unmistakable smell of Juicy Fruit.

“Thanks, Gail,” Novak said. “Same rules as always. Anything like food, batteries, toiletries or medicine should go in the communal pile. Anything else—clothes, books, shit like that—gets divided up among whoever wants it.”

Morgan sniffed. “Why bother?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why bother sorting through Hansen’s effects? Fighting over the Advil or toilet paper he may have left behind seems pointless given the fact that you’re suggesting we decide whether or not we want to enter into a suicide pact.”

“Suit yourself.” Novak turned away, effectively dismissing him. “If you don’t want his stuff, that just leaves more for everyone else.”

“I call dibs on dry socks,” Tatiana said. “If he’s got any.”

“Nothing’s dry anymore,” Lynn said.

“If they are,” Caterina replied, “then you’ll have to fight me for them. His underwear, too. Mine’s soaked.”

Warren nudged Ben in the ribs and both men smirked at the unintentionally lewd comment. Caterina seemed oblivious to their reaction. Gail felt a momentary flash of anger. Was this what they’d been reduced to—arguing over a dead man’s personal belongings just minutes after his death? Maybe Novak was right. Maybe they should think about killing themselves now. Maybe the human race would be better off extinct.

Shaking her head, Gail stood up and walked over to McCann, who was nursing a cold mug of instant coffee. “You ready?”

“Sure. Might as well get it over with.” He drained his mug and grimaced. “God, that tastes like shit. I’d kill for a Starbucks right now. I always hated those places before. Thought their coffee was overpriced and tasted like something had died in my cup. Now, I’d love to come across one. Remember how they used to be on every corner?”

“They still are,” Gail replied. “All you have to do is dive straight down.”

“No thanks.” McCann frowned. “Hell, Gail. You’re getting as cynical as Novak. He’s a bad influence on you.”

“Fuck you,” Novak said, grinning. “And hey, if Hansen has any cigars stowed away, I call dibs. Unless anybody else wants to split them with me?”

Lynn laughed. “You’re the only one who smokes them. And besides, if Hansen did have any, they probably wouldn’t be dry, either. Just like his socks.”

“How did you manage to keep yours dry, anyway?” Warren asked Novak.

“You kidding?” Novak’s grin grew broader. “This is perfect cigar weather! I haven’t once had to fuck with the humidifier in my humidor since the rain started.”

Warren opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden squawk from the boat’s intercom made him stop. McCann and Gail paused at the hatch. Everyone in the galley looked up at the speaker mounted to the bulkhead.

“Hey folks.” Riffle’s voice was muffled by static. “That dude in Boston is back on the air. I’m patching him through now.”

The group fell silent, and listened