Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 51

McCann scrambled out into the reception area and glanced around for something—anything—to use as a weapon, but the space was empty, save for fragments of fallen plaster and puddles of water. At some point, the desk had surely held a computer and some type of phone switchboard, but both were now missing, as was the receptionist’s chair. The skittering sound drew nearer. The shadowy form rose up and squeaked.

“What the hell?”

In the doorway, a large, brown rat stood on its hind legs and studied him cautiously. Its nose twitched at the sound of McCann’s voice, but the rodent didn’t run away. Instead, it dropped back down to all fours and crept closer.

“You’re a brave little son of a bitch.”

As if in agreement, the bold rodent darted forward and stopped at McCann’s feet. It stood up on its hind legs again and squeaked once more. It showed no fear—only curiosity.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were tame. Is that it? Were you a pet rat? Did you belong to the guy who shot at me?”

Moving slowly, McCann knelt in the doorway. His knee joints popped and his stomach growled. Both sounded loud in the silence, but still the rat remained. He studied it closely, looking for any sign of the white fuzz, but the creature seemed free of infection. Holding his breath, McCann reached out with one finger and cautiously touched the rodent’s back. When it didn’t bite him or flee, he stroked its soft, damp fur. The rat arched its back, obviously enjoying the attention. McCann smiled.

“Look at you. You’re a friendly little guy. What’s your name, I wonder? Did he give you a name?”

He spoke in soft, cooing tones, and the rat gazed up at him with rapt attention. McCann petted it a few more times and then stood up. The rat remained at his feet.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to come up with a name for you. How about ‘Dinner’? You like that? Come here, Dinner.”

McCann’s grin vanished. He raised one booted foot and brought it down on the rat’s head. Its skull crunched beneath his heel. The rodent’s legs and tail twitched, and then it lay still. The thought occurred to McCann that this could have been the last rat left alive in the world, and that he’d just made their entire species extinct. Then his stomach growled again, and he dismissed the thought with a shrug.

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, McCann stepped into the small office and looked around. It was a windowless room, and had probably served as some sort of storage area at one time. Judging from the clutter, the man who’d attacked them earlier had been using it as a place to sleep. McCann nodded with begrudging approval. Unlike the other offices, the room was hidden from the ocean, and easy to defend if attacked. It was tucked away and not easily noticeable. Indeed, he and Gail had missed it during their initial search. It might be just as easily missed by anyone—or anything—that entered the building hunting for prey.

The floor was strewn with makeshift bedding composed mostly of dirty, damp linens, tablecloths, sofa cushions and scraps of torn clothing. The walls were lined with metal shelving, and stacked on these was a wide assortment of various odds and ends—everything from cases of bottled water to knives and other weapons. Spying a sports coat that was relatively unsoiled, McCann made a mental note to thoroughly search the room and inventory its contents later. He selected a handgun from the assortment of weapons, but couldn’t find ammunition for it. He lay the pistol back down and took a butcher knife instead. Just holding it in his hand made McCann feel more secure. Then he picked up a pillowcase from the floor, placed the rat’s still-bleeding corpse inside, and tied the pillowcase shut, forming a makeshift sack. He slung this over his shoulder, grabbed the sports coat, and then headed back upstairs to find Gail and Simon.

He whistled as he walked, and it wasn’t until he was halfway up the stairwell to the next floor that he realized the moisture on his cheeks wasn’t remnants from the rain, but fresh tears.