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.
CHAPTER 52
“So, are you going to tell me more about this group… what did you say it was called?”
“Black Lodge.”
“Right.” Gail nodded. “How come I’ve never heard of them?”
Simon smiled. “You obviously didn’t spend your free time trawling the internet. There was endless speculation about us on the various conspiracy-minded forums and blogs. In truth, the internet was our undoing. We’ve existed for ages, but it wasn’t until the advent of the internet that we became exposed.”
“Centuries? So, you’re not some offshoot of the CIA or FBI?”
“No, nothing like that. Tell me, Gail, are you familiar with the story of the nativity?”
“The birth of Jesus? Sure. But what does that have to do with—”
“The three wise men were also known as magi. They were representatives of our group. But we go even farther back than that.”
Gail opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, they both heard footsteps coming down the hall. They turned to look as McCann walked back into the room. He carried a butcher knife, suit jacket, and a pillowcase that was leaking fresh blood. Gail watched as a suspended droplet dripped down onto the carpet.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked.
McCann grinned. “Dinner.”
“Are you okay? You seem… I don’t know. Tired.”
“I am tired,” McCann said. Then he approached Simon and handed him the suit coat. “I found this for you. Hope it fits.”
Simon stood up, and Gail quickly turned away, but not before catching another glimpse of his wounds. She heard the whisper of cloth over bare flesh, and then Simon cleared his throat. She turned back around. The injured man’s face was red. He glanced down at his exposed lower half and blushed harder.
“I suppose it’s better than nothing.”
“There’s more downstairs,” McCann said. “I found the cubbyhole where our boy was living. Most of the clothes are torn or wet or dirty, but you can probably make due.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Smiling with his split and swollen lips, Simon took the coat off and tied it sideways around his waist, like a loincloth. Then he held his arms out to the side and slowly turned all the way around until he was facing them again. “Is that better?”
“Much better,” Gail said, surprised at the flutter in her voice.
“There’s other stuff downstairs, too,” McCann said. “Water. Weapons. We should be able to stay here for a bit, and recuperate. Not that it matters, though. Not really.”
Gail frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I figured it out,” McCann replied. “None of this matters, because we’re already dead. Think about what’s happened. The weather doesn’t act like this. It can’t rain like this all over the world. It’s not scientifically possible. And all those monsters—the worms and the things in the water. They can’t be real. We’re dead. We’re dead and we’re in Hell.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in Heaven and Hell.”
McCann shrugged. “No sense not believing in something that’s right there in front of your face. We’re in Hell, Gail. Only difference is that Hell isn’t hot. It’s wet.”
Simon took a faltering step forward, wincing in obvious pain. They reached out to support him, but he waved them away. Grimacing, he took another step, and placed his hand on McCann’s shoulder.
“I can assure you that we’re not dead, friend. At least, not yet. But you are partially correct. Another realm of existence—not Hell, but the Great Deep—is pouring over into our own. And if we don’t act soon, then we will indeed be dead.”
He brushed slowly past them and walked toward the door. Gail and McCann stood staring at him. When he reached the hallways, Simon turned and beckoned.
“Come. We have much to discuss.”
CHAPTER 53
When they were all together, Gail suggested they move to the secure room that McCann had discovered, but Novak was against that idea. He wanted to stay where they were, pointing out that should something happen to the small boat anchored to the side of the building, they’d have no means of escape.
“I don’t know,” Gail said. “I think I’d almost rather take my chances in here than out there on the open water. At least in here, we can defend ourselves. We’re sitting ducks outside.”
“I’m not against staying here a while,” Novak agreed, “but we still need the boat. We’ve all seen the size of some of those things out there. Some of them could smash this building with one flap of their tail. Then there’s the shark-men and those starfish-headed things to contend with. If they attack, we may have to leave in a hurry. If something happens to the boat, our only option is going to be swimming, and that’s as good as suicide.”
“So we’re back to that again?” Gail asked him. “You still think we should commit group assisted suicide?”
“I’m not saying that. I’d like to live long enough to track down the others and kick their collective asses for leaving us behind. But I do think it’s still an option.”
“They’re dead already,” McCann muttered. He sat huddled in the corner, gutting and skinning the rat with a knife. “So are we.”
Gail shot a worried glance at Novak. Nodding, he sighed and shook his head.
“We’re not dead, McCann. You need to get your shit together, shipmate. You’re starting to lose it, and I need you with us and clear-headed.”
Simon sat cross-legged, his back against the damp, mildewed wall, observing their conversation with the air of a stranger figuring out their group dynamic. He said nothing, and his expression remained calm, almost serene—but Gail saw a deep weariness in his eyes.
“Let’s not talk about all that right now,” she said. “We’re all tired and banged up. Novak and Simon could both use some rest, McCann, and so could you and me. I vote we eat something and try to relax, if just for a little bit.”
McCann held up the bloody, skinned carcass of the rat and arched an eyebrow. “Dinner is served, but I don’t know how we’re going to cook it. I found some matches in the cubbyhole, but they’re wet.”
“I’ve still got a lighter,” Novak said. “But it was in my pocket when we ended up in the water. I don’t know if it will work or not. Even if it did, there’s nothing in here that’s dry enough to burn.”
Simon leaned forward. “Please, allow me. Mr. McCann, if you could gather some wood for us? Perhaps some of that office furniture?”
Grumbling, McCann lay the rat aside and did as Simon requested. He returned a short time later with the legs and drawers from a wooden desk, along with several cans of vegetables and some bottles of water from the secure room.
“How’s this?” he asked, dropping the wood on the floor.
“That will be fine.” Smiling, Simon arranged the wood in a pile. Then he simply sat there, staring at it. His brow furrowed as if he was concentrating on something. Gail noticed a vein standing out in his forehead.
“I still don’t know how you’re going to get it to burn,” Novak said. “Damn moisture gets into everyth—”
The kindling burst into a bright, smokeless flame. Gail and Novak gasped. McCann scampered backward.
Gail turned to Simon. “How did you do that?”
“It was easy,” he replied. “However, like any other fire, it won’t last without more fuel. I suggest we cook our dinner and savor the warmth the fire brings. While it’s cooking, perhaps we can gather some more wood.”