From their dry spot in the cabin, his three cats- Hunter, Boo, and Ally-watched him with expressions varying from casual indifference to wide-eyed dismay through the foggy window.

  Eventually, the nausea passed. William stumbled to his feet, careful not to slip on the rain-slicked deck. He began slowly making his way back to the cabin, thinking of his mother, Carol, and his sister, Pari, as he walked. They’d been in Lake Oswego, Oregon, when the rains began. William had been vacationing at his home away from home-a three-bedroom rancher sat on the out-skirts of Snyder, Oklahoma. Now he was somewhere between the two, adrift on this vast, seemingly endless ocean in a stolen boat, with just the cats for company. He’d seen no other survivors. Indeed, he’d seen very few living creatures. A few sickly birds soared through the sky. Occasionally, fish would break the ocean’s surface. A few nights ago, he’d thought he saw a woman, far off in the distance, and heard a snatch of song-but then the rain’s pace had increased and the vision vanished.

  Still thinking about that, William opened the cabin door and went inside. He slipped out of his wet clothes and put on his only other set, which were still a little damp from the day before. Hunter and Boo greeted him with meows and purrs. Ally glanced at him and then looked away. He reached down and scratched Hunter behind the ears. The gray tabby arched its back and purred louder. Ally watched this, then turned her nose up with disdain. The cabin smelled of cat piss and feces. William pissed in a bucket and tossed it overboard when it was full. The cats had no such luxury.

  William’s earlier thoughts returned. It was entirely possible that he and the cats might be the last things left alive-other than the birds and fish.

  “If that’s true,” he told the small calico, “then you need to start being nicer.”

  Ally responded with a hiss. William realized that she wasn’t looking at him, but beyond him. He turned and stared out the window. It was covered with condensation, and visibility was limited. He wiped it with his hand and peered harder. Then he gasped.

  They weren’t the last things left alive, after all.

  Several sleek, triangular dorsal fins parted the water and glided towards them. He knew what they were immediately. Sharks. And big ones, judging by the size of the fins. William looked out the other windows and saw more of them approaching. The boat was surrounded. The dorsal fins quickly bore down on it. The largest fin was possibly six feet high. William paled, wondering how big the rest of the creature must be.

  Ally hissed again, showing her displeasure. For once, William agreed with her.

  He grabbed the fire axe and the pistol (both had been left behind by the boat’s previous owner) and headed back out into the rain. The sea spray soaked through his clothing. He made his way to the rail and peered over the edge. The fins were circling the boat now, and William glimpsed the figures beneath them-long, gray shadows, swimming like bullets.

  “Get out of here,” he shouted, banging on the rail with the axe. “Go on! Scat.”

  Too late, he remembered that sharks had extra sensitive hearing and could detect sounds from miles away. He couldn’t remember where he knew that from-some television documentary he’d glimpsed in passing, probably.

  Okay, he thought. What else do I know about sharks?

  The theme from the movie Jaws ran through his head.

  Think, goddamn it!

  They were supposed to have really superb olfactory senses, weren’t they? They could smell blood from miles away. And if you hit them in the snout, it was supposed to hurt them. Like kicking a man in the balls. The snout- and the eyes. Those were the weak spots. Or stop it from swimming. He was pretty sure that if a shark stopped swimming, it died.

  “Can you all stop swimming, please?”

  The boat suddenly shuddered as something jarred the hull from beneath. William toppled over, sliding across the deck. The axe slipped from his hands, but he managed to keep his grip on the pistol. Inside the cabin, the cats howled. He heard glass break, but had no time to wonder what it was because something slammed into the hull again, wrenching the entire craft to the starboard side.

  The dorsal fins reappeared, circling faster and closer. Blinking the rain from his eyes, William fired at one of them, aiming for the fin. The pistol jerked in his hands, and the target vanished beneath the waves. He couldn’t tell if he hit it or not.

  He was just about to shoot again when the water exploded. A figure launched itself from the ocean, flew through the air, and landed on the deck.

  William screamed.

  It had the head, upper body, dorsal fin, and tail of a Great White shark, and the arms and legs of a human being. The creature stood over ten-feet tall, and must have weighed several hundred pounds. The boat listed to one side from the extra weight. It regarded him with black, soulless eyes. Then it opened its mouth, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. The bullet-shaped head stretched toward him on a human neck.

  William aimed for the snout.

  The man-shark’s roar drowned out the gun blast. It bled like a human being.

  The boat shuddered and groaned. William turned around and saw that more of the creatures had jumped aboard. He fired again and again, panicked, not bothering to aim. He kept squeezing the trigger even after the gun clicked empty. Then the feeding frenzy began and the boat’s deck turned red.

  The ocean’s surface was alive with activity as more dorsal fins appeared to greet the dawn.

  23

  DATE NIGHT

  Somewhere in the New Atlantic

  When the end of the world came to Land O’ Lakes, Florida, it came quickly. Located less than ten miles from the ocean, Land O’ Lakes’ name was certainly apt. There were more ponds, lakes, bogs, swamps and pools in the town than there were retirement communities and restaurants.

  Or, at least there had been at one time.

  Now, all those various bodies of water had joined together, engulfing most of the state and submerging it under hundreds of feet of churning waves. The Atlantic Ocean was a lot bigger these days.

  And Tony and Kim were in the center of it.

  There hadn’t been time for them to evacuate. The super storms blew in from the east, west and south without much advance warning, razing buildings with two hundred mile per hour winds and dumping over ten feet of rain in twenty-four hours. Millions in Florida and the other gulf states were killed. Those that didn’t die during the storms passed away in the devastating after-math.

  Tony and Kim had been lucky. At first, they’d assumed the rains were just that-a passing summer storm. When the rain started, they were inside Camelot Books-the bookstore they owned and operated- stocking a new Edward Lee exclusive. But then came the hurricane warnings, and the “Breaking News” logos dominated the cable news screens and the fire sirens whined mournfully-then fell silent. Somehow, the sudden stillness was worse. The storm’s full fury struck. Screams echoed outside, almost lost beneath the howling winds. Crashes reverberated throughout the night.

  Even as the chaos mounted, they’d stayed calm. Before Tony and Kim converted it, the building had been an old GTE switching station. The walls were sixteen inches thick and built to withstand hurricane force winds. A glass atrium, now blocked off with plywood and empty bookshelves, stood at the front of the store. It was as much a fortress as it was a bookstore. But despite its sturdiness, the building couldn’t withstand the super storms. Neither did the town. By the time the bookstore’s roof started rattling, Land O’ Lakes had become one big lake.

  When water began to pour into the building, Tony and Kim fled out into the flooded streets. The winds had died down by then, but the downpour persisted. They glanced around, shocked at the magnitude of the destruction. The old United Methodist church that had stood next to the bookstore was nothing more than a pile of rubble. A runaway sailboat-a sloop with one mast and two sails-adrift from whatever dock it had been tied to, floated down the street. They managed to hop onboard the unmanned craft. Doing so had saved their lives.

  Since then, they’d floated on the roiling seas and tried to make the best of their situation. In the first few days, they’d scavenged weapons and food from the floodwaters and other abandoned boats. Once they were relatively secure, they’d simply passed the time, adapting to this new way of life.

  Kim thought about all this as she sat near the foresail, staring out into the darkness. They’d rigged a tarp so that the rain wouldn’t fall on them. She peeked around the tarp and glanced up at the night sky, longing for a glimpse of the stars or moon. Neither was likely. These days, the skies were a perpetual grey, and the sun and moon were hazy, vague shadows.

  The breeze shifted and she fanned her nose. Corpses still floated on the ocean’s surface, caught in the con-verging tides, endlessly circling above the drowned cities. It seemed amazing to her-Orlando, Tampa, Miami, Fort Myers-all gone. All at the bottom of the ocean. The scope of the devastation should have been daunting-terrifying-but Kim didn’t let it worry her. What would be the point? There was nothing she could do to change it now. And besides, as long as she had Tony, she felt safe and secure.

  Before they’d opened Camelot Books, Tony had owned a gun shop. He knew how to defend himself and how to provide for them both. And he’d done a remark-able job so far, making sure they had food and water, safeguarding them from scavengers and pirates and ocean predators, making sure she was comfortable and loved. He always knew what to do, no matter what the situation.

  Despite its cramped quarters and the fact that it had none of their personal belongings, the sailboat now felt like home. This surprised Kim, but again, a big factor in her comfort was Tony. She missed their home, of course, but this wasn’t so bad-all things considered. She wasn’t afraid of the water. She and Tony were both good swimmers. And they were both competent with the sailboat. They’d had experience with everything from rowboats up to, and including, ski boats.

  She felt a dark shadow pass beneath the hull. She couldn’t see it, of course, but she sensed it just the same. Her skin prickled a bit, but she ignored it.

  With Tony onboard, she felt safe.

  She heard him come up behind her, and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing gently. Kim leaned back into him and closed her eyes. The stubble on Tony’s face felt rough. He smelled of sea salt and sweat. Kim assumed that she did, too, though he hadn’t mentioned it. Their showers were limited to standing on the deck in the rain with a bar of soap. She breathed deep, finding his musky scent intoxicating-a welcome change from the stench wafting off the ocean. When she heard glass clinking, she opened her eyes and turned around.

  Tony smiled. “Surprise. Look what I found.”

  He held up a green, long-necked glass bottle. It glinted in the light of the battery-operated lantern.

  Kim gasped. “Is that wine?”

  “Sparkling cider, actually. I found it floating on the waves this morning, while you were sleeping. But beggars can’t be choosers. It will have to do.”

  He popped the cork. It sounded very loud in the darkness. Out on the water, something splashed.

  “What’s the occasion?” Kim asked.

  “It’s date night,” Tony said. “But we’ll have to drink from the bottle. I couldn’t find any glasses.”

  Kim laughed. “Date night?”

  “Yeah. See, I’ve been thinking. We’ve known each other since, well, since forever.”

  Kim nodded. It did seem like forever. Tony had been the best man at Kim’s first wedding and she’d been the matron of honor at his first wedding. Neither marriage had lasted, and they’d turned to each other-helping each other through their respective divorces. After that, their friendship had just naturally grown, until one day when they looked at each other and decided that they were being silly and should really just be together.

  She mentioned this to Tony when he asked her what she was thinking.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s my point. Because of that, we never really had a traditional first date, did we?”

  “No,” Kim agreed. “I guess we didn’t.”

  “I thought maybe we should tonight. After all, it’s sort of a new world, right? A new beginning. But we’re still together. We’re alive and we still have each other. We should honor it somehow.”

  He handed her the bottle.

  “To us.”

  “To us,” she said, and sipped. The cider tasted good, but irritated the little sores around her mouth, brought on from vitamin deficiency.

  “I love you, Kim.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She passed the bottle back to him, and Tony drank. He wiped his chapped lips with the back of his hand.

  “I’ll love you till the end of the world,” he promised.

  Kim giggled. “It already is the end of the world.”

  “Then I’ll love you till the next time it ends.”

  They snuggled together, warm and content, and as they sailed into the night, the rain did not fall on them.

  24

  DEATH BY COOKIES

  Redford, Michigan

  There was fungus growing on Mark Beauchamp, and he knew what it wanted.

  Water.

  Before the batteries died in his radio, Mark had been listening to a pirate radio station in Boston. With no other signals cluttering the airwaves, it had reached all the way to Michigan. According to the broadcaster (also named Mark) the white fungus was sentient. It took you over slowly, starting out like a rash and growing steadily, until it controlled your movements and thoughts. It needed water to grow. Deprive it of water and you could halt its progress. The guy on the radio had found other ways of fighting it, as well. Most of them involved bodily harm. Burning it off. Cutting it off, along with the skin beneath it. Acid.

  But Mark had found another way.

  Eating.

  He wished that the phones were still working. If they had been, he’d have called Boston and told the other Mark. All you had to do to defeat the white fuzz was to eat. The fungus didn’t like that.

  Soft…it whispered inside his head. Soft…soft…

  The words were cool and soothing. They sounded like his voice, but he knew better. The words belonged to the shit growing on him-and inside of him.

  Mark was thirsty again. No matter how much he drank, it never seemed to be enough. Of course, now that he knew it thrived on water, he’d been dehydrating himself on purpose.

  The fungus didn’t like that, either.

  Soft…soft…soft…

  Outside, the falling rain sounded delightful. How wonderful would it be to go out there right now, and look up at the sky, and open his mouth, and drink? Just strip naked and let the rain cascade over him, lathering his body. Soaking in…

  The vision seemed very real. He could almost feel the cold and the wetness. Gritting his teeth, Mark ignored the insistent urgings. That wasn’t what he wanted. That was the fungus, trying to take control again. He tasted blood. His teeth were loose.

  Mark asserted dominance again by thinking of his wife, Paula, their four kids, and their new grandbaby (their oldest daughter had recently given birth to a beautiful seven pound baby girl named Shannon). All of them were safe, evacuated with the rest of the civilians on the National Guard’s last trip through. Mark hadn’t gone with them. The infection was already obvious at that point-tendrils of bleached peach fuzz had sprouted from his chin and between his fingers. The soldiers had orders to leave behind anybody who showed signs of fungal contamination. When he protested, they assured Mark that a team of biological experts would assist him once the area was evacuated and quarantined.

  But those experts had never arrived. Mark doubted they ever would. There was no way to reach him, except by boat. The Detroit River was an ocean now, and his home was a slowly sinking island. The interior smelled dank and musty. The furniture and their other belongings were ruined. Mildew covered everything, along with more of the white fuzz; it was spreading across the walls and ceiling, their framed wedding picture, the kid’s rooms, and on Paula’s houseplants, as well. Soon it would cover everything. He wondered what would happen then.

  The white fuzz itched so bad that it burned, but each time Mark tried to scratch it, something happened. The fungus released something into his system. A sedative, perhaps? Whatever it was, it calmed him, soothing his nerves so that he wouldn’t scratch the substance from his flesh. It had other methods of dealing with revolt, too. Pain-a bolt of which lashed through him now. Water would stop the pain. All he had to do was get some water.

  Shaking his head, he glanced down at his legs. Mark was perched atop the kitchen counter, trying to stay above the rising water level. The fuzz had sent pale, tendril-like roots from his legs to the floor, soaking up the water seeping in from outside. Mark ripped the roots away, taking patches of his skin and hair with them. The pain was intense. Electric.

  Soft…the white fuzz promised.

  “No,” Mark gasped.

  Soft…

  Mark screamed. It felt like acid was coursing through his veins. Only water would stop the pain. Only water would make it soft.

  Soft…

  “Get out of my fucking head,” he roared. His voice cracked from the strain.

  Soft…soft…soft…

  “Thirsty…” Mark licked his dry, cracked lips and tasted mold. “No, not thirsty. Hungry. Hungry, you son of a bitch.”

  More pain greeted this, but Mark did his best to ignore it. Instead, he reached above him and opened the cabinet door. Inside was a Tupperware container half-full of homemade cookies. Paula had baked them the day the rain started, before they’d known it was the end of the world. Now, they were all that was left to remind him of her-to remind him of his humanity. The dampness had taken everything else. Their life together was mildewed and drenched, but the cookies had remained dry, safe inside their airtight container. Paula’s homemade cookies and candied apples had been enjoyed by people all across the country. An author friend of theirs had once called her baking skills “divine.”

  When Mark pulled the lid off and smelled them, he smiled, thinking of his wife.

  Soft…soft…soft…

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16