Note: This week’s installment was posted without the editing prowess of pre-reader Mark ‘Dezm’ Sylva, who decided it was more important to take his family to Disney World than it was to stay home and proofread this chapter. Therefore, if you find a typo or continuity error, please mention it in the comments.

“How about this instead?” Novak raised one hand as the shotgun centered on his chest.

“Both of them, motherfucker.”

“I can’t,” Novak insisted. “I think I may have broke my other hand.”

“He’s not kidding,” Gail said. “Please…”

Their attacker swung the weapon toward her. “Shut up. Both of you just shut the hell up.”

“Look,” Novak said, his voice calm and assured. “We don’t have anything except the clothes we’re wearing. If you want the boat, you can have it. You can take it and sail right on out of here. Just don’t kill us.”

The stranger didn’t respond. Indeed, he gave no indication that he’d even heard Novak’s offer. His yellow poncho flapped around his waist as the breeze picked up. Raindrops pattered against his green rubber waders. The wet gauze covering his face seemed to move on its own. Gail tried to see past his aviator goggles and into his eyes, but they were shadowed. The man twitched his shoulders, let the shotgun slip lower, and then cleared his throat.

“I want the boat. But that can wait. Come here, sweetheart. And don’t try anything funny.”

Gail felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. Everything seemed to stop. Even the rain. The waves became silent.

“Come on.” The man gestured with the shotgun. “Get in here.”

Lump in her throat, Gail moved toward the window. The boat rocked beneath her feet, nearly spilling her into the water. The man adjusted his grip on the weapon, holding it with one hand. He stretched his other arm out toward her and leaned forward.

“Take my hand.”

Gail did, trying all the while to keep her own hand from shaking. Her fingers closed around his wrist. The man leaned closer, and began to help her up. As he shifted his weight, Gail suddenly yanked his arm and flung herself backward. The attacker uttered a surprised cry and then toppled forward. Gail’s back struck the bottom of the boat. The man crashed down on top of her, driving the air from her lungs. The shotgun, still in his grasp, slammed against the deck with a ringing sound.

“You bitch.” His breath stank, and he smelled of mildew and sweat. “Now I’m gonna—”

Roaring, Novak erupted from the water behind them, and looped his uninjured arm around the attacker’s neck. The man tried to raise the shotgun, but Gail pried it from his hand. Then, Novak pulled him off Gail and into the water. The two of them slipped beneath the waves.

Treading water, Novak pulled the boat alongside the building. The hull bumped gently against the side, scraping the wall. Novak grasped for a handhold. Foul seawater dripped from his hands and arms. Gail eyed the droplets, thinking about her suspicion that the strange fungus was possibly spread by contact with the water. She kept her misgivings to herself. After all, if that were true, they’d all be infected by now. After suffering through endless days of rain, it was impossible to stay dry. The air itself felt drenched.

Novak latched onto a windowsill and steadied the rocking craft. Small waves lapped against the concrete walls. Raindrops made circular patterns on the water’s surface—no two alike. Gail turned her attention to the office building. While only the four topmost floors were above the surface, the structure seemed stable. It wasn’t leaning, and there were no cracks, holes or broken windows that she could see—at least on this side. The swirling fog hid the ductwork and antennae array she’d seen on the roof earlier. There were no lights behind the windows. Gail tried peering through one, but it was fogged over.

“What do you guys think?” McCann asked.

“It’s quiet,” Novak said. “Sealed up. Looks stable. There’s no way of knowing what kind of shape the interior is in, but I say we try to get inside.”

“What if it’s not deserted?”

“Then we’ll ask them if they mind sharing.”

Something splashed loudly far out in the mist, and the little boat rocked harder. Gail glanced behind them. There was a dark shape in the mist—something large, looming above the surface. She turned back to McCann and Novak to verify that they saw the same thing, but both men had their attention focused on the office building. She looked again, and the shadow was gone.

“Novak…”

He grunted in response.

“I think we’d better hurry,” Gail whispered.

Nodding, Novak pushed and pulled at the window. It wouldn’t open. He sighed, treading water, and then tried again. The window was about a foot above the surface, and the waves kept pushing Novak into the wall.

“Maybe we should check the other sides of the building,” McCann said. “Might be an easier way in.”

“I want to get out of this water,” Novak said. “The damn Jaws theme keeps running through my head.”

He pulled off his shirt and wrapped the wet garment around his fist. Then, gritting his teeth, he drew back his arm and struck the window with the side of his fist. The boat rocked back and forth from the momentum. The glass remained intact. Grimacing, Novak rubbed his hand.

“Shit. That hurt.”

Gail noticed that the waves were growing bigger.

“Hit it again,” she urged. Something splashed softly in the gloom.

Novak struck the window three more times. A spider-web pattern of cracks appeared in the glass. He struck again. On the sixth attempt, the window shattered. He leaned forward and sniffed, testing the air.

“Smell anything?” McCann asked.

Novak shook his head. “Mildew, but it’s real faint. I don’t hear anything, either. I think we’re okay.”

Gail noticed that his speech was different. His words were clipped—tense, as if he were in pain and trying to hide it. He clung to the side of the boat with his free hand. Gail started to speak, but Novak cut her off.

“Can you guys clear the glass out of the way, so we don’t cut ourselves climbing through?”

McCann stood up carefully, waited for the boat to settle, and then began picking shards of glass from the frame and dropping them into the water.

“Are you okay?” Gail asked Novak.

“No.” His face was pinched and the color had drained from his face. “I think I just broke my goddamn hand. That’s all we need right now, huh? When it rains, it fucking pours.”

“Shit.” McCann finished clearing the shards of broken glass out of the way. “Are you sure it’s broken?”

Novak shook his head. “No, but it sure feels that way.”

“Okay, well, I’ll go inside. Make sure it’s okay. Then I’ll pull you up. Gail can push on your feet.”

Nodding, Novak blinked water from his eyes.

McCann grabbed the windowsill and hoisted himself into the open space. His head and shoulders disappeared inside. He pulled one leg through the window, and was about to pull the other one through, when a shotgun blast filled the air, drowning out even the sound of the rain. McCann tumbled backward and splashed into the water, narrowly missing the boat. He vanished beneath the surface. Gail leaned forward but before she could cry out, an armed figure appeared in the window.

“Don’t move, motherfuckers!”

The stranger’s face was hidden beneath wet bandages. Only his eyes were visible, but they were covered by a pair of aviator goggles. He wore a hooded yellow poncho and his feet, legs and waist were covered by a pair of green rubber waders. His voice, guttural and angry, was a man’s. Smoke still curled from the barrel of the shotgun in his hands, and water dripped from the stock.

“Get your fucking hands up,” he ordered.

Gail did as commanded, but Novak refused to comply.

“That’s not going to happen,” he told their attacker.

The man pointed the shotgun at him. “Then you can go to hell.”