Flood Plains by Mark Wheaton (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📕

elected somebody “mayor” to run the show. But as he was escorted out onto the thirtieth floor, a cold, wet wind blasting through the unfinished level that had had all its plastic sheeting torn away, he saw the error of his ways.

As they passed hundreds of people, if not over a thousand, waiting to head up the stairs, they spotted the mayor of Houston, Connie Bresnan. She was a short woman wearing a gray-and-pink suit with whiter hair than Big Time remembered seeing on television. Every line on her face was showing. She was in conference with two suit-wearing men when Officer Franklin signaled to her.

“These men just came up the stairs. They say they drove down from Tomball.”

“How is that possible?” Bresnan asked Big Time, not mincing words.

“We found a way to fight it off.”

“You fought it on the stairs just now?”

“No, it left us alone. We think it’s a numbers-thing with this. It’ll sacrifice going after a couple of stragglers if that means consuming…how many people you have up here?”

“Just over three thousand,” one of the suit-wearing men, who Big Time thought he recognized as a city councilman, replied.

“Yeah, that,” Big Time nodded.

“We’ve watched people getting torn apart all day,” the mayor continued. “Why not you?”

Scott held up six large cans of paint thinner.

“It’s oil. We burn the motherfucker with shit like this when it gets close.”

Though the proceedings were deadly serious, Big Time detected a hint of glee in Scott’s voice at getting to play the badass who swore in front of the city mayor.

“They think we can get out,” said Gonzales.

“How?” asked the mayor.

“We use this as accelerant,” explained Scott. “Make fire bombs and drop ’em on the four worms. As I said, it’s oil. The second it ignites, it loses its shit. There’ll be a chain reaction through every bit of the creature, and it’ll sink like a stone back into the floodwaters to douse itself. You will have a couple and only a couple of minutes to get down those stairs and out of here.”

“That sounds risky,” said the other suit-wearing man.

“Sounds that way because it is,” said Scott.

“Let me get this straight,” said the city councilman. “Your plan is to drop paint thinner onto these things and try to set them on fire like a circus act?”

“And your plan is to keep going up and pray these things run out of rope before you do?” Scott shot back. “These bastards killed my whole family today. Killed everybody at my place of work except these guys. Most of this city’s dead. How many more have to die to prove to you that there’s nowhere you can run?”

Everyone went silent. Finally, Mayor Bresnan spoke.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss. There don’t seem to be any survivors from my daughter’s school or my husband’s office. This is obviously a disaster on a scale difficult to comprehend. You’ve seen fire work against this thing?”

“Not on this scale, but we didn’t have cans full of kerosene either,” Scott replied.

Big Time held up his burned hand.

“A can of WD-40 and a lighter saved my life earlier.”

“We’re just trying to give you and everybody else here a shot,” Scott said. “If it doesn’t work, haul ass back up here and wait it out. If it does, then spread to the four winds and make sure that nobody stays in groups more than two or three. That said, I can’t tell you how long it’s going to be discombob…discom…shit.”

“Discombobulated?” Mayor Bresnan asked.

“That’s it right there. Suffer from a little of it myself.”

Mayor Bresnan chuckled. Big Time realized, in another context, he’d think his friend was flirting with her.

“Were you in the military?” she asked, eyeing him curiously.

“407th Army Field Support here in Texas.”

For some reason, Mayor Bresnan nodded as if this meant everything in the world to her.

“Between me and my two friends here, I think we can get this job done for you,” Scott concluded.

“Two friends? That the discombobulation talking again?”

That’s when they realized Muhammad was no longer with them.

•  •  •

When Mia passed out, Sineada just about panicked. She looked at this little girl lying there with her eyeballs rolled up into her head and suddenly worried that the mental strain might’ve caused an aneurysm or something else to burst.

“What’s wrong with her?” Alan cried through gritted teeth, cold rain water pelting his face..

Sineada searched her mind and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Part of it is dehydration. It knocked her down, sure, but it shouldn’t have had this effect on her.”

Alan was in tremendous pain. He was sweating out of every pore and thought that he’d be going into shock at any moment. He was suddenly worried that if he went unconscious, it might become increasingly difficult to revive him if Sineada was concerned with Mia.

“Can’t you use your ‘talent’ on me?” Alan barked. “This is killing me!”

Sineada turned to Alan, her eyes filled with anger.

“I don’t know what kind of con you’re planning to run to save your hide, but using Mia is out of bounds,” Sineada hissed. “You want my help? You’re going to need to behave, understood?”

Alan nodded quickly. It struck Sineada as insincere, and she sent a bolt of psychic pain through Alan’s nervous system, something she didn’t even think she was capable of. When Alan winced, she felt a guilt over the sense of satisfaction she got from it.

“Understood?” she repeated.

“Yeah. I’ll go where you go. I won’t be a problem.”

“Fine.”

Alan began to feel his pain ebbing away. It was still present but muted.

“You’re not as powerful with this as she is, huh?” Alan said.

“No, I am not,” Sineada said, pouring water from one of the bottles across Mia’s lips.

“But you can tell what this thing’s thinking, too?”

“Yes, but only because it’s not thinking all that much. Seek out and kill, consume, repeat. It’s broadcasting that with a vengeance, so even I can pick up on some of it. It’s just with all the different voices within it, it can be overwhelming.”

“Then why can’t