Adrift (Book 1) by K.R. Griffiths Page B
Authors: K.R. Griffiths
Tags: Vampires | Supernatural
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possibly understand, had charged from the room, snarling about catching whoever was watching them. Before Edgar could react, Herb was gone, and Phil and Seb were staring at him uncertainly.
Fucking Herb.
What Edgar wanted to do—what he absolutely knew that he should do—was arm the device and be done with it. Let Herb pay for his recklessness and his inability to keep a level head. Let him stumble around out there, lost like all the others would be.
Edgar even found himself reaching for the button, reaching for the moment that had become the whole purpose of his life, the reason they were all there.
He couldn't press it.
Herb was blood.
"Fuck," Edgar roared. "Phil, go after him. Bring him back."
"What about whoever was in the vents?"
"Fuck them ," Edgar snapped. "They don't matter. In five minutes, I'm setting the damn thing off. If you haven't found Herb in three, get yourself back here. Got it?"
Phil nodded, his face stricken, and charged from the room, following the chaotic clatter of Herb's footsteps.
Edgar watched another brother leave, and clenched his jaw in anger. They were so close. He felt rising fury at Herb for throwing a spanner into the works, but the true reservoir of anger pooled around himself. Herb was unstable, and bringing him was a risk. His skill with electronics far outmatched that of his brothers, and Edgar had insisted that Herb be a part of the team despite his doubts, purely because Herb being there would mean the device would get built more quickly.
Edgar dropped his eyes to the device, and wondered if he had it in him to set it off if Phil didn't manage to bring Herb back. If doing so meant losing Herb, would Edgar be able to live with himself?
Can I live with myself if I don't set it off?
Frustration seethed in Edgar's mind. Despite the promise he had made to Herb in the back of the van, Edgar knew that doing his duty was the only thing that mattered. Getting off the ship was secondary. There was simply too much at stake.
He'd set the device off.
If it meant losing Herb.
If it meant dying himself.
The alternative was too terrible to contemplate: a disaster of epic proportions that would affect the entire world. Edgar wouldn't be the one responsible for that. For the betrayal of centuries of blood spilled to maintain the peace.
He glanced down at his watch, staring at the second hand as it ticked slowly, like a failing heartbeat. Phil had been gone for almost a minute.
Edgar fixed the doorway with a blank stare, and ignored Seb's gaze as it burned into him.
Phil had four minutes left.
13
It was plainly obvious to Mark that, as long as he remained in the ventilation system, the man pursuing him would have a difficult time tracking his position. The ducts took unpredictable turns, deviating away from the corridors in some places; returning to run parallel to them in others.
Several times, Mark heard running footsteps draw near only to fade away again. A couple of times, he thought he heard more than one man running out there.
Yet they could not locate him.
It would have been easy to wriggle deeper into the vent system; to hide, safe in the knowledge that the men chasing him would almost certainly never find him. Mark considered it, he really did.
But there was the matter of the bomb.
Even if Mark was doomed to discover that playing the role of hero was beyond him; even if he couldn't prevent the men from detonating the weapon, he was certain of one thing: he had to get out into the open air at the very least. If it came to it, he could launch himself from one of the lower decks and take his chances in the Atlantic.
Some part of Mark's mind reprimanded him for his foolishness. The Oceanus was in the middle of the world's second biggest ocean, a long way from the nearest land, and night was falling. The water would be freezing, and survival would be extremely unlikely even if he could get far enough away from the ship to escape the blast that he knew was coming.
It
Fucking Herb.
What Edgar wanted to do—what he absolutely knew that he should do—was arm the device and be done with it. Let Herb pay for his recklessness and his inability to keep a level head. Let him stumble around out there, lost like all the others would be.
Edgar even found himself reaching for the button, reaching for the moment that had become the whole purpose of his life, the reason they were all there.
He couldn't press it.
Herb was blood.
"Fuck," Edgar roared. "Phil, go after him. Bring him back."
"What about whoever was in the vents?"
"Fuck them ," Edgar snapped. "They don't matter. In five minutes, I'm setting the damn thing off. If you haven't found Herb in three, get yourself back here. Got it?"
Phil nodded, his face stricken, and charged from the room, following the chaotic clatter of Herb's footsteps.
Edgar watched another brother leave, and clenched his jaw in anger. They were so close. He felt rising fury at Herb for throwing a spanner into the works, but the true reservoir of anger pooled around himself. Herb was unstable, and bringing him was a risk. His skill with electronics far outmatched that of his brothers, and Edgar had insisted that Herb be a part of the team despite his doubts, purely because Herb being there would mean the device would get built more quickly.
Edgar dropped his eyes to the device, and wondered if he had it in him to set it off if Phil didn't manage to bring Herb back. If doing so meant losing Herb, would Edgar be able to live with himself?
Can I live with myself if I don't set it off?
Frustration seethed in Edgar's mind. Despite the promise he had made to Herb in the back of the van, Edgar knew that doing his duty was the only thing that mattered. Getting off the ship was secondary. There was simply too much at stake.
He'd set the device off.
If it meant losing Herb.
If it meant dying himself.
The alternative was too terrible to contemplate: a disaster of epic proportions that would affect the entire world. Edgar wouldn't be the one responsible for that. For the betrayal of centuries of blood spilled to maintain the peace.
He glanced down at his watch, staring at the second hand as it ticked slowly, like a failing heartbeat. Phil had been gone for almost a minute.
Edgar fixed the doorway with a blank stare, and ignored Seb's gaze as it burned into him.
Phil had four minutes left.
13
It was plainly obvious to Mark that, as long as he remained in the ventilation system, the man pursuing him would have a difficult time tracking his position. The ducts took unpredictable turns, deviating away from the corridors in some places; returning to run parallel to them in others.
Several times, Mark heard running footsteps draw near only to fade away again. A couple of times, he thought he heard more than one man running out there.
Yet they could not locate him.
It would have been easy to wriggle deeper into the vent system; to hide, safe in the knowledge that the men chasing him would almost certainly never find him. Mark considered it, he really did.
But there was the matter of the bomb.
Even if Mark was doomed to discover that playing the role of hero was beyond him; even if he couldn't prevent the men from detonating the weapon, he was certain of one thing: he had to get out into the open air at the very least. If it came to it, he could launch himself from one of the lower decks and take his chances in the Atlantic.
Some part of Mark's mind reprimanded him for his foolishness. The Oceanus was in the middle of the world's second biggest ocean, a long way from the nearest land, and night was falling. The water would be freezing, and survival would be extremely unlikely even if he could get far enough away from the ship to escape the blast that he knew was coming.
It
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