Adrift 2: Sundown Read Online Free Page B

vampires, Herb had a hard time believing it, especially now that he could actually see the guy properly for the first time.
    Dan was slim—almost scrawny—and of average height, with dark eyes almost buried under a mop of hair that made him look younger than he probably was. He didn’t look like a fighter. What he looked was either scared out of his wits, or crazy. Perhaps both.
    The fit—seizure; whatever it was—only served to reinforce the notion that events on the Oceanus must have fractured the poor guy’s mind. Herb wouldn’t have thought it were possible for a man’s muscles to spasm so violently, but when Dan hit the deck, his limbs jerked hard enough that Herb expected to hear the snapping of bone at any moment. Dan’s collapse was, in a way, even more violent and shocking than his father’s execution.
    Every member of the trawler’s small crew watched in amazement, unable to tear their gaze away until Dan finally stopped thrashing and lost consciousness.
    And the ocean finally exhaled.
    Herb turned his attention to his father’s ruined corpse.
    Furious, trembling hours spent in the container, dreaming up the harsh truths he was going to deliver to Charles Rennick, but as soon as he saw the old bastard’s face, the rage had just been too much. He had no idea what would happen when he tossed the gun to Dan, but Herb had spent his entire life listening to his father preach about fate this and destiny that.
    So Herb let fate decide, figuring that maybe for his father, fate—if such a thing even existed—might look exactly like Dan Bellamy.
    So it proved.
    And it felt infuriatingly like Charles Rennick got off easy.
    Herb took a couple of steps forward, stooping to retrieve the pistol which Dan had dropped. Four more paces, and he was staring down directly on the punctured, leaking remains of his father. He knelt and retrieved a second gun from the dead man’s waistband. That had been the only gun permitted on the trawler: even with his followers comprehensively brainwashed, Charles would not allow anyone else to carry a firearm. Too much potential for trouble , he had said.
    Herb grimaced. The old bastard had been right about that, at least. He stood and tucked both guns into his belt, turning to face the rest of the crew.
    They regarded him with fear, but also with reverence and loyalty that made his nerves quiver. His father’s words came back to him, laced with contempt.
    You’re going to kill me? Then who’ll be the head of the Rennick family? You?
    According to custom, Herb was the head of the family now, though he was the last actual Rennick left. The rest of Charles Rennick’s people weren’t blood, but families who had attached themselves to the Rennicks over the generations; people for whom the vampires had become gods to worship. Herb’s duty now was to take his father’s position as the leader of those people, to represent the Order and—above all else—to keep the oath; protect the ancient truce.
    To feed the vampires.
    Custom.
    Duty.
    Tradition.
    Destiny .
    Herb drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
    I’m in charge now.
    The crew looked at him like machines awaiting the input of their next command, and the corpse on the deck stared at him reproachfully, making his emotions tumble.
    With a grunt, Herb grabbed a fistful of his dead father’s coat, and dragged the steaming corpse to the low rail that ran around the deck.
    When he tossed the body overboard, Herb stared down at it for several moments as it refused to sink; bobbing stubbornly on the dark water. What was left of his father’s eyes seemed to point accusingly at him, no matter which way the waves rolled.
    Herb turned away.
    “Turn this boat around,” he said in a flat tone to nobody in particular. “We’re going home.”
     
    *
     
    The Sea Shanty had been a factory fishing trawler in a previous life. At a little over one hundred and twenty feet, it would have looked like a toy alongside the cruise ship its black-market