Adrift 2: Sundown Read Online Free PDF

of the Three tore him to pieces. That had been an armour-piercing sound, and hearing it had cast a sickly pall of grief and anger over Herb’s thoughts which he doubted would ever truly lift.
    He shook his head thickly, and a groan escaped his lips. He had to occupy his mind with something. Reliving the nightmare would drive him mad.
    He took another large swallow of the brandy and began to rifle through the desk drawers, finally finding what he was looking for in the lowest of them: a first-aid tin which looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades. He pried off the lid and surveyed the predictably disappointing contents. A single half-empty bottle of antiseptic; a box of painkillers that had to be years out of date; a faded yellow bandage.
    He set the open tin on the desk in front of him.
    Took another drink.
    Gritted his teeth as he peeled off his jacket and removed what felt like most of his left arm along with it.
    Wincing more out of revulsion than pain, Herb dropped his gaze to the burned limb. His pale flesh had been painted a livid red and was covered with weeping blisters. Along the forearm, where the fire had really taken hold, Herb saw that his skin was pockmarked by wide, shallow craters: layers of meat and fat that had melted away to leave revolting indentations. The arm smelled sweet and cloying and sickly, like a plate of pork and apple sauce that had been left to rot in the sun.
    Herb choked back the urge to retch and dumped his jacket on the floor before prising the crusty cap off the ancient bottle of antiseptic. When he poured the clear liquid across his wounds, he was grateful that he still felt no pain, but the sight of his own dead flesh being sluiced away was its own kind of torment.
    Once the small bottle was empty, he wrapped the arm tightly in the old bandage, uncertain whether a burn should be covered or left to breathe, and ultimately deciding not to risk leaving his skin exposed.
    When he was done, he took another long drink.
    Set the brandy down on the desk.
    And dropped his head into his hands as the tears came at last.

 
3
     
    Herb was still staring at his feet, sniffling softly and trying to sift through the chaos in his mind, when the door opened and footsteps made their way toward him. He knew there was only one man on the Shanty who would dare to follow him into the cabin and, in the end, he was surprised it had taken that man so long.
    “Hi, Jeremy,” Herb said without lifting his gaze. “Thought you’d come sooner.”
    “Had to weigh up the odds of you shooting me. There’s a lot of dying going on, after all.”
    Herb snorted.
    “Crew’s a little nervous, Herb. I don’t mind admitting that includes me.”
    He glanced up and saw genuine concern etched on Jeremy Pruitt’s face. Pruitt was the older man of the two by far, getting ready to wave a sour goodbye to his late-fifties and sporting a balding pate that made him look like he belonged in a monastery somewhere; an impression that was undone somewhat by his hulking physique.
    Jeremy had been a part of the family since before Herb was born, filling an ill-defined but necessary role at Charles Rennick’s side as adviser, bodyguard and, Herb had long suspected, occasional assassin. There had been times through the years when the Rennick family secret had come close to being revealed. On those occasions, it was Jeremy who ensured silence, one way or another.
    Despite his murky, violent past, the big man was one of the few at the compound that didn’t treat Herb like a live grenade, and he considered Jeremy the closest thing he had to a friend. They had even talked openly at times about the oath, and about Herb’s unswerving belief that the creatures his family was sworn to protect—and the whole secret history of the world that went along with that duty—could not possibly exist. Jeremy disagreed of course, but while he was certainly a believer, he was no fanatic.
    Unlike the rest of them.
    When Herb had been preoccupied