As the Worm Turns

by Matthew Quinn Martin

“It’s over.”

  “What do you mean, over?”

  Jack simply shook his head.

  “Jack, you can’t—”

  “Do you understand what’s going to happen when those bombs go off? It’ll be like that club was built on the mouth of a volcano. Everyone in there will die.”

  “They’ll die anyway if we don’t do something. Them and a lot more people. It’s . . .” Her voice grew faint. “It’s a war, Jack. It’s collateral damage.”

  “No.” His voice snapped like a steel chain that had been pulled too tight. “I won’t have any more blood on my hands.”

  Beth looked down at him. He sat with one hand cradling his temple, the other clutching the bag. He didn’t move, not so much as a shrug. He was serious. He was really going to just let this happen. Beth reached for the bombs. “Then I’ll do it. I’ll push the button.”

  “No.” He held the bag firmly. “I won’t let you. The best we can do now is get far away from here.”

  “Run?” Could this really be the same Jack Jackson who just days ago had buried the bodies of two policemen? The same one who’d told her that he didn’t have time for “small things”? That nothing mattered but stamping out those creatures once and for all? “Jack,” she said, her voice firm where his resolve was not. “We are not going to run.”

  “It’s the best we can hope for. Beth, it’s over.”

  “Like hell it is. That’s one order I am not going to obey.” Beth yanked the bag from him and made for the club.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To finish what we started.” She didn’t look back. He would follow, or he wouldn’t. “Don’t worry about the people inside the club. I’ll get them out of there.”

  He padded along behind her. Blood, too. “How?”

  The door came within sight. A line of clubgoers, woefully underdressed for such a chilly night, stood shivering as a bouncer checked IDs. None of them seemed to have noticed or cared that four blocks over a van had hit a building and burst into flames. “I’ll find a way. Trust me. You just meet me in the basement. And be ready.” They went to the head of the line. Between them and the door was a velvet rope. Luckily, the bouncer on duty was one she knew well.

  “Beth,” he said as they approached. He seemed more than a bit taken aback by her torn jumpsuit, her mussed hair, and the equally ragged man and dog she’d brought in tow. “You look like shit.”

  “Always a charmer. Listen, we got a delivery.”

  “Delivery? At eleven o’clock at night?”

  “No rest for the wicked.”

  He eyed her. “I heard you quit.”

  “I did. This is my new job. Pest control. Ironic, huh? Do me a favor, keep an eye on my dog for me.”

  “Keep an eye on him?”

  “Shouldn’t be too long.”

  The bouncer shook his head with a slight chuckle and unclasped the rope. Beth bent down and gave Blood a pet. Jack did, too. Beth hoped it wouldn’t be their last. “Stay with my friend, okay,” she told him. “We’ll be back soon.” Blood barked his farewell and took a sentry post next to the bouncer as she and Jack walked inside the club.

  They pushed through an oblivious crowd, all of them so fixed on their good time that they didn’t even bat an eyelash at the two of them in their bedraggled state, carrying their deadly cargo. “I’ll be down in a minute,” Beth said as they passed the door that led to the basement. Jack peeled off and went downstairs with the bag.

  Beth mounted the wrought-iron staircase that led to Hank’s office. She opened the door without knocking. Hank stood at his desk; behind him the cash counter was whirring away. Beth cleared her throat. Hank whipped around, staring at her in shock. He quickly stepped in front of the machine. “Becker? What the hell are you doing here? And what the hell are you wearing?”

  “Hank, listen—”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m giving you your job back.”

  Job? What job? In less than an hour, there wouldn’t be a club left to have a job at—one way or the other. There was no time for subtlety, for subterfuge. There was only one choice: direct action. “I need you to get everyone out of here.”

  “What? Are you crazy? Why?”

  “Because there’s a bomb down in the basement. And if you don’t evacuate the club, everyone inside is going to die. You included.”

  Hank stared at her, dumbfounded. Then, suddenly, he began to laugh. “That’s rich, Becker.” Loud guffaws sandwiched themselves between his words. “Nice try.”

  “Hank, I’m serious.”

  “Whatever, Becker. A bomb threat? That has to be the lamest attempt at revenge I’ve ever heard. That’s like grade-school level.” His laughing began to subside. He leaned against the table. Behind him, Beth spotted banded stack after banded stack of twenties. “You know, you can get in real trouble for stuff like that.”

  “I’m not joking, Hank.”

  “You’d better be,” he said, suddenly very serious. “Because if I have to call the cops in here to check this out, you’re leaving in handcuffs.” He reached one jutting finger over to the intercom button. A bouncer would be waiting at the other end, and she doubted he’d be as friendly to her as the one at the door had been.

  Maybe Jack was right. Maybe it was over. “Ha, ha, ya got me.”

  “You’re pathetic, Becker. Now, just go home. And if I ever see you in here again, I am going to call the police.”

  “You’ll never see me again, Hank.” Beth turned for the door, knowing that if she didn’t think of something in the next few minutes, that statement would be truer than Hank would like.

  Her footfalls clanged on the wrought-iron staircase. Each one rang with hollow mockery. As she hit the landing, she spotted the fire alarm. Pulling that would clear the club quickly enough. The last time that had happened, all of them ended up waiting on the sidewalk for forty-five minutes before the fire trucks even arrived. And it was another half hour before they got the all-clear to go back in.

  Beth did the math. If she pulled that lever, and everything went according to Jack’s plan, the club would just be hopping again by the time the blast hit. It would be as good as doing nothing. Worse, maybe. If only they’d brought someone else along with them. If only Blood had come into the club instead of waiting by the door—and had opposable thumbs. She rounded the corner and was about to head to the basement when her eyes landed on Kelsey. She rushed to the bar. It was packed three-deep. Beth had to elbow her way in.

  “Beth!” Kelsey said. She sounded almost surprised to see her. “Cool jumpsuit.” She turned her attention from the customers and was already reaching for a bottle, ready to dole out a round of shots for her and her old mentor.

  “Kelsey, listen to me!” Beth shouted, straining to be heard over the pounding music. “This is important.” Beth looked at her watch. “In exactly thirty minutes, you’ve got to pull the fire alarm.”

  Kelsey stopped mid-pour. “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you why,” Beth said. Time was running shorter by the second. “You just have to trust me.”

  “I can’t do that. I’ll lose my job.”

  Beth gripped her by the hand. If Kelsey didn’t do this, if she didn’t follow Beth’s lead one last time, it would be lights out for everyone inside. It would be lights out for good. “Kelsey,” she said. “Why did you take this job in the first place?”

  “For research. For my TV show.”

  “Right. You don’t need the money. You need the experience. You need the story. Well, let me tell you how this is going to work. There are two endings to this story. One is where thirty minutes from now, you pull that fire alarm, and you get everyone as far away from this building as you can. That’s one way the story can end.”

  Kelsey’s eyes went wide with fear. “And the other one?”

  Beth knew she was getting throu
gh; she could sense the apprehension coming off Kelsey like steam from a hot spring. “That’s the one where you don’t . . . and you and everybody else in here dies.”

  “Dies?”

  Beth could almost feel Kelsey’s skin grow clammy. “Dies,” she repeated. “Burned and buried alive as this building comes tumbling down in a fiery inferno.”

  “Beth, I—”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “Beth, you’re scaring me.”

  “I hope so. Thirty minutes, Kelsey. Thirty minutes.” And with those words still hovering in the air, Beth left Kelsey there to make her choice.

  Sixty-one

  Jack was waiting for her at the bottom of the basement stairs holding the bag of flour bombs. “You ready for this?”

  “Not really,” she admitted. “I think the club will be cleared in an hour. Will that give us enough time?”

  “It’s going to have to,” Jack answered as he handed her the bag. “And thank you for . . .” His voice trailed to nothing.

  “You can thank me later. Let’s go.”

  They turned without another word and headed deeper into the basement. The beam from Jack’s light swept ahead of him. As always, the dank air held a cool alkaline scent. Beth had always hated that smell, and although she hadn’t been back down here since the night Zoë had gone missing, she had to admit she almost missed it.

  They pressed on. Each step into the gloom brought with it new terrors to plague the imagination. Beth did her best to brick them up in the back of her mind, knowing they would be facing more than phantoms soon enough. Eventually, they reached the liquor cage. The chicken-wire door opened with a creak. They padded inside, and in another moment they were standing in front of the hole, the one that led down to them.

  Suddenly, Beth was struck with an idea. “Give me your knife,” she said to Jack. He did, and she flicked it open. Then she slashed at the boxes that sat on the shelves directly behind them. White flakes of salt spilled from the wide gash. Beth shook the shelf, seeding the entire floor from stairs to hole. “That ought to slow them down.”

  Jack eyed her handiwork. “Clever.”

  It was clever, but Beth had little time to bask in that. She squatted down at the hole. The darkness inside was as complete as the grave. “I’m going in first,” she said, already adjusting the headlamp he’d given her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She clicked on the light. “I’m the one who’s expendable.” She gripped the sides of the hole and slithered into it, feet first, before he could utter a word in response.

  Beth wormed her way down. The walls of the tunnel were cold and slick with a slime she tried not to think too much about. The way was easy only in that gravity was helping, but each inch she slipped down that shaft felt like one closer to death.

  After what seemed like forever, she slid into a larger sluice, landing with a splash. Instantly, her muscles tensed at the frigid water swirling around her. Her breath went shallow and rapid at the shock of it. It felt like her own body had her in a bear hug. She rose in a cramp, shaking it off. “The water’s about waist-deep,” she called up to Jack. “And frickin’ cold.”

  “I bet it is,” came Jack’s voice. It was swiftly followed by the garbage bag. Jack pushed it through the hole and into her waiting arms. “Don’t let any water get in there,” he reminded her—as if she needed reminding—and then he too slid into the water sluice.

  Beth took the bag, holding it tight like she would a child. “Lead on.”

  Onward they slogged, following the twisting path he’d laid out for them. Every so often, Jack would stop to check the hand-drawn map he’d strapped to his wrist. Before long, the water level had reached Jack’s midsection and Beth’s chest. She did her best to keep her teeth from chattering as the water leeched all warmth from her body.

  “Almost there,” Jack said as if in answer to her unspoken prayers.

  Beth barely heard him, trying to focus on something besides the relentless cold, the swallowing dark. She gazed to the end of her headlamp beam, and saw nothing but more gray tunnels stretching out before her, more water, more walls. She rested a hand on the pistol that hung from her hip, squeezing its knurled grip but finding little comfort there.

  Suddenly, something brushed past her. She tried to scramble away as the water splashed against her skin. She stifled a scream as echoing ripples formed around the swimming shape. It drew close, coming toward them in an arc. Beth shifted the bag to one hand and pulled out her gun with the other. She fired. Two pellets slammed into the water. One of them found its mark.

  Jack’s head snapped right, his eyes finding hers. “What was that?” His breath stained the air white.

  A furry lump drifted in front of them. It floated faceup, paws curled inward as a stain of blood spread out in the water around it. “Just a rat,” Beth said as she holstered her gun. She halfheartedly wondered if it was the same one that had scared her the night she’d found the hole—the night her whole world got turned inside out. A sound caught her ear. Just ahead she could see more movement in the water. More rats, all of them swimming fast in their direction. “They seem to be in a hurry to get out of here,” she said. “Can’t say I blame them.”

  Jack went very quiet. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Shhh . . .” He held one finger to his lips. He drew her close. Bent down to whisper in her ear. “Keep your focus slack. Do not look them in the eye.” Then he pointed toward the ceiling.

  Beth slowly tilted her head. The light from her headlamp probed the darkened corners of the tunnel. It caught the shapes of two creatures dangling from the ceiling. Both were little more than shadows, but she did as Jack commanded and kept them in a blurry haze.

  They dropped one by one, landing in the water with a splash. It was as if they’d known that they’d been spotted, and maybe they had. Jack jumped in front of her, obscuring her view of the first creature. Beth watched him yank a stake from his belt and rear back. “Watch out for the other one!” he cried as he struck at it. She whipped around just in time to watch the second creature slip beneath the surface of the water. She scanned desperately for some sign of it.

  Something rubbed up against her leg. She jumped back, wobbling as she tried to manage the awkward weight of the flour bombs. She found her footing the barest of instants before both she and the bag went headlong into the drink. The beam from her headlamp landed on a shadow beneath the water. It was gliding toward her with a purpose that could only mean one thing. Suddenly, it dove deeper and was gone in the murk.

  Beth lifted her gaze from the water for an instant, scanning for Jack, when something wrapped around her ankle. It felt like a hand without bones. Then there was a tug. The bag slipped from her grasp. Her vision went black, and her lungs filled with icy sewer water.

  Sixty-two

  The thing crushed Jack against the wall. He could feel its soft skin, its lush female form wanting him. The illusion was that strong. And those eyes—always those eyes. Isn’t the water nice? they asked softly, wordlessly. Wouldn’t it be nice to just float away on it? He pushed hard against the desire. Pushed hard against the creature too, but again, it slammed him into the stones—this time with such force that it knocked all the wind from him. He felt something on his belt break and fall away on impact and prayed it wasn’t his pistol.

  The creature reared back for another strike. Jack shifted to the side, and the thing, unable to stop, rammed its head into the wall with a thick, wet slap. Jack got behind it before it had time to turn. Quick as lightning, he pulled a second stake from his belt and drove it deep into the back of the creature’s head. Screams echoed in the narrow tunnel, ricocheting off the stone. Jack drew his gun and put two pellets into the thing’s back, and the screaming stopped. It slumped down in the water. White blood spread out across the surface like sea foam.

  That was close. Too close. “Beth!” he called out.
But there was no sign of her anywhere. He knew that if the other one had pulled her under she would only have seconds left. Jack’s eyes landed on the bag. It was floating a few yards off, twisting in lazy circles and sinking slowly, its cinched neck starting to tilt downward. Any moment and it could give. The water would get in, and all their work—their only hope—would be reduced to a garbage bag full of useless paste.

  Jack dived for it, eyes all the while hunting for Beth. Just as one hand landed on the plastic, he spotted bubbles breaking the surface. And there at the floor of the sluice were two grappling shapes, one of them Beth. The bag would have to wait. He tilted it so that the neck was facing back up, praying it would stay that way.

  He sucked in double lungfuls of air and went down. The beam from his headlamp was all but useless in the murky water, but he spotted the two shapes. Beth was pinned by the creature. It held her fast against the bottom. As it shook her, what little air she had left trickled from one nostril in a few pathetic bubbles. Jack reached for one of his auto-snares. The wire snaked out lazily in the water like drifting seaweed. He looped it over the creature’s head and yanked on the trigger ring.

  Nothing happened.

  He yanked again. Harder. Still nothing. The wire just hung limply around the creature’s neck like a garland. The water must have fouled it up. Jack’s chest clamped down, as much from panic as from his own need to breathe. He could see Beth’s body floating slack against the stone as the creature reared back to strike.

  Barely thinking, Jack gripped the dead wire with both hands and hauled up on it. It dug deep lines into the skin of his palms, tearing through the flesh as he strained to pull the creature from Beth. The thing thrashed like a caught fish as Jack yanked harder, but it let go of her. He’d just caught sight of Beth fighting for the surface when he broke into the open air, the creature with him still writhing and flailing, He tasted brackish water as he opened his mouth, but most of what he pulled into his lungs was oxygen.

  The creature jerked again, almost slipping free, but Beth was there waiting. She had the bag held fast against her hip and in her hand was her pistol. And this time, she aimed for the right target. Milky-white blood erupted from three holes in the creature’s chest. The body went slack. Jack let it drop, and the current took it from them slowly.