by Brian Keene
CHAPTER TWELVE
I glanced back at the house to make sure that Sarah wasn’t watching me from the window, but I could barely see it, even from a few feet away. The heavy fog and the darkness had swallowed up the house as if it had never been there. I tried to breathe, but the lump in my throat was too big. I don’t know that I’ve ever been more scared in my life than I was at that moment, but it was too late now. The plan was already in motion.
Forcing myself to calm down, I crept through the mud and made a direct line for where I thought the tool shed should be. My plan was to duck behind it, hiding myself from view of the kitchen window (just in case Sarah could still see what I was up to, even through the mist). Then I would cut across the yard to the field.
I’d only gone maybe another twenty or thirty feet when I realized that I didn’t have a clue where I was or what direction I was heading. As impossible as it sounds, I was lost in my own backyard. I’d lived here for a good part of my adult life, built the house and shed with my own hands, mowed the lawn thousands of times—but now it was an alien landscape. I glanced around in confusion, looking for something familiar, some recognizable landmark. But there was nothing. The darkness and the rain had swallowed it all, and the ground was torn up from the worms.
Pressing on, I listened for some sign that the worms were nearby, but all I heard was the rain, beating against my hat and slamming into the ground. It seemed to grow stronger with every breath, as if feeding off my fear. I wandered in the darkness—wet, cold, and afraid.
The insistent craving for nicotine grew worse with each step I took, now that the possibility of actually getting some existed. The addiction had overridden every ounce of common sense and instinct for selfpreservation that I possessed, and the only thing that mattered now was getting to that helicopter wreckage and finding Salty’s leftover cigarettes. I wondered what I’d do if I got there and couldn’t find them, or worse, if they were destroyed in the crash. I briefly considered turning around and heading back to the house, but then I pushed the thought from my mind. I’d come too far already and my body was humming from the promise of the tobacco to come. If I had to, I’d hunt down the worm that ate Salty and cut it open and fish his last pack from its belly.
The worst part is that I knew just how unreasonable and stupid I was being, but I didn’t care. The cravings were controlling me now, and I was helpless—completely under their whim. I slopped through the mud, hoping that I was going in the right direction. The wet rifle was cold in my hands and my fingers grew numb.
Suddenly, I heard a noise to my left, the sound of something striking against metal. I froze and my body’s demand for nicotine vanished, replaced with a cold, paralyzing feeling of dread. I stood there waiting for the sound to be repeated again, waiting to hear that telltale worm hiss, but neither came. I tried to judge where I was and what the noise could have been. If my calculations were correct, then the carport was to my left. Maybe the metallic noise was something brushing up against the truck. But I couldn’t be sure. If it was, then I was heading in the right direction, but had placed myself between the shed and the house, rather than going behind the shed.
Could it have been one of those cow-sized worms, sneaking up on the house, or worse yet, creeping along behind me? I didn’t know.
Rather than standing there in the darkness trying to figure it out, I kept going. Soon enough, the ground beneath my feet changed from muddy yard to muddy field. It was rockier, more uneven, and I knew that I was going in the right direction. I paused, sniffing the air, and caught a faint hint of oil and burned metal. I smelled something else, too—that familiar fishy odor.
I was close to the crash site, but so were the creatures. Which meant they were also close to me.
There was no sound, no hint of movement, but I could feel them just the same.
I went even more carefully now, and each footstep seemed to take an eternity. The stench from the wreckage grew stronger as I got closer to it. My pulse quickened and a headache bloomed behind my eyes. I could taste phantom tobacco on my tongue, and the mixture of anticipation and fear threatened to overwhelm my senses.
Not that I had any sense left. I was convinced of that now. Common sense had been thrown right out the window the moment I’d decided upon this hare-brained scheme.
As I proceeded, I found myself wondering how the worms hunted. Was it sight or smell, or did they sense our vibrations through the earth? I thought back to the first one I’d seen, the one that had eaten the bird. It had leaped from the ground. The one in the shed had been concealed beneath the floor, but had it known we were there before Carl started stabbing it? The creatures that had come slithering out of the woods were above ground, so that seemed to indicate that they had seen Carl. But then the big one, the granddaddy of them all, had come straight up out of the earth, tunneling towards us from below. How had he known we were there? Maybe he heard the gunshots and the helicopter crash, or sensed us walking above him? Or, was it possible that the other worms communicated with him somehow, maybe through some kind of telepathy, and let him know that lunch was served?
And why did they eat us, anyway? Their smaller cousins ate dirt, if I remembered correctly. They drew their nourishment directly from the soil, absorbing the nutrients and minerals and expelling what they didn’t need. Why couldn’t these big ones do the same and just leave us alone? Lord knew there was plenty of dirt around, now that the floods were killing off all the vegetation. Why couldn’t they just eat that?
Once again, I found myself thinking that, while I may have been the smartest man in Punkin’ Center, West Virginia, I sure didn’t know a whole lot about worms.
My heel came down on a shard of metal, and then I stumbled over another piece. I’d found the crash site. More wreckage loomed out of the mist, twisted into sinister shapes by the darkness. The rain pelted it all, clanging softly off the steel and fiberglass. The feeling of being watched increased, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The ammonia stench grew stronger.
I heard a weird sound then, trickling water, like there was a stream nearby. But that didn’t make sense. The closest creek was down at the bottom of the hollow, almost a mile away—well past the place where I’d searched for teaberry leaves. Still, I looked down at the ground, and sure enough, there was a stream of running water at my feet. I wondered how that was possible, since I was standing in a relatively flat field.
I took a few more steps and then I could see the debris scattered all around me, pieces of the helicopter and personal belongings that had been tossed out by the impact: food, empty water bottles and soda cans, a cracked wristwatch, scorched clothing, a ripped tent, broken survival gear. I spotted the cockpit seat, but it was empty. The worms had eaten all three portions of Cornwell, even his scraps and guts. Even his blood was gone, washed away by the rain.
The sound of running water grew stronger now, and the current licked at my heels. Debris washed by me. I still couldn’t see where the stream was going, but the flow increased and I started to get a bad feeling.
Then the ground suddenly gave way beneath my feet.
I teetered on the edge of a great hole, the one left behind by the worm that had eaten Salty earlier in the day. The water was pouring down into the chasm, and the mud along the sides of the hole collapsed underneath me. My arms pinwheeled helplessly. I started to slide and took a step backward, plunging the rifle stock into the ground to stop my fall. I took one faltering step backward, then another. More mud slipped into the hole. A plastic water bottle floated by and disappeared over the edge.
Hyperventilating, I cursed myself again for being such a stupid, weak old man, driven by his need for a chemical fix. I’d almost fallen into that hole and there was no telling how far down it went. I could have been killed, or worse yet, I could have hit bottom and broken my hip or some other bone. I imagined what it would be like to lie there at the bottom of the crevice, shivering from the cold and the pain and unable to move or see. Would the w
alls have collapsed on me—smothering or crushing me to death—or would I have stayed alive long enough to hear something slithering towards me in the darkness while I lay there helpless and paralyzed?
This quest was idiotic, and I knew that now. I was thinking clearly again and all of my nicotine dreams had fled, replaced with a healthy dose of pure terror. I decided to turn around and head straight back to the house. Sarah would be getting worried by now. I’d been gone for far too long. I couldn’t risk her coming out into the night to look for me.
I started back in what I thought was the direction I came from, and that’s when I spotted it—a carton of cigarettes, lying half submerged in the mud.
Instantly, I forgot all about dying, all about the worms and their burrows. My fears vanished. This idea hadn’t been stupid or pointless. It had all been worth it after all!
I knelt down in the stream, sat my rifle aside, and pulled the carton from the mud. The cardboard fell apart in my fingers, but the cigarette packs themselves were sealed in cellophane. I held my breath as they fell out.
Oh please be dry! Please be dry! That’s all I’m asking…
I picked up a pack and it turned to mush in my hands. The water had soaked through the cellophane, making them useless. I tried another pack, but it was ruined, too.
Without thinking, I said, “Damn it!”
Something hissed in the darkness.
Instantly, the fish stench became overwhelming. I froze, peering into the mist, not wanting to see it but looking just the same. The creature hissed again from somewhere to my right and I heard it wriggling through the mud. My hands began to tremble and the last soggy pack slipped from my fingers and floated away in the current.
The worm snorted, sounding like a bull getting ready to charge.
Please Lord, I prayed in silence. Please, Lord, get me out of this. I’ve lived a good, long life, and I’m willing to come be with you and Rose and the rest of my family whenever you see fit to take me, but don’t let me die like this. Not this way. Don’t let me die inside the belly of one of these things. That’s no way to go. I promise you I will never pollute my body with this crap again. Even if I ever do find some, I won’t let a dip pass my lips, if you’ll just send that thing away. It can’t end like this. What’s the point, God?
“Teddy?” Sarah’s voice echoed in the distance. The fog seemed to distort it. “Are you okay? You’ve been out here for ten minutes.”
The worm snorted again, and began to splash around in the mud. My hand crept slowly towards my rifle.
“Teddy? Teddy, are you out here?”
It started slithering away from me. I still couldn’t see it, but I could hear it as clear as day.
“Teddy, where are you? Answer me!”
The worm moved faster now, making a beeline for Sarah’s voice. Here was proof that they hunted at least by sound.
So I let it know exactly where I was.
“Sarah! Get back inside the house! They’re coming!”
My voice sounded small and weak, and the fog seemed to mute my words. I wasn’t sure if Sarah heard me or not, but the worm certainly did. It hissed angrily, and two more answered it from either side of me. The ground trembled with their approach.
“Sarah, run!”
Jumping to my feet, I seized the rifle and ran. I ran like I hadn’t run since I was in my twenties. I ran like a rabbit being chased by a pack of beagles. I didn’t look back, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to see much in the darkness, anyway. But all around me were sloshing sounds as the worms gave chase.
The cold air wheezed through my lungs, burning my throat. My knees and calves groaned in protest. I’d been pushing my body hard the last few days and now it was letting me know that it was unhappy with the situation. My muscles rebelled and a fresh burst of pain spiraled through my limbs.
I slipped in the muck, fought to keep my footing, and lost precious seconds, allowing one of the creatures to gain on me. It lunged out of the darkness on my left, covering the distance between us in seconds. Its pale body was obscenely swollen and coated with glistening slime. I skidded to a halt. As the thing bore down on me and opened its maw, I raised the rifle and fired. The blast lit up the night for a second, but then the light was gone, along with what was left of my night vision. The shot ripped into the quivering, rubbery flesh, and stinking fluid gushed from the wound. The worm writhed, from what I guess was pain. Its entire body contorted with spasms.
Without waiting to determine just how much damage I’d done, I set the rifle stock against my shoulder and fired again. Convulsing and enraged, the worm spat at me. A wad of warm phlegm landed on my shoulder, and the stench made me gag. I worked the bolt and got off a third round. Its back end lashed towards me, showering me with mud. I dodged around the convulsing monster and continued running.
My boots churned through the mud. Sweat broke out on my forehead and my breathing hitched as pain radiated throughout my chest. Behind me, I could hear more worms giving chase. I coughed and tasted warm, salty blood in the back of my throat.
I realized then that I wasn’t going to make it. The knowledge settled over me with a strange, almost calm sense of certainty. Either the worms would catch me or I’d drop dead of a heart attack—or just plain old-aged fatigue. I halted again, pointed the rifle barrel behind me, aiming blind in the darkness, and squeezed the trigger. Then I dashed away again.
I stumbled and my foot came down hard, sinking into the ground. Ice cold, muddy water flooded my boot. I tried to move, but I was stuck. It felt like my boot was embedded in a slab of freshly poured concrete.
Something barreled down on me from behind. I cast a frightened look over my shoulder and screamed. Three more bus-sized worms were slithering towards me. I wrenched my foot free and began running with one boot and one muddy sock.
Then, like a beacon in the night, a flashlight beam speared through the darkness.
“Drop!” Sarah shouted, and I did.
Flashlight in one hand and her pistol in the other, Sarah opened fire, pausing only long enough to draw a bead after the weapon pulled to the side with each shot. Brass jackets rained into the mud at her feet. The worms squealed behind me, but I didn’t turn to look.
“Now run,” she called. “This way!”
Pushing myself to my feet, I loped towards her. Sarah put an arm around my waist and I tossed mine over her shoulder. She half guided, half dragged me back to the yard. I felt the wet sidewalk beneath my foot.
“Wh-what about the worms?” I gasped.
“They’re gone,” she said. “Damn things squirmed away as soon as I started shooting. I don’t know if I killed them or not, but I bet they think twice before trying to have us as a midnight snack again.”
“Not those,” I wheezed. “The—the ones on the carport.”
“We’ll have to wade through them.”
“No.” I stood up on my own and held a finger to my lips. “I heard something there when I came outside. Something banged against the truck. It could be another of the big kind. Let’s go around back instead.”
She nodded and we cut through the yard to the back porch. Once we were safely inside and verified that the worms were indeed not giving chase, Sarah wheeled on me.
“What the fuck were you doing, Teddy? You could have been killed. You almost were!”
“Sshhh,” I cautioned her. “No need to wake up Carl and Kevin.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe they slept through the shooting.”
As if in confirmation, Kevin grunted in his sleep, called out for Lori, and then turned over on the couch.
“What were you doing out there?” she asked again, lowering her voice this time. “Why were you so far from the house?”
“I told you, I had to pee. I guess I just got turned around in the dark.”
“Bullshit, Teddy. You were in the field.”
My shoulders slumped. “I was looking for Salty’s cigarettes. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
> “I’ll say. Jesus Christ…”
We both slipped out of our wet coats, and I took my muddy sock off as well. Then I sat down next to the heater and warmed myself. Sarah stood over me, scowling.
“You really scared me out there. That was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”
“I know,” I admitted. “But at least we learned something tonight.”
“What? That you’re literally willing to die for a cigarette? I didn’t need to know that.”
“No, I’m not talking about that.”
“Well, what else did we learn, professor?”
“That bullets are effective against those things.”
“I don’t know.” Sarah peeked in on Kevin and then sat down next to me. “I hit them, yes, but I don’t think I hurt them very much. If I remember correctly, worms have segmented bodies. You can cut part of them off and the severed portions will still function. If anything, we just scared them off.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing. Hopefully they’re gone for the night and things won’t get worse.”
“I don’t—”
Sarah was interrupted by a dull thump from out on the carport, something bumping against metal. The same sound I’d heard earlier. Then it was repeated.
We both froze. She stared at me, her eyes wide. She reached for the pistol.
“My truck,” I whispered, and grabbed the shotgun. “I parked it at the edge of the carport when Carl and I came back yesterday. When I checked it earlier, the worms were up over the tires.”
“So?”
“That sound was something striking metal, and the truck is the only metal thing out there. That’s the sound I was telling you about.”
We kept listening. Silence, followed by another thud, and then a harsh, raspy voice.
“And God said to Noah, ‘The end of all flesh is before me; for the earth is filled with violence through them; and I will destroy them with the earth.’ ”
We gaped at one another.
It was Earl Harper. The crazy bastard was alive, and having an old-fashioned revival meeting right outside my house.
