The Last Death Worm of the Apocalypse (Kelly Driscoll Book 3)

by Nina Post

  She capitulated. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty?”

  “I’ll try for fifteen.”

  We’re Going to Have to Replace that Carpet

  aum, Forcas, Vassago, and Imamiah looked at the lap pool in dismay. “I don’t know what to tell you. She said it was done,” Vassago said, raising his hands in frustration.

  Crocell came bursting out of the stairway door, panting, hands on his knees. “I found out,” he said, trying to catch his breath, “that Kelly got fired.”

  “Fired?!” Imamiah said. “For what?”

  “I don’t know. Tom told me. He didn’t know why.”

  Raum lifted his chin and pressed his lips together, understanding. “That’s why this damn thing isn’t filled yet. It must have happened right after she talked to you, Vassago. OK!” He clapped his hands together. “We’re going to fill this thing ourselves.”

  “Oh, come on,” Forcas said. “We don’t even have the,” he made a circle with his hand, “the whatever it is. The goo.”

  Raum grinned and gestured to the parking garage as though about to reveal a new car on a revolving platform. “Ah, but we do! The contractors left the buckets here. Obviously they were planning on filling the pool at some point, but now it’s up to us, so let’s get started.”

  Crocell groaned. “But A Charlie Brown Christmas is starting in like, five minutes.”

  Raum crossed his arms over his sweater and stepped closer to Crocell. “Crocell. Do you remember what we talked about? Do you remember what I said after doing all that research into the apocrypha and the footnotes and the personal diaries and all of the back-issues of the Prague Bulletin of Angel Binding? Not to mention the Civil Rules and Procedures for Angel Binding and Unbinding?”

  Crocell shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. “That, uh, if we connected the two buildings with water that maybe we could unbind ourselves, and we could we be free?”

  Raum gave him an assuring smile and patted his shoulder, squeezing gently. “That’s right. We would be free. We would be able to do whatever we want, go wherever we want. Don’t you miss Paris? Florence? Barcelona? A thousand other places? Doesn’t it get to you, being stuck here day after day, month after month, knowing that if it were up to the powers that be, it could be hundreds of years? Well, it doesn’t have to be up to them. It can be up to us, Crocell. Seize your destiny.”

  After a moment, Crocell smiled. “All right, I’m in. Let’s dump this goo.”

  “You won’t regret it,” Raum said, slapping his shoulder again. He headed to the garage, where they stood around a collection of sixty-four-gallon tubs.

  “How…?” Forcas said.

  “Yeah, how do we even open these, let alone get them all the way over there and pick it up?” Vassago said.

  “Crocell, go upstairs and get one of those luggage carts from the lobby,” Raum said. “Get two of them.”

  “What if they ask why?” Crocell said.

  Raum gave him a look. “I can’t tell if you’re the first or the last person I’d want on a heist. Probably the latter. Tell them that you got a delivery of toilet paper but it’s too much to carry upstairs.”

  “And when I don’t go upstairs with a cart full of toilet paper?”

  “You’re exhausting me, Crocell.”

  Crocell shrugged and took the elevator.

  Raum met eyes with the others. “While he’s doing that, which I’m sure will somehow take forever, let’s see if we can drag one of those barrels to the lap pool.”

  They selected the closest one. Imamiah and Forcas dragged it along the concrete floor of the parking garage, through the doors to the underground walkway, and over to the lap pool. Out of breath, Raum said, “That wasn’t so bad. Let’s see how many more we can do.”

  They managed to drag over three barrels by the time Crocell egressed the elevator with a rolling cart.

  “Idiot, that cart has sides!” Raum yelled to Crocell while dragging another barrel with Imamiah.

  Crocell hung his head and got back in the elevator with the cart that had bars on both sides of it.

  Raum tossed up his arms. “I mean, does he think we’re going to lift the barrels that high and somehow get them out, too? Has he ever tried thinking?”

  They dragged two more barrels and Crocell came down with the right kind of cart.

  “Finally!” Raum said and they took turns hoisting the barrels up half a foot to put on the cart. They were able to fit three on each, though the cart could not be steered straight and wanted to go left at all times.

  “You really have to wrestle it,” Forcas observed. “They should use this in a cross-fit class—I really feel it working my core.”

  Eventually, they had moved all of the barrels to the side of the lap pool.

  “Now we have to get them opened and lift them high enough to pour into the pool,” Raum said.

  “They have screw-tops,” Imamiah said, examining them.

  “All righty. First one,” Raum announced. They unscrewed the top and recoiled, staggering away. Vassago even fell on his rear and skittered back.

  “What’s that made of?” Crocell said, appalled.

  “No one knows,” Raum said, somberly.

  “Let’s get this done, please,” Forcas said.

  Forcas, Imamiah, and Vassago picked up the barrel with exquisite care and caution, and positioned it on the edge of the empty lap pool.

  “OK, now…pour,” Raum said.

  “Easy for you to say,” Vassago said. “What is this, The Bridge on the River Kwai?”

  “Pour it, Leonard Maltin.”

  They started to pour the goo into the pool. A door opened behind them and someone called out, “You there! What are you doing to my daughter’s death worm lap pool project?” and the board members holding the barrel jumped, startled.

  The barrel full of gefilte fish suspension fell to the floor with a heavy thump. The suspension flew up and out of the barrel and spilled over the sides, coating every single one of them with the goo, which soaked into the carpet.

  Only Crocell, standing off to the side, was unaffected, except for the gleeful laughter that erupted from him when it was over. “Oh, I can’t breathe,” Crocell said, laughing so hard he had to lean against a wall.

  “Shut up, Crocell!” Raum said.

  Vassago gagged and threw up in the corner, which made Imamiah throw up, too. Raum made a disgusted sound and turned away. He glared at Archie, who was still standing there in his lab coat and goggles, astonished.

  Maintaining his intense glare at Archie, Raum pointed a stiff, angry finger at the floor. “We’re going to have to replace that carpet, Mr. Driscoll, and in terms of the reserve, we’re about as strong as the airbag warranty department at Takata.”

  “What is your purpose here?” Archie demanded. “Do you know how hard my daughter worked to get this up and running?”

  “But it’s not running,” Imamiah said, trying desperately to wipe off the suspension. “It’s not running because she was fired and the cicadas couldn’t finish the project.”

  Archie reared back a little, frowning. “What?”

  “This afternoon,” Vassago said. “And we’re trying to do this last step ourselves, no thanks to you.”

  “Kelly would want us to,” Crocell said to Archie.

  “The least you can do is get us some towels or something,” Forcas said to Archie, who shook his head and went back into the storage room.

  “Do you think he’s getting us towels?” Imamiah asked.

  Raum, Imamiah, Forcas, and Vassago grimaced. Vassago gagged a few more times but didn’t throw up again. “I gotta shower,” Vassago said. “I can’t take this another second.”

  Raum whirled on him. “We aren’t leaving until all of those barrels of suspension are in that pool!”

  “I wish someone would go get doughnuts,” Vassago said.

  “How can you even think of eating right now? I may never eat again,” Forcas said
.

  Vassago shrugged.

  “Yeah, we saw you gagging,” Crocell said.

  “Isn’t it a safety issue now?” Imamiah said. “The carpet is squishy. What if we slip and fall?”

  “The carpet is squishy?” Raum said, practically growling. “You’re going to let something as inconsequential as a squishy carpet keep you from freeing yourselves from this building? You are aware that we can’t leave, right? We are powerful—but only outside of here!”

  “But we’re board members,” Vassago said. “We control everything in this building. I mean, I stepped down, but…”

  Raum waved a hand around. “Look, if you want to stay here while the rest of us fly free and exercise our potential, go right ahead, Vassago. But I’m not going to let a little thing like being completely coated in a mysterious goo that I will likely reek of even after a thousand showers stop me, OK?”

  The rest of them sighed, looked down at themselves with disgust, and with a collective sigh, unscrewed the next barrel.

  Archie came back out with a stack of towels. “Keep them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some Canadian flavorists to crush.” He went back in the storage room and closed the door.

  The four board members grabbed the towels like NBA players at halftime and wiped off their faces and hands and whatever else they could. “Ugh, I hate myself right now,” Forcas said.

  “Soon, it won’t matter,” Raum said. “Soon, we’ll be back in our true forms and can finally stretch out a little. It will seem like a long, bad dream of sleeping in a double bed with someone we don’t like.”

  They lifted the barrel and poured it in. “And whatever you do,” Raum added, “don’t be high-strung. People have cars and horses down here. The elevator doors could open. Do not drop this. Pretend it’s nitroglycerine.”

  “It pretty much is,” Forcas muttered.

  “I’d rather be carrying nitroglycerine,” Crocell added.

  Several barrels later, they collapsed, exhausted. “My arms don’t work anymore,” Imamiah said, shaking out his arms.

  “Six more to go,” Raum said. “Think of the day, almost certainly tomorrow—if not this very night—when you will leave Amenity Tower. Think of that sweet, sweet relief. You’ll be free!”

  Vassago looked downcast. “But… Netflix!”

  Raum tossed up his arms and walked off, muttering to himself. Imamiah and Forcas lifted another barrel as Vassago kept the bottom steady. They continued through the last barrel, crawled to a dry part of the carpet, and spread out on their backs.

  “I can’t believe we did that,” Forcas said.

  Imamiah scoffed. “Not ten hours ago, I was having a coffee and a scone and reading the Pothole City Tribune and now I’m on the floor covered in gefilte fish suspension.”

  “What happens now?” Vassago said, turning his head toward Raum.

  “Now we wait,” Raum said.

  Forcas got to his feet. “I want to see it.” He went over to the lap pool, his shoes making squelching noises on the carpet, and beheld the entire lap pool, filled with gooey suspension. “The death worms really are going to love those exercise rings, arthritic or not. And this is going to be heated, right?”

  “That’s correct.” Raum got to his feet and stretched his back, neck, and arms. “It’s a heated lap pool. I’m going to go home to double-check my research, and to take what I hope is the only shower I’ll need before this takes effect.” He walked slowly toward the elevator, paused, and turned toward the others. “You know, it worked out well for us that Kelly was fired, not to mention tormented and overworked.”

  Imamiah snorted. “Why, because we got to engage in the character-building task of filling the pool ourselves?”

  “No,” Raum said, in a you’re an idiot tone. “Because she would have found out, and because there would be no way that she would attribute this activity to altruism or dedication to our community. Clearly, what do we care that this pool is finished?”

  “Because it’s the most requested amenity and would build goodwill toward the board?” Crocell offered.

  “Because it’s good for the death worms?” Imamiah said.

  “Because we would love to swim in a heated gefilte fish suspension lap pool ourselves?” Forcas said.

  “Spare me,” Raum said. “You know she’d assume we did it to escape the building.”

  “And she’d be right,” Imamiah said.

  Raum smiled. “I rest my case. The best I could do, considering I can barely move right now. I had better see all of you at the holiday party.” He gave them a half-hearted wave, pressed the button, and stumbled into the elevator.

  “Oh no,” Forcas said. “We still have to go to the holiday party. Ugh.”

  “Expect extreme unpopularity,” Imamiah said.

  The elevator stopped on the lobby floor. A few residents started to step into the cab, immediately recoiled, and stepped back out. Raum grinned and the doors closed again. “That’s one benefit,” he said to himself.

  Parade of the Death Worms

  elly made it to the building in seventeen minutes, and before going to the holiday party, she checked her email. To her surprise, she had three responses from the profile she’d made for the kakapo on the matchmaking site. One of them even met the criteria. She forwarded the response to the kakapo and hoped this would solve the noise problem.

  The Amenity Tower holiday party started with an episode of What’s On Your Mind, With Roger Balbi on the club room TV. Several residents gathered on the chairs and sofa to watch. Kelly stood outside the open doors, looking in.

  The guests in Roger’s studio that day included a large dog with a stunning coat of hair and a curled, fluffy tail. Behind him on the studio wall were pictures of a gorgeous woman, a fur trapper, and a stylish band.

  “The Eurasier,” Roger said from the TV, wearing his black magician suit and shiny red tie, “is a breed of spitz dog that originated in Germany, known for its stately composure, protective nature, and calm temperament. Imagine that you’re taking the Eurasier out for a drive, perhaps for leaf-peeping or to visit a dog-friendly café. The Eurasier will get into the car without fuss and sit as serenely as a king or queen.” On a poster of the poised Eurasier, it had a clip-on mic attached to its collar, and in the background was what appeared to be the stage of a TED talk.

  Roger used a pointer to indicate the photo of the band. “The Eurasier is not to be confused with the English synthpop duo Erasure, who were most popular from the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s.”

  Faintly, in the background of the show, you could hear someone yell, “Could you explain the feud between Oasis and Blur?” and Roger said, “That’s beyond the scope of this episode. Come talk to me later.”

  In the room, Crocell shouted “That’s me! That’s my voice!”

  On the TV, Roger pointed to the picture of the woman. “This attractive woman here is a Eurasian actress.” He tapped the picture of the fur trapper. “And this Siberian, fur-hunting frontiersman is more Eurasian than he is European.”

  Crocell jabbed a finger toward the screen. “See, that’s what I love about Roger. He explained things to us. I mean, what did we know? We literally fell into this room—” he gestured behind him to indicate the other side of the club room—” found a board meeting agenda, and latched onto it. The agenda was the only thing we knew about this world. We didn’t know where we were, what had happened. We didn’t even know what we didn’t know, or what would be important on a day-to-day basis.”

  Not that anyone in the room had really noticed her standing at some distance, but if they had, they would have seen an almost imperceptible shrug, which indicated she could explain things to them if they wanted. But she managed the building a little more than Roger, whose attention focused on being a conflict-resolving troubadour.

  She could explain a lot of things, but kept busy trying to keep the building from crumbling to the ground and handle all of the extra problems that were unique to Amenity Tower, so if they
wanted something explained, they could ask her.

  “Hey,” the paper wasp said. “Remember when Roger had his own breakfast cereal? It came with a little flexible plastic record with all his songs on it: “I’m Happy to Be Your Manager,” “Let’s Be Neighborly,” “Amenity Room,” “I Want to Resolve Your Conflict,” “Amenities Are for Sharing,” “Let’s Come to an Agreement”—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I saved a box,” Crocell said. “But my box came with a conflict whistle.”

  “What do you do with that?” the paper wasp said.

  “You use it when there’s about to be a conflict or if a conflict escalates, or to try to end an argument as a signal for a truce or something. It’s also great for death worm training. I don’t have a death worm, myself, but I gave Elysia a spare one I had, and she taught her death worms to spin around on command.”

  Cereal boxes with tiny records inside. Kelly seriously wondered if Roger never required sleep to function, or if he had a secret team of people doing these side projects, or if someone else had done the work of managing the building.

  The engineering and janitorial crews worked outside, lit from above, getting ready for the fit and show. They made some adjustments to the obstacle course and removed the standing snow from the ground and the outdoor tables and chairs. They brought out another set of folding chairs and two long tables and positioned the space heaters.

  The board members and a few of the residents took seats at a long table inside, by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Kelly announced, “All right everyone, it’s time for the roast of the board!”

  Everyone at the party took seats in front of them.

  The remora said, “All of you have a certain scent which may be perceived as unpleasant to some, not necessarily me.”

  “That’s fair,” Forcas said. “By the way, that scent is power.”

  The paper wasp said, “Raum, I have misophonia and sometimes you swallow too loudly.”

  The room fell silent for a moment.

  “Should we explain again what a roast is?” Raum whispered to Forcas.