Edward Lee - Slither

The three of them saw the trench and then the canary-yellow mass of crenelated coral. That's when they surfaced, treading water.

"You all saw the coral right at the tip of the trench," Loren said. "That's where the bristleworms are. Just start turning over rocks and you'll see them." He finnicked more specimen tubes from the net bag that floated off his belt.

"I'm ready," Annabelle said, hoisting her camera.

Both Trent and Loren were clearly diverted by the vision of Annabelle's floating breasts. "Are we going into the trench?" Trent asked.

"It's not advisable," Loren said.

"Why?" Annabelle asked. "I could get some great shots."

"What's in the trench?" it was Trent's turn to ask.

"Well, seafans, featherduster anemones, light-emitting coral that flashes like Christmas lights," Loren began.

"That sounds pretty cool," Trent said.

"Oh, let's go," Annabelle urged.

"And probably moray eels that are big enough to bite the limbs off humans…"

"Oh, let's not go," the blonde corrected herself.

"Thank you. So we'll stick to the coral clusters, and we should find some great scarlet bristleworms."

"No time like the present," Trent said.

The outcroppings of coral were about twenty feet below them. A group of shining pinfish followed them down as if part of their group. Loren's eyes scanned past the coral to the end of the trench, which looked narrow and hundreds of feet long-a minor chasm that had likely been formed thousands of years ago during an underwater plate-shift. For a moment he actually considered investigating, but then noticed some baby hammerheads loitering at the trench's rim.

Naw, he thought.

His eyes invariably rose back to Annabelle, who hovered over the coral, looking down. Her legs would slowly open and close to stabilize her position as she fired off some test shots with the big camera. She might as well have been nude in the water, all that immaculate flesh suspended before rising bubbles. The image compelled unshakable fantasies…

But it was all primordial, he knew. Eye candy, he thought, inciting my male genetic propensities. He knew now there was nothing really likable about Annabelle. She was the stuck-up leader of the cheerleading squad, who'd only settle in the end for the quarterback, the idea of social status raised to a personal priority. Shallow. Loren had encountered plenty of shallow people in his life of nerdom, and he'd had enough…

The only woman he really liked was Nora, but…

She's my friggin' boss.

Such was life.

Trent was staring at Annabelle too, right at the tiny triangle of fabric between her legs. He's a caveman, all right, Loren thought, and wants to drag her back to the cave by the hair. It was clear they had something going on; Annabelle had already made her selection. Survival of the dumbest, Loren tried to rationalize. It was easier than admitting he'd never be the kind of tough guy most beautiful women were attracted to.

He moved in and started flipping over rocks alongside Annabelle. Beige sea dust rose in billows. But then Annabelle upturned a large flat rock, and…

Recoiled.

Loren and Trent immediately spotted her reaction, and swam to her.

She jabbed her finger down violently toward a mass of scarlet bristleworms.

They were all bloated up to the size of Ping-Pong balls, some bursting before their eyes to release spews of tiny pink worms and minuscule yellow ova.

And these things have lungs AND gills, he reminded himself. They could be moving all over the island by now.

Trent and Annabelle swam back ashore, leaving Loren to tread the water in place.

He debated the idea for several more minutes. Then-

Got nothing better to do…

He dove back down, to collect more samples.

(I)

Slydes got back to the boat after noon. Was it his imagination or did he still feel sick?

Imagination, he hoped. He'd felt so lousy the past day or so, but wishful thinking told him that maybe it was just the flu or something. Trekking back to the boat he quickly got lost-the island was a labyrinth of vegetation-but for the entire time he kept glancing at his arms… to see if his skin was beginning to yellow.

Like Jonas.

Like a nightmare, he thought.

But he'd seen what had happened to his brotherthe most morbid infection-and he'd seen the worms himself. He hadn't stayed around long enough for a detailed look. The simple glimpses of the long, pink, hoselike things had been enough.

Ruth wasn't bullshitting…

The air was still, the heat beating down when he climbed back aboard. He swatted at mosquitoes, squinting through sweat.

Part of him still couldn't believe what he'd seen…

Ruth lay sprawled across the dingy cot downstairs, either sleeping off the oppressive heat or…

The thought seized Slydes.

She ain't dead, is she?

He had to jostle her a full minute before she came awake.

"Wake your ass up," he ordered. "It's time to leave."

Her face, arms, and legs looked tacky. Her eyes puffed up… almost as bad as her lips. When she managed to reclaim some awareness, she said, "Did you bring Jonas back?"

"No. Jonas is… sick. We're leaving without him-"

"What!"

"And we'll bring back a doctor," he told her. How could he tell he the truth? We're leaving without him 'cause he got infected by the worms, and he turned yellow-with red spots-and he'll try to pass that shit on to us.

Slydes wasn't prepared to say that.

Ruth didn't argue with the lie-her true face. She didn't care anymore, and neither did Slydes. "I just wanna go home," she half sobbed.

"We're gonna do that, right now." Slydes helped her up the steps. The long pink T-shirt was pasted to her flesh now, her blond hair darkened from so much sweat. When he grabbed her arm, the skin felt slippery, but…

It don't look like she's turnin' yellow, he observed, and me neither. That's all Slydes could hope for.

Abovedecks, the hot air stood still, and the sun glared off the water so harshly he could barely see. "The tide ain't high enough, but we're going anyway."

"Good, good! Just start the motor and go!"

The shrill exclamation grated his nerves, only to be answered by a sound even more shrill when he turned the ignition key. The engine chugged as metal shimmied.

"What the fuck's wrong now?" Ruth wailed.

Slydes barked back-with more nervousness than authority: "Sounds like there's no oil in the damn crankcase!" and then he hauled open the engine compartment on the back deck.

Smoke rose.

When Slydes hunkered down and looked, his heart fell into his belly like someone dropping a stone off a high bridge.

"Whatever it is-fix it!" Ruth screamed.

But there'd be no fixing this.

"Someone fucked us good," he conceded to the sight. "The engine's grenaded."

Ruth crawled forward on bare, scraped knees, the dark circles under her eyes like charcoal smudges. "What? What?"

"Someone drilled holes right through the valve covers into the cams…"

Ruth didn't want to believe it. "Who would do that? Why would someone do that?"

A relevant question, but the answer wouldn't do them any good.

The V -8s valve covers did indeed exhibit several holes, but the closer Slydes looked the more it occurred to him that they weren't drill marks. The tiny holes varied in diameter, their edges… irregular.

Slydes put his face right up to a cover. "Looks more like something burned through the metal…

"Fuck!" Ruth blurted. She began to sob again. "What-what's that down there?" A dirty finger pointed to the bottom of the engine compartment.

Slydes saw it at once.

Curled up in the oily bilge were several dead worms.

(II)