Brian Keene - Deluge - The Conqueror Worms II

Sarah took a tentative step toward him, but Kevin held up his hand.

“No, don’t.”

“But you look better.”

Kevin’s smile faded. “Looks can be deceiving. I thought I was… soft… better, but it grew overnight.”

He stepped out of the shadows and Sarah gasped. Kevin’s entire forearm was overgrown with white fuzz. The fungus ran from his elbow all the way down to his fingertips, covering his flesh like a sleeve and glove. As she watched, he raised his arm and stretched it out into the rain. As the water beat against it, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“It likes that,” he said. “The fuzz. It likes the water. That feels… soft… good.”

Sarah tried to speak, but she couldn’t find the breath around the lump in her throat. She felt dizzy. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. She bit her lip until the sensation passed. She was distraught over his situation, but also disturbed by how complacent Kevin had seemingly become, rather than freaking out like he had before.

“Where’d you find the gun?”

“Upstairs,” Sarah whispered.

“That’s good. I heard some worms slithering around outside last night, but they don’t seem to be around now. Did you see any?”

Sarah wiped raindrops and tears from her eyes and shook her head.

Kevin stepped back into the doorway of the utility shed. “What’s in the bag?”

“Booze. I found an unopened bottle of Bookers. I thought maybe we could have a few drinks.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Kind of… soft… early in the morning for that, isn’t it?”

Sarah shrugged. “Who pays attention to what time it is anymore? And besides, we could use a little celebration.”

“What are we celebrating? That I’m infected with this… soft… shit? That all our friends are dead?”

“We don’t know for sure. Teddy and Carl could still be alive.”

“Do you really believe that, Sarah?”

She paused. “No. I guess I don’t. But we’re still alive, right? Like you said, there has to be a reason. We can’t have gone through all of this for no reason at all. Let’s drink to that, if nothing else.”

“We can’t share a bottle. I don’t want you catching this… soft… shit from me.”

“It’s okay. I brought two coffee mugs. As long as the bottle doesn’t touch your mug when we refill it, everything will be okay. And I brought rubber gloves and a dust mask, too. I can wear those, if it will make you feel better.”

“Kind of hard to drink through a dust mask, but yeah, put the gloves on. It can’t hurt. Better… soft… safe than sorry.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Sarah asked. “Soft. What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin admitted. “It’s the stuff. I think soft is what it wants to be. I don’t know how to explain it better than that. I just keep hearing it inside my head. It doesn’t like hard things. It likes… soft… ”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But never mind. Let’s have a drink. Who knows? Maybe alcohol will kill it.”

Sarah bent over, opened the garbage bag and rummaged through it. She pulled out the whiskey, mugs, and gloves. After pulling the gloves on, she placed a coffee mug within Kevin’s reach. Then she sat down and faced the open door. Her butt and legs sank into the mud.

“I’d invite you in,” Kevin said, “but that’s probably not… soft… safe.”

“It’s okay. I’ll sit here. As long as you can keep an eye out, in case one of the worms tries to sneak up behind me or something.”

“I’ve always got your back.”

“I know.” The words caught in Sarah’s throat. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

“Yeah, we have.”

Sarah unscrewed the bottle of Bookers and poured some into each of their mugs. Her hands shook as she dispensed the whiskey. The bottle tapped against the rims of the mugs.

“You okay?” Kevin asked.

“I’m fine. Just feeling a little emotional. Thinking about the past.”

Kevin reached for the mug with his good hand. He raised it into the air.

“To Teddy and Carl. Let’s hope they’re… soft… in a better place now. Someplace… soft… dry.”

Sarah picked up her mug and echoed the toast. “To Teddy and Carl.”

Kevin tilted his head back and drained the mug. While his attention was diverted, Sarah quickly dumped the contents of her mug onto the ground. Her original plan had been to fill her stomach with food, to soak up the booze, so that Kevin would get drunk quicker than she did. But as long as he was distracted, she figured she’d try it this way. The less booze she had in her system, the better. The rain washed the whiskey away before Kevin was finished. He smacked his lips and put the mug back down on the ground.

“Damn, that’s good stuff.”

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed. “It is.”

“How about another?”

“Coming right up.”

Sarah glanced at the garbage bag, and saw the outline of the hatchet through the thin plastic. She poured two more shots, and tried not to sob. She was careful not to let the bottle touch the rim of Kevin’s mug. When she was finished, Kevin raised his mug again.

“Can we… soft… toast Lori this time?”

Sarah nodded. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Okay. To Lori. I miss you, baby. So much has happened since then, and I don’t think I’ve really had time to… soft… process it all. I still can’t believe that you’re… soft… gone. Maybe I’ll see you soon.”

While he drank, Sarah dumped her whiskey again, and waited.

CHAPTER 21

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” Kevin said.

Startled, Sarah dropped the coffee mug. It fell into the mud with a squelching sound. Dirty water splattered her already wet clothes.

“W-what?”

“You don’t have to fake it. I’m not… soft… stupid, Sarah. I saw what you just did. And I saw the other… soft… stuff inside the garbage bag when you opened it—the medical supplies and the kerosene and…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And the hatchet.”

“How did you…?”

“The bag looked a little too… soft… heavy and bulky for just a bottle of whiskey and some coffee mugs.”

Sarah picked up her coffee mug and wiped the mud off it. When she looked at Kevin again, he was grinning at her. It was a sad, haunted expression, and when he spoke again, his voice echoed of resignation.

“I know what you’re up to, Sarah. I know what you’re planning.”

“Kevin, I don’t—”

“You’re going to get me drunk, knock me out, and then amputate my arm. Right?”

She paused, unsure of what to say next. How did he really know what she was planning? Was Kevin merely guessing? And if he had indeed guessed her intentions, why was he reacting so calmly? If the situation had been reversed, Sarah knew that she’d be fighting and screaming.

“Give me another refill,” Kevin said. “Hell, if you’re not going to drink any, just pass me the entire bottle.”

Without a word, Sarah leaned close to the doorway and sat the whiskey bottle down in front of him. She caught a faint whiff of mildew—not from the shed, but from Kevin himself. He smelled musty and damp, like clothing that had been left in a flooded basement. After she leaned back, Kevin picked up the bottle with his fungus-covered hand and tipped it to his mouth. He drank long and deep, gasping and grimacing when he’d finished. The liquor glistened on his lips.

“God, that feels good. It’s all warm in my belly, you know? I’m kind of surprised, though.”

“About what?”