Brian Keene - The Conqueror Worms

“Ugh.” Sarah wrinkled her nose. “I’ve had enough of water for right now, but thanks anyway. Maybe later.”

Kevin asked, “So where are we supposed to go to the bathroom?”

“Good question,” I said. “To be honest—and my apologies to Sarah—but I’ve just been going out on the back porch when I had to go number one, and down to the outhouse for number two.”

Carl shivered. “You ain’t getting me back in that outhouse again.”

“No,” I agreed, “I don’t think any of us will be venturing back out there anytime soon. I reckon we’ll use a bucket, and then dump it outside when we’re done.”

Kevin sighed. “Boy, there’s nothing like roughing it. This reminds me of summer camp back when I was a kid.”

Carl crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, eyeing them. “So are you two…together?”

“Us?” Sarah threw her head back and laughed.

Kevin joined her a second later.

Carl’s ears turned red. “I reckon that’s a ‘no.’ ”

“Sorry,” Sarah giggled. “You just have to know us. I’m gay, and Kevin, well…”

A shadow passed over Kevin’s face and Sarah trailed off, her grin fading. I could tell they didn’t want to talk about whatever it was, so I tried to change the subject.

“By any chance, would either of you happen to have some cigarettes?”

“Sorry,” Sarah apologized. “I don’t smoke.”

“And I was getting ready to ask you and Carl the same thing,” Kevin said.

“You a smoker?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes. Then at least I’d have someone to commiserate with. My misery needed some company.

“I wasn’t,” Kevin replied. “But after what we’ve been through today, I’m tempted to start.”

Chuckling, I dumped the uneaten stew back into the pot and put the crackers in the pantry. Then I poured myself some hot water and instant coffee into a mug, and pulled up a seat at the kitchen table.

Sarah gestured to the pictures in the living room. “Those pictures—are they your family?”

“They were. I don’t reckon my daughter or my grandkids…Well, they lived closer to the ocean. And Rose, that’s my wife, she passed away of pneumonia three years ago. I figure I’ll see them all sooner rather than later.”

Carl nodded and sipped his coffee. Kevin didn’t reply. Sarah stared out the window, then turned and looked at the hutch, where Darla, my granddaughter, stared back at us from a silver frame.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You remind me of her, actually. You’ve got her strength.”

Sarah smiled, and yes, she did remind me of Darla at that moment.

Carl sat his mug down on the table. “So what did you folks do before—all of this?”

Kevin brightened for a moment. “I worked in a video store.”

“I worked for McCormick,” Sarah added. “The spice manufacturer.”

“Sure.” I nodded. “So you’re both from Baltimore?”

“We are,” Kevin said. “Or were. What’s left of it, at least.”

He let his gaze roam around the kitchen. It lingered on my three houseplants, and I wondered if he was some sort of amateur gardener. When he spotted my framed picture of Johnny Cash hanging on the wall, he turned to me.

“You’re a fan of the Man in Black, huh? I saw him in concert when I was younger. Great show.”

“You like country music?” Carl asked.

“Some—but not all of it,” Kevin replied. “I guess I’m pretty eclectic. Mostly rock, metal, and hip-hop. But I liked Johnny Cash. And Shania Twain and the Dixie Chicks are pretty cool. Or were. I bet you guys like them, right?”

“No sir,” Carl said. “Don’t care much for that new country at all. We like the classics. Folks like Conway Twitty, Loretta Lynn, Porter Wagoner, and Patsy Cline.”

“And Jerry Reed,” I added. “Can’t forget about some of those seventies trucking songs.”

With a grin, Carl started humming the theme song from Smokey and the Bandit.

“East bound and down,” I chuckled.

“We’re gonna do what they say can’t be done,” he answered.

Kevin looked stunned. “No Dixie Chicks or Shania?”

“The Dixie Chicks make me break out in hives,” Carl said. “And Shania Twain is about as country as that rock and roll band, Metalli-something.”

Kevin grinned. “Metallica.”

We all laughed then, except for Sarah, who stood up and moved to the kitchen window. She looked out the rain-streaked pane, but her eyes weren’t fixed on anything. I could tell her thoughts were far away.

“What is it?” Kevin asked her softly.

“There are no more Dixie Chicks,” she said. “There’s no more Shania Twain or Metallica, and no more radio and Baltimore and—and I saw Cornwell after the crash, and he’d been sliced into three—” She stopped, unable to continue, and shut her eyes. “And poor, poor Salty.”

“Baltimore’s flooded?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Are you kidding?” Kevin snorted. “Baltimore’s fucking gone, man. Just like everything else.”

“What happened out there,” Carl whispered, more to himself than to anybody. “What the hell happened?”

“God broke His promise,” Sarah said from the window. “Decided He was tired of us messing up this nice planet He gave us and flooded it again.”

“Can’t say as I blame Him,” Carl muttered.

“I’m serious,” Sarah continued. “How else do you explain it? One morning, kiddie porn is a multibillion dollar industry, the President is pardoning drug dealers in exchange for campaign contributions and declaring war on any country he feels like, teens are shooting each other in school, and terrorists are blowing up places of worship. The next day, we wake up, and Pennsylvania’s Amish country is beachfront property and the survivors are making a pilgrimage to the Rocky fucking Mountains in Colorado!”

“And Leviathan and Behemoth are loosed upon the earth,” I added.

Kevin and Sarah both jumped, and Kevin’s coffee mug crashed to the floor.

Carl rose to his feet. “You okay? What’s wrong? Did you see something outside?”

The two young people shot wary glances at each other.

“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. My Rose taught Sunday School for thirty-some years. Behemoth and Leviathan were both biblical creatures. The book of Job, if I remember correctly.”

“Rose always did know her Bible,” Carl said.

Suddenly, bursting into tears, Sarah ran out of the kitchen and down the hallway. We heard the spare bedroom door slam shut.

“What is it?” I asked Kevin. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry if I offended her.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. The word Leviathan…”

He grabbed a towel and mopped up his coffee. Then he sat back down, folded his hands, and looked at Carl and me. His face was grave.

“Maybe I’d better tell you guys our story. Then you’ll understand. You see, those worms aren’t the only things out there.”

“There’s other things?” Carl asked. “Worse than the worms?”

“Oh, yes.” Kevin’s voice was barely a whisper.

I refilled Kevin’s mug. He stirred the crystals, watching them dissolve in the hot water. None of us said anything. Carl got up and stood at the window, keeping watch.

After a bit, Kevin took a deep breath. His hands were shaking.

This is what he told us…

PART II

UPON US ALL A LITTLE RAIN MUST FALL

Water, water, every where,

Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!

That ever this should be!

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs

Upon the slimy sea.