Brian Keene - The Conqueror Worms

We agreed that it was pretty much pointless to stand at the window and keep watch. The darkness outside was overwhelming, and we couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the carport. The little worms were still there and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw their growing numbers. They were two feet deep in most places now, the pile so high that the ones on the edges of the carport spilled out into the wet grass. The ones around my truck came up over the tires, and were working on covering the bumper.

“If things ever get back to normal,” I laughed, “I’m going to gather those things up and open a bait and tackle shop down by the river.”

“Not me,” Carl said. “After what we saw today, I’m never baiting a hook again.”

I wondered again where they were all coming from and what could be chasing them to the top. Was I right in my hypothesis? Was it something worse than what we’d already seen?

We moved into the living room and talked for a bit more, but the yawns were contagious and soon we were all rubbing our eyes. Exhausted, we agreed that we seemed to be relatively safe for the moment and decided to discuss our escape plans in detail in the morning, and try to come up with some other options. Then we all retired for the night. Carl took one bedroom and Sarah took the other. Kevin sprawled out on the couch and I fixed him up comfy with some extra blankets and pillows. We posted a watch, just in case.

Carl drew the first shift, which was uneventful. I relieved him at midnight. I didn’t want to disturb Kevin, so I sat in the kitchen doing my crossword puzzle in the soft light of the kerosene lantern. I was still stuck on a three-letter word for peccadillo, something with an “i” in the middle, when I heard the soft whisper of flannel behind me.

“Sin,” Sarah said over my shoulder. “S-I-N. Three letter word for peccadillo.”

“Well I’ll be,” I whispered, grinning in the lantern’s glow. “I would have never figured that out for myself. Been trying for days. I’m mighty glad you folks dropped in.”

We both laughed quietly, and then a troubled shadow passed over her face. She stared out the window, in the direction of the crash site. We couldn’t see the wreckage. It was too dark. But it was there, just the same.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was a bad joke. I didn’t mean ‘dropped’ of course.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

In the living room, Kevin stirred uneasily on the couch. He called out for Lori and then turned his head and went back to sleep.

“Poor guy,” I muttered. “He’ll live with that for the rest of his life.”

Sarah nodded.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain because there was nothing else to listen to, except for the occasional snore from Carl, drifting down the hallway like a ghost.

“Why don’t you go back to bed,” Sarah said gently. “I’ll take watch for awhile.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” I replied. “I haven’t been sleeping too good anyway. It’s the nicotine withdrawal. Gives me nightmares.”

“I can’t sleep, either. I dreamed about Salty and Cornwell and the crash.”

“Well, I reckon we can keep each other company then.”

“It’s quiet,” Sarah said. “You’d think the sound of the rain would lull us to sleep, but it doesn’t.”

“Nothing friendly or comforting about that rain,” I agreed. “It’s unnatural.”

“So you definitely agree with Kevin’s theory?”

“I’ve been thinking about it some more since dinner. I agree that these events weren’t the result of global warming or some other ecological disaster. As for the spell book he mentioned, it could be, I guess. There’s weird stuff in this world. We’ve all seen it. Goes back to prehistory. People in the Bible practiced black magic. I don’t pretend to understand everything in our universe, but I know there are things that science can’t explain. Call it paranormal or supernatural or whatever, but it exists. My own mother had a book called The Long, Lost Friend. Lots of folks in the Appalachian Mountains had a copy back in the old days. It was a spell book, but mostly harmless stuff—how to cure warts and deworm your cattle and protect yourself from the evil eye—things like that. Folks back then, even God-fearing Christians, swore by it. All I know is the stuff worked. I remember one time, when I was little, we were all out chopping wood. My granddaddy cut his leg with the ax and my grandmother put her hands over the wound, said a few words out of the book, followed them with a prayer, and the bleeding stopped—just like that. So it did work. You don’t see it much these days, because now everything is explained and cured by science. Maybe that’s why we’re in the mess we’re in now—because of our reliance on science. Maybe we lost touch with something else. Our spiritual side. The part that still believes in—and needs—magic.”

Sarah stared at me with a bemused look. “Why Teddy, I didn’t know you were a philosopher, too.”

I laughed quietly. “Only one in Punkin’ Center, unless you count young Ernie Whitt or Old Man Haubner down in Renick—and he ain’t been the same since his horse kicked him in the head.”

“And where are they now?” she asked. “Ernie and Haubner?”

I shrugged. “Gone off with the National Guard. Dead, maybe. I don’t know. During your travels from Baltimore to here, did you see any signs that our government was helping folks? FEMA settlements or tent cities or anything like that?”

“No. There was nothing. There’s not a lot of dry ground left, at least in the places we flew over. Like I said earlier, just the mountaintops. Everything is flooded.”

“And it’s still raining,” I said. “Guess it’s just a matter of time before the waters reach us.”

“Unless the worms do first.”

“Well, I don’t think much else will happen tonight, but just in case, you ought to get some sleep.”

“You need it more than I do,” she said. “Why don’t you go to bed? Let me take over?”

“No. If I go to bed now, I’ll just lay there having a nicotine fit.”

She laughed softly. “I thought Salty had been bad when it came to needing a cigarette.”

I stopped breathing. During his story, Kevin had mentioned that Salty was a smoker, but I’d forgotten all about it.

Could there be cigarettes outside?

“I reckon he ran out of them, too.” I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for her response.

“Salty? Oh no. We raided a gas station in Woodstock that was still above water, and he hauled out as many cartons as he could carry.”

“Huh. Good for him. He thought ahead. Wish I’d done that.” I kept up the small talk and tried not to give myself away, to reveal what I was thinking. Because what I was thinking wasn’t just crazy. It was downright suicidal.

And I was going to attempt it anyway.

I waited a few minutes and then I said, “Begging your pardon, Sarah, but I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

“Out there?”

“Well, just out onto the back porch. Don’t want to use the carport, on account of all those worms on it. But the back porch is close enough to the house. It should be safe.”

“Couldn’t you just pee in the sink or something?”

“At my age? Shoot, I’d be lucky if I could aim it that high. Besides, that’s just downright unsanitary.”

“Well,” she said reluctantly, “just be careful. I’ll wait here and stand guard.”

“Okay. Be back in a bit. This might take me a few minutes. And no peeking. It doesn’t always work as quick as it did when I was younger. I think he gets stage fright sometimes. Especially if there’s a pretty young woman staring at him from the window.”