Brian Keene - The Conqueror Worms

“I thought you ran off,” I told him, smiling weakly.

“Not hardly.” His bloody expression was one of wounded pride. “Why would you think something like that, Teddy? After all we’ve been through? I didn’t run off. I just went and cooked something up.”

I coughed blood and nodded at the kerosene heater. “Isn’t that a bit hot?”

He nodded, struggling to hold the heater upright. “Yeah, and it’s burning a hole through these here oven mitts. This thing got one of those automatic safety shut off switches?”

“No,” I groaned, as Sarah and Kevin stumbled out of the tilting stairwell.

“Good,” Carl said. “Then get out of my way.”

Kevin gently sat Sarah down. “Can you stand?” he asked her.

“Yeah.” She nodded, and then caught sight of my leg and the blood leaking from my lips. “Teddy, what happened?”

“I’ll be okay.” I smiled, trying to reassure her. “Been through worse back during the war.”

Kevin stood up. “We’ve got to get you guys out of here. Mr. Seaton, what are you doing with that kerosene heater?”

Carl nodded towards the basement stairs. “Reckon we’ll see if that big ugly bastard likes hot food.”

Wincing, I dug into my pants pocket and tossed Kevin the keys to my truck. I was thankful that I’d put them there before the table and hutch had pinned me against the wall. Otherwise, they’d be lost now, scattered by the rolling floor.

Kevin caught them with one hand. “What now?”

“I want you to go start my truck. I don’t know if Earl messed with it or not, but we need to find out. Take Sarah with you.”

“But what about you guys?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t you worry about us,” Carl said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“We’ve got to help you out of here, Teddy,” Sarah argued. “And Carl—you’ve probably got a concussion. Your head is really bleeding.”

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.” He sat the heater down.

“It’s not a scratch,” she said. “And neither one of you is fine!”

“You just go with Kevin,” I shouted back. “See if my truck starts. If it does, then get out of here. Go to the end of my lane, hang a right, and just keep on going till you run out of road. When that happens, you’ll be at Bald Knob, where the big forest ranger tower is. You can’t miss it.”

“Wait a minute,” Kevin spoke up, startled. “That doesn’t make sense at all. We sure as hell aren’t leaving you guys behind!”

“You’re not,” I said. “Once we’ve taken care of ol’ Behemoth, we’ll follow along behind you in Carl’s truck. We’ll all meet up at Bald Knob.”

Kevin frowned. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Listen. Carl and me—we’re old. Even if we make it through this, we don’t have much time left in this world.” I glanced down at my leg, and then back up to them. “Somebody needs to kill this thing, or try to at least. There’s no sense in sacrificing all of us, if things don’t go well. Now I’m tired of arguing. There’s no time.”

Sarah touched my shoulder. “But—”

“Go,” I said, and then broke into another coughing fit.

“Don’t worry,” Carl said, and picked up the heater again. “We’ll be along soon as we kill it.”

“Is that going to work?” Kevin asked, skeptically.

Carl nodded. “I reckon so. At the very least, it’ll give him a nasty case of indigestion.”

“What if there are more of those creatures outside?” Sarah asked. “How will we get past them?”

“We’ll just have to take that chance,” Kevin said, jangling the keys.

“Now go,” I told them. “Please?”

Kevin tugged on her arm. Below us, Behemoth roared. I could hear the tentacle things sliding on the stairs, inching higher. The house began to shake again.

Sarah turned back to Carl and I. “You promise you’ll meet us at Bald Knob?”

I nodded. “We promise.”

“If we’re able,” Carl added.

They stumbled out the kitchen door, pausing to wade through the pile of worms on the carport. Sarah gave us one last backward glance and then they were gone.

I looked up at Carl. “You really think that heater will hurt it?”

“It’s worth a try. Bullets sure ain’t doing much.”

“Well, then nail that thing and drag me the hell out of here.”

He nodded grimly and stepped up to the edge of the stairway. “Take a deep breath, you big ugly bastard, cause the next one is gonna burn!”

Behemoth hissed in response.

“Don’t miss,” I coughed.

“You ever known me to miss?”

“Plenty of times.”

He snickered, and then we both laughed. It hurt me to do so, but there was no helping it.

“You’re a good man, Teddy Garnett.”

“You too, Carl Seaton. You too.”

“Bombs away!” Carl turned back to the stairs, raised the kerosene heater up to chest level, and then flung it down the stairs, just as another tremor shook the house. He lost his balance and grabbed for the door frame, but the oven mitts on his hands slipped off the wood. Carl teetered on the edge, and then, with a quick, startled yelp, he was gone.

It happened that quickly.

One moment he was there. The next he was gone, tumbling down after the kerosene heater.

He didn’t even scream.

“Carl? Carl! ”

I scrambled to the edge of the stairs, ignoring the pain in my body. There was no sign of the heater. Or Carl. And Behemoth’s mouth was closed, swallowing. Its entire body quivered.

Carl was gone. My best friend in the whole world—my only friend left in the world—was gone. He hadn’t died at home in his bed, surrounded by loved ones and friends, or peacefully in his sleep, or even in a faraway veteran’s hospital. He’d died inside this creature’s stomach.

I closed my eyes.

And then the worm turned.

And screamed…

Bullets may not have hurt it, but a blazing hot kerosene heater upended down its throat sure as heck did. The blast of air that barreled out of the monster’s throat slammed into me with enough force to ruffle my wet hair, and then swept throughout the remains of the kitchen. My ears popped from the unexpected force of it. The air stank of fishy ammonia and burning flesh, and I could hear the creature’s throat sizzling. Behemoth squalled again, retching as the burning kerosene went to work deep within its bowels. The worm’s body twisted, racked with earthshaking convulsions as it retreated back down the tunnel, leaving an empty, gaping hole in its place. Chunks of concrete and dirt flowed into the vacant space.

Then the house fell silent. I could hear the clock ticking in the living room (amazingly, it had survived the shaking), and the rain pouring in through the damaged roof and pattering across the tiles and broken furniture.

I hugged myself, shivering in the cold, damp air, and wished to die.

The next sound was impossible to describe, and there’s just no way I can do it justice. A massive, concussive belch thundered up from far below. It was followed by a rushing noise as dark, dank water spouted up the tunnel and flooded into what remained of my basement. It stank—a sour, spoiled reek that turned my stomach. I gagged and turned my face away. The black liquid rushed halfway up the staircase before slowing, and when I looked back I gagged again, vomiting blood. There were things floating in that digestive stew—a half-eaten deer carcass, the hindquarters of a black bear, a car tire and license plate, soda pop bottles, building timbers, masonry and bricks, the skeletal remains of a human arm, and a plastic trash can.

And the kerosene heater.

And Carl.

Then pieces of the worm itself started to float up: shredded, blackened hunks of pale, blubbery flesh.