Deluge: The Conqueror Worms II

CHAPTER 14

Kevin groaned. The painkillers were already beginning to wear off, which surprised him. He’d swallowed more than the recommended dosage—not enough to harm himself, but enough to mute the pain for what should have been several hours. It felt almost as if his body was fighting the drugs’ effects—purging the ibuprofen from his system. His bandaged arm felt like it was on fire. The gauze was soaked with blood. Most of it had dried into a brown, flaky crust, but the pain remained.

Gritting his teeth, he turned on the flashlight and shined it around the interior of the utility shed, partly to take his mind off his wound, but also to alleviate his boredom. There wasn’t much to see—a lawn tractor, two push mowers, a wagon, several cans of gasoline and kerosene, stacks of miscellaneous lumber, rolls of plastic and metal fencing, a bundle of twine, extension cords, a gas-powered weed whacker, a chainsaw, metal posts, and various tools, including several axes, shovels, hoes, and pick-axes. A spider web dangled in one corner. A mouse trap sat vacant and dusty in another corner, its bait long since stolen or rotted away. The concrete floor was relatively clean, if cold. Kevin was grateful that it wasn’t just a gravel floor like so many other utility sheds. The mattress he’d taken from the ranger station was thin and lumpy and not very comfortable. He clicked the flashlight off again and sighed.

“Home sweet home.”

At least it was dry. Maybe too dry, now that he thought about it. Ever since the rain had started, Kevin had gotten used to never being completely dry. There was always moisture in the air. It permeated everything. Dampness and mildew seemed to work their way into every space, no matter how sealed-off or climate-controlled. It had been that way in Baltimore, when he, Sarah and the others had taken refuge on the top floors of the Inner Harbor Marriott, and it had been that way at each of their destinations since then. Getting out of the rain made little difference, since they usually had no dry clothes to put on. Even stripping naked didn’t seem to help. If anything, it made the wetness in the air more pervasive.

Now, for the first time in a long time, he felt dry. The sensation should have been pleasant, but instead, it made him uncomfortable. The air seemed thick and dusty. It irritated his nostrils and throat when he breathed. His skin felt shriveled and leathery, and his mouth was parched.

He’d found a few unopened bottles of water inside the shed when he first entered. Already, two of them sat empty. Kevin turned on the flashlight again and rummaged around, finding a third. He unscrewed the cap and drained the plastic bottle in two big gulps.

“Ahhh. That’s better.”

Smacking his lips, he tossed the empty bottle at the mousetrap, triggering the long-dormant mechanism. The trap snapped, springing into the air and then landing face down on the floor.

Giggling, Kevin turned off the flashlight once more and tried to get comfortable. The mattress poked him. He poked it back. Rain drummed against the shed’s roof, steady and rhythmic. The sound wasn’t unpleasant. He closed his eyes…

…and then he was thirsty again.

“Goddamn it. What the fuck?”

It occurred to him that despite the amount of water he’d drank in the last hour, he didn’t have to piss. That was odd. Usually, when he drank anything, especially beer or water, it ran right through him. When he was a kid, his father had joked on long car trips about how Kevin needed to stop every ten miles or so.

He fumbled in the darkness, not bothering with the flashlight again, found a fourth bottle, and chugged it. The liquid did little to alleviate his thirst, but he forced himself not to drink another. Instead, he lay there and tried to fall asleep. His thoughts turned to Sarah. He wondered what she was doing up there in the tower, and hoped that she was okay.

Outside, something bumped into the shed hard enough to make the walls rumble. Kevin held his breath. He heard the distinct slithering sound of a heavy body crawling through the mud. He waited, not daring to breathe or move. In the past, some of the worms had displayed the ability to track prey through some kind of sensory ability. Kevin still wasn’t sure if it was smell or sight—he’d seen evidence of both despite the fact that the creatures’ had no eyes or nose. He considered grabbing one of the axes from the wall, but was afraid that the worm would hear his movement.

Eventually, he heard the creature crawl away into the night. Exhausted, feverish, and in pain, Kevin lay there, listening for it to return, until the sound of the rain lulled him to sleep.

While he slept, something that wasn’t blood seeped through the pores of the gauze bandage on his arm and began to grow, sending out small exploratory tendrils.