Worm

33

Marv got Tony behind him and slammed the dining room door shut. It was solid oak. He didn’t see how the worms could possibly get through it; then again he couldn’t conceive of how any of this had happened in the first place. As he slammed it shut, he severed three worms that were most anxious to join him in the dining room. Another slid over his boot and Tony stomped it.

They were hitting the door now.

At first, it was just a few soft plopping sounds as they struck it almost playfully, but now they were going at it in numbers. Thump, thump, thump-thump-thump. The door was holding, but it was trembling in its frame. The worms were not just striking it, they were trying to chew their way through. They were tearing at it and punching into it like whirring drill bits.

Marv had always been a guy who’d prided himself on knowing what to do in a pinch.

But that failed him now.

What was there to do?

The worms wanted in and they were going to get in. He thought of Fern and the twins and the horrible way they were going to die and it all weakened him, confused him. He did not know what to do. He couldn’t think of a single thing. If they got in, he knew he would fight. He’d use up the last few rounds in his rifle and then he’d go at them with his bare hands. He’d rip dozens to pieces… and then…

That was what he didn’t want to think about.

“We need something to drive ’em back with,” Tony said at his side. “Fire. We need fire.”

Yes, of course. It was one of the oldest of man’s defenses against the onslaught of the unknown and nearly always effective.

And that was when Fern screamed.