that I possessed, and the only thing that mattered now was getting to that helicopter wreckage and finding Salty’s leftover cigarettes. I wondered what I’d do if I got there and couldn’t find them, or worse, if they were destroyed in the crash. I briefly considered turning around and heading back to the house, but then I pushed the thought from my mind. I’d come too far already and my body was humming from the promise of the tobacco to come. If I had to, I’d hunt down the worm that ate Salty and cut it open and fish his last pack from its belly.
The worst part is that I knew just how unreasonable and stupid I was being, but I didn’t care. The cravings were controlling me now, and I was helpless—completely under their whim. I slopped through the mud, hoping that I was going in the right direction. The wet rifle was cold in my hands and my fingers grew numb.
Suddenly, I heard a noise to my left, the sound of something striking against metal. I froze and my body’s demand for nicotine vanished, replaced with a cold, paralyzing feeling of dread. I stood there waiting for the sound to be repeated again, waiting to hear that telltale worm hiss, but neither came. I tried to judge where I was and what the noise could have been. If my calculations were correct, then the carport was to my left. Maybe the metallic noise was something brushing up against the truck. But I couldn’t be sure. If it was, then I was heading in the right direction, but had placed myself between the shed and the house, rather than going behind the shed.
Could it have been one of those cow-sized worms, sneaking up on the house, or worse yet, creeping along behind me? I didn’t know.
Rather than standing there in the darkness trying to figure it out, I kept going. Soon enough, the ground beneath my feet changed from muddy yard to muddy field. It was rockier, more uneven, and I knew that I was going in the right direction. I paused, sniffing the air, and caught a faint hint of oil and burned metal. I smelled something else, too—that familiar fishy odor.
I was close to the crash site, but so were the creatures. Which meant they were also close to me.
There was no sound, no hint of movement, but I could feel them just the same.
I went even more carefully now, and each footstep seemed to take an eternity. The stench from the wreckage grew stronger as I got closer to it. My pulse quickened and a headache bloomed behind my eyes. I could taste phantom tobacco on my tongue, and the mixture of anticipation and fear threatened to overwhelm my senses.
Not that I had any sense left. I was convinced of that now. Common sense had been thrown right out the window the moment I’d decided upon this hare-brained scheme.
As I proceeded, I found myself wondering how the worms hunted. Was it sight or smell, or did they sense our vibrations through the earth? I thought back to the first one I’d seen, the one that had eaten the bird. It had leaped from the ground. The one in the shed had been concealed beneath the floor, but had it known we were there before Carl started stabbing it? The creatures that had come slithering out of the woods were above ground, so that seemed to indicate that they had seen Carl. But then the big one, the granddaddy of them all, had come straight up out of the earth, tunneling towards us from below. How had he known we were there? Maybe he heard the gunshots and the helicopter crash, or sensed us walking above him? Or, was it possible that the other worms communicated with him somehow, maybe through some kind of telepathy, and let him know that lunch was served?
And why did they eat us, anyway? Their smaller cousins ate dirt, if I remembered correctly. They drew their nourishment directly from the soil, absorbing the nutrients and minerals and expelling what they didn’t need. Why couldn’t these big ones do the same and just leave us alone? Lord knew there was plenty of dirt around, now that the floods were killing off all the vegetation. Why couldn’t they just eat that?
Once again, I found myself thinking that, while I may have been the smartest man in Punkin’ Center, West Virginia, I sure didn’t know a whole lot about worms.
My heel came down on a shard of metal, and then I stumbled over another piece. I’d found the crash site. More wreckage loomed out of the mist, twisted into sinister shapes by the darkness. The rain pelted it all, clanging softly off the steel and fiberglass. The feeling of being watched increased, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The ammonia stench grew stronger.
I heard a weird sound then, trickling water, like there was a stream nearby. But that didn’t make sense. The closest creek was down at the bottom of the hollow, almost a mile away—well past the place where I’d searched for teaberry leaves. Still, I looked down at the ground, and sure enough, there was a stream of running water at my feet. I wondered how that was possible, since I was standing in a relatively flat field.
I took a few more steps and then I could see the debris scattered all around me, pieces of the helicopter and personal belongings that had been tossed out by the impact: food, empty water bottles and soda cans, a cracked wristwatch, scorched clothing, a ripped tent, broken survival gear. I spotted the cockpit seat, but it was empty. The worms had eaten all three portions of Cornwell, even his scraps and guts. Even his blood was gone, washed away by the rain.
The sound of running water grew stronger now, and the current licked at my heels. Debris washed by me. I still couldn’t see where the stream was going, but the flow increased and I started to get a bad feeling.
Then the ground suddenly gave way beneath my feet.
I teetered on the edge of a great hole, the one left behind by the worm that had eaten Salty earlier in the day. The water was pouring down into the chasm, and the mud along the sides of the hole collapsed underneath me. My arms pinwheeled helplessly. I started to slide and took a step backward, plunging the rifle stock into the ground to stop my fall. I took one faltering step backward, then another. More mud slipped into the hole. A plastic water bottle floated by and disappeared over the edge.
Hyperventilating, I cursed myself again for being such a stupid, weak old man, driven by his need for a chemical fix. I’d almost fallen into that hole and there was no telling how far down it went. I could have been killed, or worse yet, I could have hit bottom and broken my hip or some other bone. I imagined what it would be like to lie there at the bottom of the crevice, shivering from the cold and the pain and unable to move or see. Would the walls have collapsed on me—smothering or crushing me to death—or would I have stayed alive long enough to hear something slithering towards me in the darkness while I lay there helpless and paralyzed?
This quest was idiotic, and I knew that now. I was thinking clearly again and all of my nicotine dreams had fled, replaced with a healthy dose of pure terror. I decided to turn around and head straight back to the house. Sarah would be getting worried by now. I’d been gone for far too long. I couldn’t risk her coming out into the night to look for me.
I started back in what I thought was the direction I came from, and that’s when I spotted it—a carton of cigarettes, lying half submerged in the mud.
Instantly, I forgot all about dying, all about the worms and their burrows. My fears vanished. This idea hadn’t been stupid or pointless. It had all been worth it after all!
I knelt down in the stream, sat my rifle aside, and pulled the carton from the mud. The cardboard fell apart in my fingers, but the cigarette packs themselves were sealed in cellophane. I held my breath as they fell out.
I picked up a pack and it turned to mush in my hands. The water had soaked through the cellophane, making them useless. I tried another pack, but it was ruined, too.
Without thinking, I said, “Damn it!”
Something hissed in the darkness.
Instantly, the fish stench became overwhelming. I froze, peering into the mist, not wanting to see it but looking just the same. The creature hissed again from somewhere to my right and I heard it wriggling through the mud. My hands began to tremble and the last soggy pack slipped from my fingers and floated away in the current.
The worm snorted, sounding like a bull getting ready to charge.
“Teddy?” Sarah’s voice echoed in the distance. The fog seemed to distort it. “Are you okay? You’ve been out here for ten minutes.”
The worm snorted again, and began to splash around in the mud. My hand crept slowly towards my
