Selected Scenes from the End of the World, page 4
She straddled his lap, her legs thrown out over the arms of the wheelchair. Slowly, they made love. Chris nuzzled her breasts and throat and shoulders. Fran kissed his head and neck. It was perfect and sensual and romantic-and both of them felt like the first time all over again. Maybe it was that way for all newly married couples.
They kissed as the water lapped around the wheel-chair’s tires. Their tongues entwined. Fran pumped, driving him deeper.
And when the water closed over their heads, neither of them cared.
They were swept away.
7
RUN TO THE HILLS
(Part One)
Minnesota-somewhere between Thief River Falls and Silver Bay
Paul Goblirsch and H Michael Casper headed up into the hills. Their progress was tedious. They carried a lot of weight, and the wet ground sucked at their feet. Paul was armed with a.30-30 rifle he’d looted from a sporting goods store. H had strapped a nine-inch fillet knife to his thigh and carried his trusty Ruger 10/22. Both wore backpacks loaded with bottled water, canned goods, ammunition, cigarette lighters, and other necessities. H’s pack also held a water filter, hydration kits, batteries, a combination compass thermometer, Sven saw, and a flashlight.
“Fucking ground is like quicksand,” H said. “Can’t find my footing.”
“You’re carrying to much weight.” Much to Paul’s chagrin, his friend had also packed an assortment of pointless items. “I don’t know why you needed to bring all that crap.” “Like what?”
“The hairspray,” Paul said. “The pens. The magnifying glass. What are we going to do with those?”
H grinned. “We can make weapons.”
“Weapons? What are we going to do with a bottle of hairspray?”
“Turn it into a blowtorch.”
“And the pens?”
“I don’t know, Paul. Just keep walking.”
They moved on in silence, climbing higher. The only sounds were Paul’s labored breathing and the constant patter of rain.
“You need a break?” H asked after another mile.
“Sure.”
They stood beneath some trees, rather than sitting down in the mud. The branches overhead offered little protection from the rain. The trees leaned perilously to one side, roots slowly losing their grip in the wet soil.
Paul rested while H rummaged through his pack. He pulled out an energy bar and offered it to Paul.
“Eat this,” H said. “You’ll feel better.”
H was in good shape. He lifted weights, jogged, and practiced Jam Jong-style Chi Gong and Ba Dwan Jin regularly. Paul’s exercise regimen had not been nearly as exerting. Before the rains, he’d been out of shape and a little overweight. Now, with food growing scarce, being overweight was no longer a problem. But he had endurance in his legs and that was the important thing as they hiked farther into the hills.
Paul gazed at the valley below. “The water’s getting higher. I can’t believe-”
“How fast everything has flooded?”
H had a bad habit of finishing other people’s sentences. Paul considered telling him to knock it off, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I was going to say.”
“This is Minnesota. We’ve got a fucking lake every five feet or so.”
“Not in Thief River Falls,” Paul said. “I should have stayed there.”
“You’ve got two rivers there-Thief River and Red Lake River. Both were over their banks when you left.”
“Well, then I wish I’d stayed in Arizona.” Paul had moved from Arizona the year before, to escape the heat and overpopulation.
“Paul, I goddamn guarantee you that Arizona is underwater. What we should do is make it back to my place.”
“How would that be any different?”
“Silver Bay is about eight hundred feet above sea level. My house is five miles inland and a thousand fucking feet higher in elevation-surrounded by hills. The only way my property would flood is if Lake Superior filled up and rose over a thousand feet.”
“Making your property the new lake bottom.”
“Yeah. But that’s not going to happen.”
Paul glanced up at the dark sky. “Don’t be so sure.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway.” H shrugged. “Fucking roads are flooded between here and there. We couldn’t get back to Silver Bay even if we wanted to. Not unless we find a boat. We’re better off here. At least we’re safe.”
Instead of responding, Paul turned his head and listened.
“You hear that?”
H frowned. “What?”
“I don’t know. Sounded like a…fart.”
“Wasn’t me. I smell something, though. Like dead fish or chlorine.”
Paul nodded. “Me too. What is it?”
“I don’t know. Could be chemicals or something. You saw all that shit in the water back in town. It’s a fucking biohazard.”
Paul finished his energy bar and tossed the empty wrapper on the sodden ground. Scowling, H snatched it up.
“You shouldn’t litter. That’s bad for the planet.”
Paul gestured in a wide, sweeping motion. “Look around us, man. I think trash is the least of our worries.”
“Okay, point. Let’s keep moving.”
They started off again, climbing higher into the hills. The strange odor seemed to follow them. A few minutes later, they heard the sound again-a high-pitched, staccato blast of air. Paul’s description had been apt. It sounded like a fart.
They blamed each other and laughed. It felt good. Although neither of them talked about it, both men had lost everything-their families, homes, book collections. After all they’d been through in recent weeks, laughter seemed healthy. It made them feel semi-normal again.
But sad, too.
Paul blinked away tears, pretending they were rain-drops so that H wouldn’t tease him about it. But then he noticed that H was also crying. He looked away quickly and shivered. It was cold. Paul tried to remember when he’d last seen the sun.
“We’re gonna be okay, Paul.” H’s voice was hoarse. “Right?”
“We’ll be fine.” Paul smiled. “We just need to reach higher ground. Somewhere-”
“Dry?”
“Yeah. Dry.”
Paul thought of their earlier conversation as they moved on. H’s words echoed in his mind.
We’re better off here. At least we’re safe.
The peculiar stench grew stronger, almost overpowering.
Paul winced. “God, that stinks.”
“Jesus…” H fanned his nose. “What the fuck is that?”
Before Paul could answer, something farted right behind them. They glanced at each other. Then slowly, they turned around.
About ten yards farther down the slope was a seven-foot long giant worm, wriggling back and forth in the mud. The creature’s rubbery flesh was grayish-white. Slime oozed from its pores. It had no eyes or sensory organs, at least not that the men could see.
Paul gasped. His legs and hands felt numb. His ears rang.
“Jesus Christ,” H yelled. “What the fuck is that thing?”
The worm raised its head. The flesh around the tip split open, revealing a yawning, toothless mouth. The farting sound blasted out of it. Then the worm slithered forward. It was faster than it looked. Paul and H scrabbled backward, fumbling with their rifles.
“Shoot the fucker,” H screamed.
“You shoot the fucker,” Paul shouted.
Both men raised their rifles and simultaneously opened fire. They each pumped several rounds into the quivering creature, but it didn’t slow. Brown ichor spurted from a dozen bullet holes. The men kept firing even as they retreated. Paul emptied his rifle. A second later, H’s magazine clicked. The worm crawled on.
“I’m out,” H cried.
“Me, too,” Paul yelled. “Run!”
They fled. Paul raced up the hill, trying to avoid sliding in the sloppy terrain. He slid to a halt when H called out behind him. Paul spun around and saw that H had slipped in the mud and was sprawled on his stomach. His rifle lay out of reach. H fumbled for his knife, but couldn’t free it from its sheath.
The worm lunged forward and seized H’s foot in its mouth. With a loud sucking noise, his boot disappeared down the massive gullet, followed by his calf. The worm’s muscles rippled as it swallowed his leg. It reminded Paul of a snake eating a mouse.
H screamed, reaching for him.
Instead of grabbing his friend’s hand, Paul strode forward. He flipped the rifle around in his hands. Holding it by the barrel, he clubbed the worm with the butt of the gun. The vibration ran through his hands. The worm refused to let go. Paul held the rifle’s stock again and jabbed the barrel down, spearing the monster in its head. The steel parted the flesh easily, but then he hit a layer of muscle or bone-Paul didn’t know which. Grunting, he shoved harder. Brown blood gushed from the wound. The worm shuddered and then lay still.
H yanked his slime-covered foot from its mouth.
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Damn thing was eating me!”
Gasping for breath, Paul reloaded.
“Thanks for saving my ass,” H said. “I owe you.”
Paul looked past him. At the bottom of the hill, a dozen more worms surged out of the trees and crawled towards them.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Paul said.
Thunder drowned out their screams. The rain fell harder.
8
RUN TO THE HILLS
(Part Two)
Minnesota-somewhere between Thief River Falls and Silver Bay
With each crash of thunder, the worms slithered closer.
“Son of a bitch.”
H glanced around, searching for his trusty Ruger 10/22. He’d dropped it when he fell. Then, the worm had attacked him. Now the rifle was gone. Worse, the tumble had aggravated his lower back problem. His spine and muscles felt like they were on fire. Cold rain streamed into his eyes, blurring his vision.
Paul stood next to him, feet spaced shoulder-length apart. He raised the.30-30 and squeezed off three rounds in quick succession. H couldn’t see if Paul hit the worms or not. If he had, the creatures didn’t slow. They continued crawling up the hill, leaving wide trenches in the mud. The smallest monster was about eight-feet in length. Rocks and trees crashed down into the flooded valley in their wake.
“Come on,” Paul shouted, tugging his arm. “Let’s go!”
“My rifle,” H yelled. “Where the hell is it?”
“The mud must have sucked it down. Forget about it. We’ve still got mine. Hurry up.”
“We need the fucking gun!”
“Forget about the goddamned gun! Look behind us. Now let’s-”
“Go?” H asked, finishing Paul’s sentence. “Not yet. I’m not leaving that rifle behind.”
Thunder boomed again. The worms moved in silence, closing the distance.
“You’ve still got the knife,” Paul said. “And all that other stuff-the pens and the hairspray. You said we could use them as weapons.”
“Sure, but not now! What the hell am I gonna do with a pen against those fucking things? Stab them in the eye? They don’t have eyes. They don’t have anything-just big, hungry mouths. What the fuck is a pen or hairspray going to do against that?”
“Well, excuse me, MacGyver! I didn’t know your special weapons were reserved for specific threats.”
H clawed at the wet topsoil, scooping aside handfuls of mud, searching for the rifle. He tried to ignore the searing pain in his back.
“It’s gone,” he moaned. “Shit, I can’t believe I lost it.”
“Please,” Paul urged. “They’re almost on us! We’ve got to go now. Forget about the gun, H. I promise, I’ll steal you a new one when we find another hardware store. Anything you want. An M-16. A grenade launcher. Just get up!”
Paul fired another shot while H stumbled to his feet. Then they continued up the hill. They didn’t run. They couldn’t. The terrain had become too slippery. With each step, their boots sank into the mud, slowing their progress. Paul reloaded as they went. H gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain in his back.
“Maybe we should lose the backpacks,” Paul suggested, gasping for breath.
H shook his head. “Can’t. All our food and first aid are in them. We just need to find solid ground-some-where to make a stand.”
Suddenly, the hillside rumbled beneath their feet. H grabbed a sapling, fighting to keep his balance, and saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to the right and saw a furrow of wet topsoil moving towards them. Something was burrowing beneath the surface.
Judging from the size of the mound, it wasn’t a gopher.
A massive grayish-white tube of rubbery flesh exploded from the ground, sending mud and rocks showering down upon them. The worm’s tip split open, and the now-familiar farting noise blasted out of its toothless mouth. This monster dwarfed the other pursuers.
Paul tried to run, tumbling through the mud, but H held his ground.
The worm’s upper half towered over him, looming high enough to block the rain. It swayed back and forth. Ignoring the imminent danger, H studied the creature, analyzing it with his biology-trained mind. Like the others, it had no eyes or sensory organs. How, then, did it know they were here?
“H!”
Paul’s scream broke his silent reverie. Behind them, the rampaging worms were now just yards away. Slipping his knife from its sheath, H glanced back up at the larger worm in front of him. Its lower half was still in the ground. The rest cast a shadow over him. Slime dripped from its pores, splattering against his coat in time with the rain. Mouth gaping, the creature lunged downward.
H had already been inside one of these things today. He had no intention of going through it again. He winced as the mouth neared him. The worm’s breath was hot and fetid. H slashed at the sickly flesh with his knife. The blade sank deep. Warm, brown fluid gushed from the wound and splashed over H’s hand and wrist. Hissing, the creature reared backward and then disappeared back into the ground. Behind them, the other worms paused.
“They’re communal,” H shouted. “One of them got hurt, and the others sensed it. Now they’re wary.”
“So?”
“It means they’re intelligent.”
“So are sharks,” Paul shouted. “That doesn’t stop them from eating you.”
“Look.” H pointed at the quivering worms. They weren’t retreating but neither were they moving forward.
Paul frowned. “How does that-?”
“Help us?” H interrupted him. “It buys us some time. Come on, we’ve got to go!”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
They plodded on, using wide, loping strides and fighting for balance. The rain poured harder, obscuring everything more than a few feet away. Worse, what little daylight they’d had left-the pale rays that managed to filter through the nearly impenetrable cloud cover-now faded, plunging the hillside into darkness. H reached for Paul’s hand and squeezed it.
Paul tried to pull away. “What are you-”
“Oh, knock it off. The rain’s coming down in sheets. We can’t see shit. This is so we don’t lose each other.”
They paused, listening for sounds of pursuit, but all they heard was the steady downpour-huge drops smacking against wet earth, splashing into puddles, drumming against the dying vegetation.
“Do you think they’re gone?” Paul asked.
H didn’t respond. Instead, he led his friend forward into the gloom. As they trudged along, he thought of his wife, Eileen. Could she still be alive, somewhere out there? Probably not. She’d worked at the public library in town-much closer to Lake Superior than their home had been. The Federal Emergency Management Agency had set up a shelter there, aiding flood victims. A week after the rains started, Eileen had been helping out. An armored National Guard Humvee had picked her up at the house and taken her in with some of the other volunteers.
She’d never come home.
When H attempted to search for her, the town no longer existed.
It had been replaced by a newly enlarged Lake Superior. And his home, previously five miles above it, became lakeside property.
Then Paul had shown up, and the two had banded together, retreating from the rising floodwaters.
Nowhere to go but up…
H felt Paul stop suddenly. He squeezed H’s hand hard enough to make him wince.
“You okay?” H asked.
“Look,” Paul whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Where? I can’t see shit out here, man.”
“To our left. Near the top of the hill.”
H peered into the shadows. After a moment, he saw it-a black hole in the hillside, situated between two large boulders.
A cave.
“Son of a bitch…Come on!”
Still clutching hands, they hurried towards the entrance. It was about seven feet in diameter and roughly circular. A small stream of water trickled through the opening and disappeared inside. It appeared as if the cave slanted downward.
H turned his back to Paul. “Reach in my backpack and get the flashlight.”
Paul fumbled with the wet straps and dug through the backpack.
“I can’t find it. You’ve got too much stuff and it’s too dark. Let’s get inside first.”
“Screw that. I’m not going in without a flashlight. What if there’s a coyote or a bear or something?”
“Well,” Paul said, “I’d prefer that to those worm-things.”
“Point. But you go first.”
Sighing, Paul dropped to his hands and knees and crawled through the entrance. H followed after him. The tunnel sloped steadily downward, leading deep beneath the hills. The walls and floor felt slimy, and the air reeked faintly of chlorine. After a few minutes, H called a stop. They huddled together in the darkness.
“Okay,” H whispered. “I think we’re safe for the time being. Feels good to be out of that rain, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “It does.”
H wiped his hands on his wet shirt. “Wonder what this shit is all over the floor and walls? It stinks.”
“Feels like snot,” Paul said.
