They encountered more of their kind as they followed their prey. The newcomers fell in step, joining the fray. They moved slowly, careful not to become too soft. They wanted to. They ached for it—craved the moment when they could just fall apart and melt. Soon. But not quite yet.
The worms, having done their part, were gone. Now it was their turn, and there was still much to do.
CHAPTER 23
When he reached the narrow, gravel lane leading to Teddy Garnett’s home, Henry paused to catch his breath. They had traveled by foot for a long time, and he was exhausted. He’d had to negotiate his way around fallen trees, vast pools of water, and numerous mudslides, all while grappling to keep his hold on the cat. His bare feet were raw and nicked from all of the debris he’d stepped on during his trek up the mountainside. Luckily, the thick mud acted as a salve, stopping all the cuts from bleeding. His wet burlap kilt clung to his skinny frame. The coarse material made his skin itch. He held Moxey in the crook of one arm and scratched with his free hand. Each time he did, he glanced down, paranoid that he’d find the white fuzz growing on him, rather than just a red, irritated spot from the burlap.
Moxey clung to him, her claws pricking his skin. She shivered constantly, and hadn’t made any sound since they’d entered Punkin’ Center. He stroked her wet fur and tried to console her.
“It’s gonna be okay, girl. We’re almost there. Then we’ll find you something to eat.”
He wondered what they’d do if Mr. Garnett’s house was covered with the fungus, the way the buildings in Punkin’ Center had been. The only other options were crazy Earl Harper’s shack, or the Forest Ranger station up on Bald Knob. The latter was probably deserted, and the former was a place he’d rather avoid at all costs. Earl Harper was mean as a copperhead snake, and Henry was scared of him. He had to believe that Mr. Garnett was okay. After all, he’d appeared fine when Henry had spotted him across the water.
Readjusting his hold on Moxey, Henry started down the lane. Gravel poked his feet with each step. He stepped over broad ruts that had been formed by the water. The ditches on each side of the road were full of rushing, brown water, and the fields were flooded. In another day or two, the lane would be flooded, too. He peered ahead, looking for any sign that Mr. Garnett was home, but thick, swirling fog concealed the house.
About halfway down the lane, Henry came to a sudden stop. There was something lying in the middle of the road. Three pieces of what looked like raw meat, each about the size of a Beagle. Henry approached them cautiously, and gagged at the unexpected stench—a nauseating mix of decomposition, ammonia, and fish. After a closer examination, Henry realized what they were—severed sections of a monstrous worm. The frayed ends of the rubbery segments had clear tire treads embedded in the pale flesh.
“Holy cow…”
Water pooled around the corpse, and the all-too-familiar white mold floated atop the puddles like mutant lily pads. The root-like strands seemed to be emanating from the dead worm’s body. Henry made a wide berth around them, and continued on his way. The mist parted as he neared the end of the lane, and when it did, Henry gasped.
Mr. Garnett’s house was destroyed. All that remained was rubble—burned and splintered wooden beams, broken concrete blocks, and scorched bricks. Henry tried to fathom what had happened. It looked like there had been an explosion of some kind—certainly a fire, at the very least. But the ruins also looked sunken, as if a great pit had opened beneath part of the structure and tried to swallow it up. It was almost as if the piles of debris were jutting up from a pool of quicksand. The surrounding yard was flooded, and the few sections of ground that remained above the water were riddled with more of the strange tunnels he’d seen earlier. The only part of the house that had escaped the destruction was the carport.
Henry stumbled toward the ruins, slipped in the mud, and almost fell. He struggled to keep his balance, accidentally dropping Moxey in the process. She yowled her displeasure, and then darted towards the rubble, hissing and spitting.
“Moxey, get back here!”
Henry chased after her as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his feet. Moxey scrambled up a mound of collapsed masonry and perched atop the arm of a couch that was sticking out of the center of the pile. She licked herself and pointedly ignored him. Henry reached her, out of breath, and started to scold the cat for running away. His words were halted by a sound from deeper within the ruins. Something shifted, sending bricks and lumber and roofing tiles sliding to the ground.
“H-hello? Is somebody there?”
More debris was pushed aside. Henry peered into the swirling fog and saw a figure crawling from the wreckage.
“Mr. Garnett? Is that you?”
The figure spoke. Its voice was a coarse whisper. “Who… is… it?”
“It’s me… Henry Garrett. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
The shadowy form rose to its full height. Henry was relieved to see that they were human. For a moment, he’d almost been convinced that it was another man-shark.
“Are you hurt?” he asked again. “Moxey and I came looking for you. You remember her, don’t you? My cat? We’ve been holed up at the top of Fred Laudermilk’s old grain silo. We saw you come down the mountain but we couldn’t get to you.”
“Ssssssssss….”
“Mr. Garnett?”
The figure shuffled toward him. Moxey arched her back and hissed.
“Teddy?”
“No… not Garnett… soft… you little… shit bag…”
“Earl Harper,” Henry tried to disguise the sudden tremble in his voice. He hated the sound. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Then the thing that had been Earl Harper emerged from the ruins and Henry saw for himself what was wrong with him.
CHAPTER 24
Arms outstretched, the thing that had once been Earl Harper lumbered forward. Henry was surprised at its speed. Before he could act, the creature seized Moxey from her perch amongst the debris and lifted her into the air. Weakened, she howled and scratched, but her efforts to defend herself did not deter her attacker. Moxey’s claws ripped through the pale fungus. Water dribbled from the cuts.
“Put her down, you fucker!”
Earl laughed. Even as Henry charged him, his root-like fingers bored into Moxey, burrowing through fur and skin. Blood welled from the wounds. The cat’s howls reached a frenzied, frantic pitch. Earl flexed his arms and ripped Moxey in half. Henry screamed as parts of her splashed into the mud. The puddles turned red. Earl tossed the halves aside and beckoned Henry forward.
“That’ssss… right. Come get… soft… some.”
Henry skidded to a stop. He was nearly overwhelmed with rage. His ears burned, his lips felt thick and swollen, and his pulse pounded behind his temples and in his throat. But his survival instinct overrode his anger. The creature wanted him to charge—wanted him within arm’s reach. Only then could it infect him, just like Mr. Burke had tried to do. That was why Earl had killed Moxey.
“Come… on…,” it urged with a phlegmatic gurgle. “Here… kitty kitty… kitty…”
Henry shook his head and backed away, trying very hard to resist the morbid compulsion to glance down at Moxey’s body. Some part of him was convinced that she was still alive—that if he could just get to her, he could scoop her up and put her back together again and make her good as new. He opened his mouth to breathe and heard someone screaming. After a moment, he realized that it was him.
Earl clambered over a mound of broken masonry and reached for him. Henry retreated, more through instinct than any conscious act. It was hard to focus on anything other than Moxey. He couldn’t get the image of what had just happened to her out of his head. He stumbled backward, almost tripping over the scorched and cracked remains of a microwave oven. Laughing, the creature pursued him.