Kneeling there in my garden, I rained.
PART III
THE WORM TURNS
Upward did the waters prevail; and the mountains were covered. And all flesh died that moved upon the earth, every beast and every man. And every creeping thing…
—Genesis
Chapter 7, Verses 20 and 21
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m back again. That took a lot out of me, writing down Kevin’s story exactly the way he told it to us. Reminds me of the character in H. G. Wells’s War of the Worlds. Halfway through the book, the protagonist told his brother’s story—about what happened to him in London and what the Martians did there. Of course, that was fiction and this isn’t. But the reader got a glimpse of what was happening elsewhere from it.
I reckon you’ve gotten a glimpse of what was happening up north. Now you know everything that I know.
So there’s that.
I drifted off for a while after I’d finished relating Kevin’s tale, and I just woke up again. My hand hurts worse than ever. My fingers are swollen and there’s pain shooting up my wrist. Everything below my waist is still numb, though, and that’s a blessing.
My broken leg is swollen up to about three times its normal size. It’s black-gray and greasy looking, like a sausage that’s been left out in the sun too long. It stinks, too. I can’t feel it, and I reckon that’s good, because it sure looks painful.
Despite the pain, I’m hungry. Hungry and thirsty. And the nicotine cravings are still there, too.
Something’s poking me on the inside, and I think it might be a rib. The purple bruise on my stomach is getting darker and I’m still spitting up blood. There seems to be more of it now. I woke up in a pool of it.
Not good. Not at all.
I’ve got to finish this. Finish before it’s too late. I’m in the home stretch now. The last part. Once I’m done, I’ll put this notebook up somewhere safe. Hopefully, it will stay dry. If I had a bottle that was big enough, I’d roll the notebook up and stick it inside. That would be funny. Just like the note in a bottle that a shipwrecked man tosses out into the sea.
S.O.S.!!! Save me!!!
Actually, now that I think about it, that’s not funny at all. Because I don’t think anyone is going to save me. There’s no cavalry riding to my rescue. There’s no ship on my horizon.
God, I need a dip.
And I’m rambling again. Ain’t gonna finish this at all if I keep that up.
So…
Carl and I were silent for a long time after Kevin finished telling us his story. Our coffee had grown cold and so had the house. I shivered and rolled the sleeves of my flannel shirt down to stay warm. Daylight, or the gray light that passed for it, was fading fast, and the fog grew thicker, pressing against the kitchen windows like a solid white wall. Sarah had joined us in the kitchen halfway through the story and she was quiet as well.
Finally, I stirred. I reached for both of their hands, took them in my own, and said softly, “I’m very sorry for what both of you have lost.”
“Thanks,” Kevin said. “That means a lot. It’s hard thinking about it.”
Sarah gave my hand a gentle squeeze and said nothing.
Carl cleared his throat, scooted his chair back, and returned to his post at the window in the kitchen door—the door that led out onto the earthworm covered carport.
“How about some more coffee?” I offered.
“Awesome.” Kevin sat back and cracked his neck joints. “A cup of coffee would really hit the spot.”
Sarah nodded. “Yeah, I could use some, too. Want me to get it?”
“No,” I said. “You sit right back in that chair. I’m not so old that I can’t fix a cup of coffee for my guests.”
With his index finger, Carl drew a smiley face in the condensation on the window. Then he added two little antennae.
“Anything moving out there?” Kevin asked him.
“Nope, but I can’t see more than a few feet on account of this fog. Can’t even make out the carport. It’s as thick as Rose’s potato soup out there.”
The thought of Rose’s potato soup made my stomach grumble. I filled the kettle with bottled water and then put it on top of the kerosene heater to boil. I had decided long ago to dispense with my resolve to conserve kerosene. The way things were going, we probably wouldn’t be around much longer anyway and the conservation wouldn’t matter. While we waited for the kettle to whistle, I got out a bag of potato chips, some beef jerky, and what was left of the stew, and served them up.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s not exactly a meal fit for a king.”
“It’s better than anything we’ve had in a long while,” Sarah said around a mouthful of cold stew. “These vegetables are great. I wasn’t hungry earlier when we ate, but now I’m starved.”
I scratched my whiskered throat and watched them eat. “Earlier, you mentioned something you called ‘the White Fuzz.’ You said it grew on people?”
Kevin nodded. “That’s right. Horrible stuff. Completely consumes you until there’s nothing left.”
“I think I saw something like that down yonder in the hollow.” I pointed out the window. “Yesterday morning, when I was out looking for teaberry leaves. A pale white fungus. Never saw anything like it before.”
Sarah’s tone was one of concern. “You didn’t touch it, did you?”
“No. I didn’t like the looks of it, so I left it alone. But I saw it growing on a deer, too, and he looked sickly. It was growing up his legs and hindquarters. Kind of like mold or moss.”
Kevin wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “That’s the White Fuzz, alright. Good thing you didn’t touch it, or you’d be covered by now. The stuff works fast. Consumes its host.”
Carl turned away from the window. “Do you know what it is? Where it came from?”
The two young people shook their heads.
“It’s just one more consequence of the rain,” Sarah said. “Like the worms and everything else.”
The kettle started to whistle, and I pulled it off the heater and filled their mugs. Kevin took a sip and smacked his lips in satisfaction. I got up and fetched the sugar. Then I turned on some music. The soft sounds of Ferlin Husky’s “Wings of a Dove” filled the house.
“So what happened next?” Carl asked. “Did Leviathan come back? And how did you folks get from Baltimore to here?”
“Carl,” I said, “maybe they’re tired of talking about it. Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
“Well, I reckon.”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back.”
“We can tell you the rest,” Kevin said. “That’s okay. It happened, you know? As incredible as it all sounds, it really happened. Not talking about it won’t make that any less so. It’s like they say in that old Led Zepplin song. ‘Upon us all a little rain must fall.’ But I would like to wash up first, if that’s okay?”
“Sure.” I blew on my coffee to cool it. “I laid a towel and washcloth out for you in the bathroom. You’ll find them next to the sink. The washbasin is full of clean water, and there’s a bar of soap next to it.”
“But I want to know what happened,” Carl said. “Listen, you can’t wash up now. This is like a Saturday matinee cliffhanger!”
“For crying out loud, Carl,” I spat, disgusted with him. “You’re worse than a little kid.”
“Sarah, you want to take over?” Kevin asked.
She brushed her long, blond hair from her eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay to talk about it now. Those worms outside just brought it all back for a while.”