Brian Keene The Conqueror Worms

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of mud ac-ross his fa-ce. He ro-se uns-te-adily. His fa-ce was stark whi-te.
I fo-und the pi-lot's he-ad lying in the mud. His lo-wer jaw had be-en
she-ared off, and ra-in-wa-ter po-oled in his va-cant eyes. I bent down and
clo-sed them.
"You okay?" I as-ked Carl.
He spat on-to the gro-und. "Ye-ah. I'll be fi-ne. Li-ke I sa-id, it's just
be-en a long ti-me sin-ce I've se-en so-met-hing this bad. Tell the truth, I'd
ho-ped ne-ver to see it aga-in."
"I know what you me-an. I tho-ught things li-ke this we-re be-hind us now,
in our old age."
Carl gag-ged, and then co-ve-red his no-se with his hand.
"You su-re you're okay?" I as-ked aga-in.
"I-I'd for-got-ten what it smells li-ke. Blo-od and pe-op-le's in-si-des."
The stench had got-ten in-to my lungs as well and it was ma-king me sick.
I fo-ught it off, trying to ke-ep my he-ad. My body ac-hed, re-min-ding me
that I was no su-per-he-ro, just an old man who'd be-en out in the ra-in too
long.
I tur-ned aro-und to check on Earl. He was still lying in the mud,
un-cons-ci-o-us.
"We're gon-na ha-ve to de-al with him," Carl sa-id.
I nod-ded.
There was a gro-an be-hind us. We tur-ned and fo-und an old man, pro-bably
abo-ut our age, lying on the gro-und and ble-eding in a pud-dle. Carl knelt to
exa-mi-ne him and the man mo-aned, sput-te-ring as the cold ra-in sho-we-red
him. His shirt sle-eve had rid-den up and I ca-ught a glimp-se of a black,
fa-ded tat-too on his bi-cep-a pa-ir of anc-hors and a U.S.N. lo-go. He'd
ser-ved in the Navy, who-ever he was.
"Who-" he be-gan and then bro-ke off, se-ized by a gre-at, rac-king
co-ugh.
He spra-yed blo-od and spit-tle all over Carl's ra-in-co-at.
"You just lay back and rest, mis-ter," Carl as-su-red him. He glan-ced up
at me and then down at the man aga-in. I fol-lo-wed his ga-ze to the man's
leg.
Just be-low the knee, a jag-ged pi-ece of bo-ne, co-ve-red with pink bits,
spro-uted from his kha-ki pants. Ar-te-ri-al blo-od jet-ted from the wo-und,
tur-ning the ra-in pud-dle be-ne-ath him a rusty co-lor. The man didn't se-em
to no-ti-ce. He lay back as Carl had told him to. Then he be-gan to sha-ke,
his eyes rol-ling and te-eth clenc-hing.
"K-Kevin," he his-sed. "S-Sa-rah? G-got t-t-to get& it's in& in the
wa-ter. Th-the Kra-ken!"
"What's he sa-ying?" Carl as-ked me.
"He's in shock," I sa-id. "Get yo-ur belt aro-und his leg, or he's gon-na
ble-ed to de-ath right he-re in the fi-eld."
Someone el-se cri-ed out from the ot-her half of the wrec-ka-ge. I
no-ti-ced a pe-ti-te, blo-ods-ta-ined hand ador-ned with long,
pe-ach-co-lo-red fin-ger-na-ils.
I sta-red at them in fas-ci-na-ti-on, mar-ve-ling that only one na-il had
bro-ken.
I re-ali-zed that I was go-ing in-to shock myself, and I jum-ped when Carl
cal-led out to me.
"Get them out of the-re, Teddy." Now he was okay and I was the one
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star-ting to lo-se it.
I sho-ved a pi-ece of ste-el out of the way and clam-be-red over the
fra-me to whe-re the hand was. I cle-ared the wrec-ka-ge and fo-und it was
at-tac-hed to a pretty yo-ung wo-man with long blond ha-ir, spraw-led be-si-de
a blo-odi-ed yo-ung man. Both of them we-re pro-bably in the-ir mid to la-te
twen-ti-es, and they se-emed un-har-med, ex-cept for de-ep cuts in his
fo-re-he-ad and sho-ul-der, and the wo-man's bro-ken na-il.
They both blin-ked at me with big, ro-und, hor-ri-fi-ed eyes.
"Howdy." I tri-ed to smi-le.
"We- Are we ali-ve?" the man as-ked, be-wil-de-red.
"You are, in-de-ed," I sa-id. "Must be lucky, I gu-ess. Are you hurt?"
"Th-there was a man," the wo-man stam-me-red.
"Some son of a bitch was sho-oting at us," the man sa-id, then no-ti-ced
Earl's rif-le in my hands. "You! It was you!"
The wo-man whim-pe-red, thro-wing her hands up in front of her fa-ce.
"Now hang on the-re," I sa-id softly. "Just hang on a mi-nu-te. It wasn't
me. The fel-low that was sho-oting at you is my ne-igh-bor, Earl Har-per.
He's a crazy cuss, and I apo-lo-gi-ze for that. But the im-por-tant thing
now is to get you folks out of this we-at-her and in-to sa-fety. Are eit-her
of you hurt?"
The yo-ung man sho-ok his he-ad. "I don't think so."
"My he-ad hurts," the girl comp-la-ined. "But I'm okay."
I ga-ve them both a cur-sory check, and lo-oked at her pu-pils for signs
of a con-cus-si-on, but they both se-emed all right. When I tur-ned to check
on Carl, I ca-ught a hint of mo-ve-ment out of the cor-ner of my eye. It was
just at the ed-ge of the fo-rest, whe-re the fi-eld grass met pi-ne tre-es and
the gray light met dark-ness.
Carl didn't se-em to no-ti-ce.
"What are we go-ing to do abo-ut this one, Teddy?" he as-ked.
The man on the gro-und grab-bed Carl's sho-ul-der. Carl jum-ped in alarm.
"I c-can't f-fe-el my l-legs," the ol-der man gas-ped. "What's
ha-hap-pe-ned?
I can't f-fe-el my damn legs."
"Salty," the wo-man cri-ed out. "Are you okay?"
"S-Sarah," the old man ans-we-red. "Is that you, girl?"
I was surp-ri-sed that he was still cons-ci-o-us. He'd be-en gus-hing
blo-od, go-ing in-to shock, and ha-ving a se-izu-re, yet des-pi-te this, he
re-ma-ined awa-ke. Hardy stock, I gu-ess. That's why they call us the
gre-atest ge-ne-ra-ti-on.
The yo-ung man and wo-man clim-bed out of the wrec-ka-ge and I hel-ped
them hob-ble over to Carl and the-ir fri-end.
When the wo-man, Sa-rah, saw the bo-ne po-king thro-ugh his torn flesh,
she scre-amed, bur-ying her fa-ce in the yo-ung man's chest. The one on the
gro-und, Salty, lo-oked at her in puz-zle-ment, and then glan-ced down at his
leg. When he saw what had hap-pe-ned, he be-gan to scre-am, too.
"My leg! The damn bo-ne's co-me out!"
I mo-ti-oned to the yo-un-ger man. "What's yo-ur na-me, son?"
He eyed the rif-le sus-pi-ci-o-usly and then met my sta-re.
"Kevin. Ke-vin Jen-sen, out of Bal-ti-mo-re."
He so-un-ded ti-red-and old. We-re I to ha-ve gu-es-sed, I'd say he felt
as old as me. I won-de-red what he'd se-en in the past few we-eks (other than
this he-li-cop-ter crash) to ma-ke him so-und that way.
"Nice to me-et you, Ke-vin. Let's start over, okay? My na-me is Teddy
Gar-nett, and my fri-end over the-re is Carl Se-aton. We're the Pun-kin'
Cen-ter, West Vir-gi-nia, wel-co-ming com-mit-tee. We don't me-an you any
harm. You folks ha-ve be-en sha-ken up, that's for su-re, but we're he-re to
help you."
Salty's scre-ams of pa-in had tur-ned to whim-pers aga-in. He was fa-ding
in and out of cons-ci-o-us-ness.
"Somebody shot at us," Sa-rah sa-id. Her exp-res-si-on was one of
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dis-be-li-ef.
"Like I sa-id, that was my ne-igh-bor, Earl Har-per. I'm re-al sorry
abo-ut that. He fi-gu-red you folks we-re the Uni-ted Na-ti-ons oc-cup-ying
for-ce or so-me such non-sen-se. Earl wasn't wrap-ped re-al tight be-fo-re any
of this hap-pe-ned"-I wa-ved my hand at the sky abo-ve us- "and I'm su-re it
hasn't hel-ped his mind at all. In fact, the we-at-her pro-bably ma-de him
wor-se."
Kevin glan-ced aro-und in a da-ze. "Whe-re's Corn-well?"
"Who?" I as-ked.
"Cornwell. Our pi-lot. Did he sur-vi-ve?"
"I'm af-ra-id not."
I glan-ced at the wrec-ka-ge of the cock-pit and Ke-vin star-ted to-ward
it, but Carl pul-led him back.
"You don't want to see that, son."
I sta-red at the gro-und as Sa-rah be-gan to sob, her te-ars
in-dis-tin-gu-is-hab-le from the ra-ind-rops on her che-eks. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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