“Why are we stopping?”
Kevin pointed through the truck’s rain-streaked windshield. “There’s a worm in the road.”
At first, Sarah didn’t see it. The downpour severely limited their visibility. But then she spotted a flash of movement amidst the rain—an elongated, gray and white form, glistening with slime and mud. The creature was easily the size of a large dog, but much longer. Its body stretched across the gravel lane, digging furrows in the road. Neither its front nor hind end were visible. The worm seemed oblivious to the idling pick-up truck. Or maybe it just didn’t care.
Maybe it had already eaten.
“Run it over,” she said.
“Are you kidding? Look at the size of that thing. If we hit it, this old truck is liable to—”
“Run it over,” Sarah insisted. “We sit here any longer and…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. They both knew what would most likely happen to them if they didn’t keep moving.
Gripping the steering wheel, Kevin stomped the accelerator to the floor. The truck’s engine sputtered and groaned, and then the old vehicle lurched forward, splashing through puddles. The tires rolled up over the creature, and both of them were jostled around the cab. Sarah’s head banged hard against the passenger’s window and a seat spring poked Kevin right between his shoulder blades. Old country and bluegrass cassette tapes tumbled out of a compartment under the dashboard and clattered at their feet. The tires spun, losing traction, and for a moment they thought they were stuck. But then the truck shot ahead. The back-end fishtailed, but Kevin regained control before they ran into a ditch.
Sarah glanced in the rear view mirror, and wiped the condensation off the glass. The moisture felt cool on her fingertips.
“Did we kill it?” Kevin asked.
“Sort of.”
Sarah shuddered. Their passage had sliced the worm into three pieces. Each segment was still wriggling. Beyond the carcass, she spotted the feint outline of Teddy’s house, barely visible through the fog. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the building was sliding down into the sodden ground.
“We should go back.”
Kevin rubbed his whiskered face with one hand. “First you want me to floor it. Now you want to go back.”
“They’re old, Kevin!”
“And they’ve both got more balls and guts than you and I put together. There is no doubt in my mind that they can kick that thing’s ass. We’re gonna do like we promised them. We keep going, and meet up with them at the ranger station when it’s all over.”
“But what if they—”
“Sarah, listen to me. Okay? Forget about the rains and the worms, and just listen for a minute. Teddy and Carl are risking their lives to save ours, just like they did during World War Two. We have to respect their wishes. That’s why people called them the greatest generation. They’re doing this for us.”
Her response was barely a whisper. “I know.”
The rain drummed against the roof of the cab.
“They’ll be fine,” Kevin said. “I feel it in my heart. You’ll see.”
He was lying. Maybe to make her feel better or maybe just to make himself feel better, but either way, Kevin was lying. Sarah knew it, and she knew that he knew it, too. Before the two of them had fled in Teddy’s beaten-up truck, Carl had been lugging around a kerosene heater. He and Teddy intended to turn it into some kind of homemade bomb to use on the Godzilla-sized worm in Teddy’s basement. (Crazy old Earl had called the creature Behemoth). The old men’s plan was reckless and insane, and if the situation hadn’t been so absolutely terrifying, she might have found the idea comical.
“We’re leaving them behind. Oh God, Kevin—we’re really doing it, aren’t we?”
“No. I promise you. If we get to the rendezvous, and they don’t arrive, we’ll come back for them. Okay?”
She nodded, biting her lip. “Okay.”
The windshield wipers beat a steady, monotonous rhythm. The rain kept streaming. The ditches on each side of the road were full of rushing, brown water, and large puddles were forming in the fields.
“This will be flooded pretty soon,” Kevin said.”
Nodding again, Sarah blinked away tears.
Neither of them spoke again until they’d reached the end of the lane.
“Which way?” Kevin asked.
Sarah searched her memory, recounting Teddy’s instructions. “Hang a right. Keep on going until we run out of road. When that happens, we’ll be at Bald Knob. Then we should see the big forest ranger tower.”
“And what if we don’t?”
“Then we’re fucked.”
“Jesus, Sarah. Way to stay optimistic.”
Kevin drove slowly, hunched over the wheel and staring out into the murk. A scratchy Tammy Wynette tape played on the stereo. Sarah ejected the cassette and tossed it onto the floor with the rest of them. The radio was still on, but no sound came from the speakers. Not even static.
There was only an empty, dead silence.
Sighing again, Sarah turned the radio off.
“It doesn’t really matter anyway, Kevin. The truth is, we’re probably fucked no matter what we do.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “We probably are.”
Sarah glanced out the window. “This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang or a whimper, but with a second Great Flood.”
The murk deepened as they drove into the deluge.
