by Tim Curran
The night was humid and the soldiers sweated in their suits.
They waited for what came next.
They operated with strict unit discipline and nobody spoke. There was no idle chatting, only the voices of commanders urging them forward. Backlit by the sweeping spots, gigantic shadows of the advancing troops played against ruins like immense filmy ghosts.
Something just ahead.
Nobody had to tell the troops that. No sergeants called out and no officers told them to stand ready. They knew it. They felt it, intuited it. It went up their spines and crawled down into their bellies.
People.
Thirty, then forty of them coming out of the shadows, sliding free like juicy, well-oiled maggots, pressing closer despite the warnings in Arabic from the IDF to stand back, to not approach the troops.
The people glided forward.
They were coming from every direction and the IDF troopers in front saw them quite clearly: shambling scarecrow shapes with eyes like black glass. They surged forward like paper dollies cut from a single sheet of vellum. But it was not paper that held them together; they were threaded by worms. Immense white worms running in glistening, pale, noodly loops mouth to ass and mouth to ass, horrific parasites that pushed their hosts forward. Some were not connected, some walked alone. But even these opened their mouths to reveal the pulpy white undulatory lengths of the things that owned them.
The IDF opened up.
Their original idea was to force the crowds back with small arms and suppressive fire from belt-fed .30 caliber machine guns. And when the crowd rushed forward, this was exactly what they did but there were far too many and the worms that piloted the human husks used the only tactic they seemed to understand: flood the intruders, bury them in numbers, then we can convert them.
This was no cognitive decision on the part of the flatworms, merely instinctive as all they did was instinctive even if, sometimes, the brains of their hosts seemed to translate the worms’ desires, impulses, and appetites into thought and words.
The IDF dropped rank after rank of the worm-hosts, but they kept coming from all directions and soon the soldiers were fighting a pitched battle for survival. Assault rifles fired on full auto, machine guns tried to hit the crowd without hitting the soldiers, flame throwers threw out twenty-foot gouts of flame.
People were burning.
Worms were sizzling.
Aflame or not, the hosts rushed the IDF troops, burning and popping, cracking open from the heat, skins splitting and hair burning. But they were not to be denied. And as they fell into blackened heaps that let off rolling clouds of churning, sickening-smelling smoke, the worms came out of them like rats from sinking ships. They came out of mouths and asses. They burst from chests and stomachs and exploded from heads. They reached upward, trying to escape the fire like pale white rootlets seeking summer light.
As the IDF fought amongst them, were overwhelmed by them, and infested by them, the worms melted like tallow in the flames. But not all. No, not all. Many of them rose up, immense and steaming things the size of pythons, rippling with egg-fattened segments, unwinding their sinuous lengths and oozing a vile sweet-smelling slime that reached many soldiers right through their ventilator masks and brought them drunkenly to their knees. Made them strip off helmets and welcome the foul attentions of the writhing vermin.
Other soldiers tried to claw their way free of burning biosuits and those that were successful found themselves in far worse predicaments. Wound-up, encased, buried in sliding pulpous-white forms, they fought valiantly as was their way, gloved hands slashing bodies of soft rot with knives, hooked fingers daggering into swollen pregnant proglottids only to release gushing swamps of jellied eggs. Slobbering mouths found their own, stinging spines and pheromonal worm-secretions took the fight from them and in the end there was acceptance, and the wisdom of the great white infesting worms: that men and women were but vessels to be invaded and leeched dry.
For the worm would come for all and the feasting would be grand.
As the trucks and armored vehicles tried desperately to retreat, worm-hosts by the thousands came sliding out of every hovel and tent, every shadowy tangle and sewer-ditch.
In the end, the worm feasted and feasted well.
The Shati Refugee camp was quite literally infested.
CHICAGO, W. RANDOLPH:
THE LOOP, 5:33 P.M.
The thing that really amazed Shawna was the tenacity of the American shopper. Even the threat of martial law could not keep the buying public away from a really good deal on shoes at Payless or discount vitamins at GNC, a plate of bourbon chicken at New Orleans Kitchen or a noodle bowl at the Tokyo Lunch Box. As she took the pedway from building #1 to #2 at Illinois Center (reminding herself nearly continually not to turn around and make eye contact with Harry, who was shadowing her), the amount of people out and about was amazing. According to the news, martial law would be enacted at midnight and anybody who violated it was subject to arrest. On her way over, she saw several National Guard trucks prowling Michigan Avenue and a few groups of bored soldiers on the walks.
When she reached #2, she caught sight of Harry reflected in the plate glass, sighed, and moved deeper into the mall. The crowds weren’t as heavy as usual and there was a noticeable lack of teenagers, other than that it was business as usual.
She walked around, window shopping, making eye contact with no one, looking about as casual as casual got. She saw a few men in suits coming out of restaurants but she didn’t think they were feds. Most were either chatting on cellphones or distracted by newspapers. None that she saw paid her the slightest bit of attention save for one of them who gave her the hungry eyes but today that was perfectly all right.
She passed by Elegant Nails twice, not lingering but seeing if there was anyone around that did not belong. She saw nothing. As per their arrangement, after her third pass she found a bench and sat down while Harry reconnoitered the salon. After a time he walked past her and winked, meaning it was about as safe as they could hope for which, she knew, meant it was still chancy as all hell.
Shawna walked down there again and this time she did not hesitate: she walked right in the salon. There were two girls working in there, but she slipped past them and sat across from her mother.
“Oh, hello,” said her mother. “Now how can I… Shawna?”
“Hey, Mom.”
Her mother looked around suspiciously. “What are you up to?”
“Just do my nails, Mom. Pretend I’m any old customer. Give me the works.”
Elaine Geddes sighed as always, realizing at that moment that she’d been sighing ever since Shawna came into the world. She examined Shawna’s cuticles and then proceeded to remove the old polish with a cotton ball dipped in remover. “Anytime you want to begin, I’m ready to listen.”
“What makes you think I’m up to anything?”
“Well, you never stop by. First red flag. And, second red flag, I’ve gotten several calls from men looking for you. And when they don’t call, they stop by and try to impress upon me how very important it is that they get in contact with you.”
Shawna felt a slight butterfly of panic in her belly. “And what do you tell these men?”
“What can I tell them? You don’t answer my calls either. Sorry, Charlie.”
Shawna smiled. Sorry, Charlie. Her mother’s favorite catchphrase next to Don’t say I didn’t tell you so or why ask me? What do I know? I’m only your mother. Good old Mom. That’s the one thing about parents she found very stabilizing: after they reached a certain age, psychologically, they were set in stone.
While Elaine buffed her nails, she said, “You have such beautiful hands, Shawna.”
“I got them from you.”
“From me. Ha. You got your hands from your Aunt Lorelei. She has grandma’s beautiful hands, too. Me? Let’s not talk about these stubby pig’s knuckles.”
Shawna watched her nails being buffed. “Mom,” she said. “Why did you name
me Shawna?”
Her mother stopped and looked at her. “Of all questions. Oh…your father found out he was like one-sixty-fifth Indian. Shawnee. I made your name up out of that.” She shrugged. “Who knew you’d turn out this way?”
“Mom…”
“Who knew I’d have IRS men knocking at my door?” She stopped buffing. “How did you get in trouble with the IRS?”
“They’re not IRS.”
“Sure, they are. I know IRS men when I see them: those suits, those dead eyes. IRS for sure. How much do you owe?”
Shawna sighed herself. Her father—now long since passed—had an almost unnatural fear of the IRS when he ran his jewelry business and his wife had caught the bug as well. Shawna had no doubt that her dad cooked the books to squirm out of taxes and lived in fear of being caught.
“Mom, listen to me. Those guys are not with the IRS.”
“Sorry, Charlie. What do I know?” Then she looked at her daughter and maybe saw the fear in her eyes. “Okay, then, who are they? The FBI? The Secret Service?”
“I don’t know. But they’re feds and they’re after me.”
Elaine Geddes sighed again and crossed herself. “Good Lord, what did you get into this time? Or should I say, who got into you?”
“Mom, really.”
“I’m just saying is all.”
“Just keep telling them you don’t know where I am, and you haven’t heard from me.”
“That should be simple enough.”
Shawna ran it through her mind, trying to figure out how much she should tell. “I videoed some men doing something—”
“This I don’t want to hear.”
“—something bad, Mom. They abducted another guy and took him away and it’s all part of this thing that’s going on now: the parasites, martial law. All of it. Those men work for the government. They think I know things which I really don’t. I’d turn myself in and tell them that but I think if I do I’d never be seen again.”
Elaine Geddes massaged oil into her daughter’s fingers. “You could try the police. Tell them. Show ‘em what you filmed.”
“I think these guys are much bigger than the police, Mom.”
“So why ask me? What do I know? I’m only your mother.”
God, here we go.
“I’m not even going to ask you how you got involved in all this, Shawna. The fact is, I’m not surprised with that fast crowd you run with. Something like this was bound to happen. So don’t say I didn’t tell you so.” Elaine shook her head slowly. “You fool with powerful men you make powerful enemies. You need to get out of all that, Shawna. Think of your father. Think how disappointed in you he would have been. But it’s not too late. You’re young. You have your looks. Come to church with me. It’ll give you a new perspective on things.”
“Mom, please…”
“I’m serious, baby. You know what? Danny Botcha still asks about you every time I see him at the market.”
Shawna almost started laughing. Danny Botcha. Sure, a forty-year old mama’s boy. He had fish lips and bad skin, creepy dark eyes. He looked like he should be hanging around outside a playground with a raincoat on. Brrrr.
“Mom, this isn’t about any of that,” Shawna explained, remaining very calm. “This is not about my lifestyle or Danny Botcha or Dad or guilt or whatever else you’re trying to lay on me, okay? This is life and death. I think those men will kill me. They might be watching us right now. No, don’t look around.” She grasped her mother’s hands in her own. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again. I want you to know I love you. I’m on the run. I won’t call you because your line is probably tapped. But I’ll get word to you somehow.”
Her mother’s eyes misted up, the reality of the situation finally hitting home. “Shawna, please—”
“I have to leave now, Mom. I love you and I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to you.”
“Oh, you’re not. Never. I’m just a bitter old hag. I—”
“Bye, mom.”
“Shawna…”
But her daughter did not hear. She left the salon without another look backward and she was right about one thing: it was the last time her mother would see her.
5:54 P.M.
Harry did not see Shawna come out of the salon because he spotted the two men waiting outside of Gallery Investments and knew they had her in their sights. He had a choice to make. He either turned his back right now like a coward or he helped this woman because never before in her life had she needed his help so badly. When she came out, she turned the corner fast and blended in with the other shoppers.
The two men started after her.
Harry closed the gap.
When Shawna saw him coming, she was wiping her eyes but she smiled. But the smile did not last very long when she saw the look on his face which was about as close to complete tragedy as he could manage. He blinked his eyes twice and she kept going. Again, prearranged. This was where he threw himself in harm’s way and he saw no way to avoid it.
The two men came on.
They did not seem to recognize him which meant either he was a minor target or these two weren’t exactly bright. They were both thick-necked athletic types sporting the same blonde crewcuts.
When they got close, Harry saw his opportunity.
All he needed was a few minutes so Shawna could fade.
He spotted a security guard.
He cut in front of the two men and pointed at them. “Hey! These two guys have guns! They’ve got fucking guns!”
That lit a nice little blaze under the security guard’s ass. Such a blaze that he was joined by another and the two feds weren’t going anywhere. The other shoppers had pulled back and away and some stormed away thinking there was going to be a shoot-out.
“That’s Harry Niles,” one of the feds said.
They both flashed their IDs at the rent-a-cops. “Homeland Security,” one of them said and that was like flashing a Gestapo ID in Berlin the same time their haircuts were in vogue. The rent-a-cops backed off. The two feds took Harry and cuffed him right then. They were not as physical as they could have been.
“Nice one, Mr. Niles. You’ve got guts but it won’t save her.”
They dragged him off and everyone stood and gawked including a couple National Guard soldiers in for a smoothie. Harry did not fight; he kept an eye on the crowds and did not see Shawna anywhere. That was all that mattered at that moment. The only thing that really bothered him, other than his predicament, was that he had a nasty feeling he’d never kiss her lips again.
“Aren’t I supposed to get a phone call?”
“For interfering with a federal officer in the performance of his duty?” Crewcut #1 laughed. “No, I’m afraid that’s not what you’re going to get at all.”
5:59 P.M.
A man and a woman in demure business suits were tailing Shawna Geddes.
And Stein was tailing them.
By now, Cave and the others must have figured out he wasn’t coming back. He’d given McKenna the slip at the Clark and Lake CTA station because there was no doubt in his mind that he was up to something, probably wearing a wire for the Old Man and recording all their conversations. That was Stein’s guess. And while McKenna was trying to find him—he’d be in deep shit for losing him—Stein caught the train over to the mall. Because that’s where they were waiting for Shawna Geddes and he knew it.
But they weren’t going to get her.
He’d already decided that.
As he’d already explained to Cave it was purely academic by this point and Cave agreed. So she’d videoed a few things? It meant nothing now because it was breaking everywhere. It was hardly secret by this point. But the Old Man insisted and you couldn’t say no to the Old Man, now could you?
So S5 security units were watching her mother’s house.
The nail salon her mother worked in.
Just about everywhere.
Sooner or later, she would surface with Harry Niles in tow. Except…now they
had Niles and Stein had watched him run interference for the girl and he had to respect that. Real balls, that’s what it was.
Stein bought a newspaper at a stand and continued on after the S5 people who were closing in on the Geddes woman like the jaws of a crocodile. As he closed in on them, he started thinking about the Old Man again. Just what was it with him? What was his fascination with Shawna Geddes? He was beginning to wonder if it was the girl at all.
What had Cave said?
Harry Niles is trouble. You can bank on that. I’ve been through his file. He might be a tabloid hack now, but he sniffed around D.C. a lot in the old days. He had a way of finding out things. The Old Man is uncomfortable with that. He doesn’t trust him. He think Niles might be the guy to shake the dirt from his rug.
Sure, that was it.
The Old Man was scared.
Scared of a second-rate tabloid writer.
Wasn’t that a riot?
Or maybe it wasn’t so funny after all. The Old Man had survived as long as he had by knowing who his friends were and who his enemies were. To Stein, that made Niles more intriguing.
Maybe there’s more to that guy than I’m thinking.
Not that it mattered. S5 had him now. The Old Man would pick his brains until there was nothing left but a few red scraps. Then Niles would end up in the river.
Okay…
There.
The S5 agents were making their move.
Shawna Geddes had just jumped into an elevator up to the parking garage and S5 had taken the one next to her. As they got in with about ten other people, Stein took the stairs. He vaulted up one flight after another. He had to get to her before they did. If for no other reason than to fuck up the Old Man’s plans.
And from where he was standing, that was enough reason.
Move!
6:04 P.M.
It was all coming apart now. And the really ugly thing was that it was her fault, and she knew it. She had pushed Harry to see her mother even after he told her what a bad idea it was, what a risky venture it could indeed become. But she had pushed and now they probably had Harry and, dear God, they would have her soon, too. And what was she supposed to do without him? He had come to encompass her whole world in these past few days until it seemed like she was just a satellite caught in his orbit… and, honestly, wasn’t that just fine and good? He’d been her friend and confidant for years and she turned him down again and again, not wanting to get romantically entangled (and mainly because she usually was already entangled) and now she had let that happen and it was good and she liked it and she was almost beginning to believe in crazy romance novel shit like star-crossed love and cosmic destinies… only now he was probably gone.