Flood Plains by Mark Wheaton (best reads txt) 📗

bald cypresses rose to the sky making it look like they were rowing straight through a forest. They kept expecting to see an alligator snout or two poking up through the moss. The closest they came was seeing a nutria swimming along, and even then his boys had initially mistaken its nose for a water moccasin.

His boys.

He hoped it had been quick.

“This is me.”

Scott nodded towards the exit coming up on the right. After the vote, they’d decided to go to everyone’s homes in geographic order. Scott’s house was the closest, just off the Pecore exit in the Heights. Big Time was next in line in Fifth Ward, followed by Sineada. Muhammad was last, as he lived just west of downtown off the Allen Parkway.

Big Time pulled off the highway for the first time since they’d left the Deltech campus, easing the rig into the flooded frontage road. The water rode high on the door, and Big Time drove slowly, hoping not to hit anything obscured in the muck. This was near impossible, as the floodwaters were gathering alongside the highway it seemed, pulling detritus of every stripe with it. For every fallen tree limb, there’d be something torn off a living room wall. If a car slipped by, it’d be followed by the contents of a garage.

Scott pointed up ahead to a stop sign that seemed to indicate an intersection was under the water.

“Take a right.”

“I can’t see the road.”

Scott peered through the muck and shook his head.

“It’s there somewhere. Would you believe this used to all be trees?”

A sign that read “Norhill Boulevard” was bent over next to the stop sign, just dipping its corner into the water. As the rig rolled past fallen telephone poles and trees torn from their roots, Scott sank deeper into his seat. The houses on either side of the road looked as if they’d been abandoned and left to the elements for years ago. Most of the windows were shattered. Roofs were either missing most of the shingles or were caved in. Doors were off their hinges.

Big Time was struck by a feeling of recognition. He’d driven to Scott’s once or twice and recalled his place as a large, two-story yellow wood-frame job on a corner. Mona had made fun of the color to Scott, who pointed out that it matched the banana trees he’d planted out back, so it was right by him.

But now, the house was gone. The force of the hurricane had lifted it off its foundation, carried it across the street, and smashed it into another house. It was in splinters. Only the southern-facing wall still stood on the original property, looking like the false front on an Old West movie set.

“I’m so sorry, Scott,” Zakiyah whispered.

“Who knows,” he replied wistfully, his eyes fixed on the last remaining wall. “They could’ve made it out, right? Might’ve been evacuated. You never can tell.”

A single tendril of black emerged from alongside the wall and began swimming towards the truck. As it neared, it split off into four threads, as if knowing precisely how many people were within the cab. A second later, the poltergeist force slammed into the truck, rocking it backwards.

Scott didn’t flinch.

“We got anything left in that can?”

Big Time handed him the bottle of WD-40 and the lighter. Scott popped a damp cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and took a long drag as the truck was hit a second time. As the first of the four sludge worms rose to strike, Scott kicked the passenger door open and blasted it with fire.

“FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER!”

The ferocity of Scott’s words startled everyone in the cab. The first worm, completely ablaze, sank back into the water as the other three slowed their progress, as if reacting to the injury.

“Fuck you, too,” Scott added, much more calm this time as he blasted them as well.

As the three worms burst into flames and fell into the floodwaters, Muhammad nodded appreciatively to Scott.

“That’s four more dead.”

“What’re you talking about?” Scott asked. “There’s only one of these motherfuckers. Has the ability to split off into a million threads, but it’s all the same critter.”

As Scott said these words, Big Time was struck dumb. It seemed so obvious, but he hadn’t made the connection his friend had. It was a horrifying thought that there was something that large with those abilities out there. Its size if all its tentacles were retracted in must be unfathomably massive.

But there was a part of him that was relieved. A million sludge worms, there’d always be a survivor. One that got away. One creature, no matter how big, could be put down. At least, that’s what he believed.

“Let’s get going,” Scott said, voice full of resignation and finality.

Big Time nodded and put the truck in gear.

Chapter 22

“There should’ve been holdouts,” Gloria said. “We should’ve seen somebody by now.”

Upon seeing the hurricane, Kenneth had suggested that they go farther south rather than potentially head right into the storm. The more rain that came down, the more Gloria was all for it. So he swung them back west and south, skirting the clouds entirely. It may have been raining across much of South Texas but where they were, it was barely drizzling. Riding in on the southwestern fringes of Eliza, they were entering towns that appeared to have been flooded at one point, but the waters had since receded.

“Maybe there were mandatory evacuations.”

“And it got to a hundred percent? No way. These are Texans. People would’ve stayed.”

Kenneth knew she was right. The towns they were creeping through were small, but this was the fourth or fifth that appeared eerily devoid of life. There was storm damage on the streets of the “business districts,” usually just the main drags where the city hall, a couple of gas stations, the post office, churches, and banks would be. They saw broken windows, fallen trees and the odd vehicle carried onto a sidewalk by rising floodwaters, but nothing that would indicate