The parasites must have been releasing some sort of drug into his bloodstream, Minnie surmised, something with a narcotic effect.
He doesn’t feel them.
She pulled the top of the bag off his shoulder to examine the large specimen on his ribs, wondering if a type of dermal numbing agent was also at work.
He doesn’t feel—
Alarmed anew, Minnie hastily scanned her own body for foreign creatures. Wearing only a tank and undershorts, she ran her hands over every body part she could reach: arms, neck, face, ears, scalp, shoulder blades, armpits, all the way down to her ankles, where she discovered what felt like an old bandage. Hyperaware of the dangerous ground and perhaps even ceiling, Minnie fled into the tent, zipped the door shut, surveyed the place for intruders, and then sat down, examining the tiny thing attached to her ankle. She scratched at its edges with a fingernail, watched it partially detach. It peeled back with surprising ease, writhing like a disturbed slug. She pinched the body between thumb and forefinger, pulling it off the rest of the way, and set it on her palm, inspecting the underside through a series of optics. Magnification exposed rows of tiny cilia, some secreting a viscous fluid, while other extremities appeared to be for absorption. Around the edges she found little articulated hooks searching for something to grab.
She plucked a small container from her kit and deposited the creature inside. Her focus returned to her ankle. The small oval of skin appeared burnt and moist, as if injured and then coated in salve. Still no pain. She was afraid to touch it, but also worried that the parasite’s acidic mucous could still be breaking down her skin. After a few swipes with an alkaline medipad, Minnie began to sense the little wound—raw, like the skin beneath a freshly picked scab. She hurriedly finished with an antiseptic cream and slapped a dermal over it.
She needed to rip those things off of John immediately. Who knew how long they’d been on him, or how rapidly they were consuming him? His drugged state suggested they could ingest an entire body without the victim putting up a fight. A brilliant, terrifying design.
Fully suited up, and with the tent closed behind her, Minnie stepped beside John, bent over, and unzipped his survival bag all the way to his feet. With their limited attire, she didn’t want to ruin his one pair of enviropants. She tugged them down from his waist with several yanks.
John groaned halfheartedly. “What?… Hey, quit it now…” One hand blindly grappled for covers he couldn’t reach.
With his pants at his ankles, Minnie gained a clear view of the slug on his calf. A subtle wave rolled across its surface from one end to the other, repeating once more. She slipped her gloved fingers beneath one end of it, tightened her grip, and peeled it off. It was definitely more tightly affixed to him than hers had been, like separating strong Velcro. Goopy threads stretched out between the worm’s underside and John’s leg. The concept of liquefied skin launched a shot of bile up Minnie’s throat. She swallowed and tossed the contorting parasite to the wide puddle at the other side of the cave.
She looked down at his calf.
Oh no…
It was bad. An uncontrollable quiver attacked her chest and she inhaled a shaky breath.
No no no.
She rolled him onto his back and ripped the creature from his thigh. It, too, had made it well into the muscle, cauterizing the wound as it delved deeper and deeper into its food. The hunk splashed in the puddle and a sickening revelation hit her. She’d just tossed John’s left quadriceps. The wriggling mass had begun as a tiny thing—probably smaller than the one she’d plucked from her ankle—but it had broken down John’s flesh, fat, and muscle, converting the matter and expanding its own form. It had felt like a couple kilos when she threw it.
And then there was the ribcage.
The parasite landed somewhere near the last. Tears began to cloud Minnie’s eyes. With several ribs half-exposed, she didn’t know how John could possibly live through this. Even with the cauterization, burn victims’ greatest threat was infection.
“D’you mind?” he said, slowly rolling over. “Some of us’re tryin’ t’sleep here. What… what time’s it?”
Minnie opened her visor a bit more as she studied the worm on his neck. If it had burrowed deep enough, infection would be the least of his worries. “John, you had some parasites on you. I’m pulling off the last one.”
“I’m here to help.” He was still intoxicated.
“Go ahead and roll all the way toward me, okay?”
He complied with some effort. “I’m itchy. Hey, am I naked?”
Minnie leaned close and pulled back the end attached to his jaw. Indeed, it had made it well into the mandible, bone apparently no more resilient than flesh, but she was more concerned with John’s neck. She continued peeling it slowly away, its body compacting as it squirmed in her grip. It had melted away much of the neck muscle, but had yet to reach the carotid or jugular. Farther down she could see that the things seemed to prefer muscle—his pectoral and a bit of deltoid muscle eaten deeper than the surrounding skin.
Fully detached, she flung it away to join the rest.
“Minerva, what ezackly’re you doin’ t’me right now? Y’know…” He lowered his voice to a slurred whisper. “I don’ really thing of you thi’sway. No ‘ffense.”
She looked at his eyes, almost wishing he could remain ignorant of the reality he’d soon comprehend. She patted his chest, examining the ground with biomag. The little ones were everywhere. Fortunately, they moved at a snail’s pace. Minnie leaned close to John’s face.
“I need to grab some medipads to clean up these wounds and neutralize the acids.”
“What’re these wounds?” He was sounding a trifle more lucid. “Who’s hurt? Am I hurt?”
“Just sit tight,” she said and walked around him, squashing the nearest parasites and twisting her boot into each.
“Jaw stiff. Cheek fills like… dentist. Neck too.” He poked at his cheek and she saw him itching around his ribs.
Minnie tried to sound calm for him. “Try not to touch anything, okay?”
As she knelt down and pulled the medikit from his SSK, she knew the instant that full reality kicked in for him.
“Oh… no… what, what happened to me?”
She turned to see him straining to sit up, shirt raised, and arm lifted out of the way to inspect his side. Four of his exposed ribs and the meat between them shone in the heater’s glow.
1.6
297 hours on Epsy. 12 Earth days. 15 Epsy days.
Water dripped from Minnie’s boots to the sinkhole below. Her arms and shoulders quaked as she let go of the rope, watching it with both disdain and triumph when it came to rest in its two-week-old indentation.
I win, rope. I don’t care if you care.
It would’ve been nice if John was awake to witness her victory, but he couldn’t exactly suit up, walk to the tunnel, and swim out. He could hardly roll on his side. Sealant cream was supposed to prevent infection and regrow flesh, but not that much flesh. Goddamn worms. Her only miniscule source of solace lay in the memory of worm genocide she’d committed after the incident. Wormocide, the Worm War Crimes Council would call it at Minnie’s trial.
Her pulse and breath settled, she peered out at the valley—an obscenely picturesque view lit by the afternoon sun—and she set out down the hill, back to the valley floor. Two kilometers east, a stand of especially tall trees was her target. She began with a careful jog.