“What’s the holdup, Cap?” Wiggins asked. Banks saw that the corporal was already red in the face, developing sunburn from sitting up exposed in the back of the truck.
Banks quickly explained to the others about the migration of worms that he’d seen the night before.
“Aye, but they only come out in the rain, don’t they?” Wiggins said.
“You want to bet against your pension on that, lad?”
“No, but I’m willing to bet yours, Cap.”
“What’s the alternative?” Hynd added.
“Going back to the service station, heading south to the dig site and along the roadway there?” Banks said.
Reid spoke up.
“It’s not any better than this—there’s a big dip just like this one, although I’ve never had any problems driving across it.”
Banks looked down into the hollow again. His gut was telling him it was a bad idea but he was more than ready to get home and by the fastest means possible. He nodded, coming to a decision.
“We’ll chance it. If we’re lucky, we’ll all be in a bar waiting for a lift by this afternoon. You guys in the back keep your eyes peeled and shout if you see anything but I’m not intending to stop for a photo opportunity.”
They headed down into the hollow. The truck wallowed as soon as they left rock and drove onto the sandier terrain but it kept going forward although the top speed was little more than ten miles an hour. The engine ran hotter than it should and they belched out blue smoke from the exhaust. Banks was starting to think the sarge might be right about it rattling apart before the day was out.
But we’re still heading in the right direction.
Half a mile in, Wiggins banged on the roof above Banks and shouted.
“Movement, nine o’ clock.”
Banks looked out his window and saw the surface of the sand dance as several large humps surged through it, worms and large ones by the look of it but heading away to the west. He didn’t slow but only ten seconds later, Wiggins banged and shouted again.
“Movement, eleven o’clock, a hundred yards.”
Banks saw it just in time to slam on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt in a flurry of sand as a six-foot-high mound went left to right across the track directly in front of them, churning up the road surface and leaving a small hollow in its wake.
Davies banged on the roof above Hynd.
“Movement. Three o’clock, fifty yards… and six o’clock, thirty yards.”
Banks sat there with the engine grumbling over as another mound even larger than the first went across his field of view churning up the track.
We’re surrounded.
- 20 -
Donnie had only been paying a minimum of attention. His mind was too full of images of the professor struggling to escape from the confines of his sleeping bag even as the worms burrowed their way into him, and of the older man’s body burning in the fire pit, the worms popping and crackling as the flames took them. He wasn’t ever going to be able to forget those sights, sounds… and smells, but when Wiggins shouted, Donnie looked up.
“Movement, nine o’ clock.”
He looked over the side of the truck to see a large mound traverse the sand with more rising up on the same side but farther out. Wiggins called out again, looking across the top of the driving cab to the front of the truck. Then Davies shouted from the other side.
Donnie saw the situation immediately; they were surrounded and if the worms attacked now, the professor’s fate might be in store for all of them. He tugged at Wilkins’ arm.
“Give me a hand here, Private,” he said, bending to grab one of the ceramic vases and lift it up onto the bench. “We need to get these arranged such that we can all stand inside a circle.”
The truck lurched to a halt, almost knocking Donnie to the deck, and for a terrible second, he lost his grip on the vase then corrected and caught it before it could smash on the bed of the truck.
“Quickly now,” he said as the others, seeing what he was doing, moved to help. “We might not get a second chance.”
They arranged the ceramic pots on the bench seats on either side of the truck and Donnie completed the circuit by attaching the last on the left to the last on the right across the back end. Immediately, there was a faint but distinctive hum that could be heard even above the thrum of the truck’s engine.
“Cap, Sarge,” Wiggins shouted, reaching over the copper wire and banging on the top of the driver’s cab. “Get up here. We’re protected but you might not be.”
The engine cut off and the hum got louder as Banks and Hynd clambered out of the cab and came up to join the others standing in a tight circle inside the protective ring. Out in the lakebed, the sand seethed and boiled as a dozen worms, none smaller than four feet in width, surged under and through the sandy substrate, circling, spiraling slowly inwards towards the truck.
“Now what?” Captain Banks asked and Donnie realized the question had been directed at him.
“Well, it worked up on the rock; the electrical field kept the worms at bay—and at least here we won’t get any crawling about above our heads.”
“That’s true enough,” Banks replied. “But it also means we’re stuck here until we come up with a better plan.”
“Or the batteries go flat,” Wiggins added.
“You’re not helping, Wiggo,” Hynd said.
“Story of my life,” the corporal replied, then there was no time to talk as one of the large worms swerved suddenly in its track and headed straight at the back of the truck.
The soldiers to a man unslung their rifles and Donnie, remembering the cacophony up on the rock, took out a handkerchief, ripped it in two, rolled it up, and stuffed the small cartridges in his ears. He was grateful for it seconds later.
Initially, it looked like the worm intended to barrel into the truck but it was brought up short when the copper wire took on the familiar golden glow and the humming vibration of the protective field sent the whole truck bed thrumming. The worm rose up out of the sand, a five-foot-wide tube of glistening bright red, mouth gaping and showing a forest of the pencil-thick fangs.
“Fire,” Banks shouted and the air filled with the crack and roar of gunfire.
The worm blew apart like a popped balloon… and scattered a myriad of tiny worms into the air. Most fell onto the sand below the tumbling body, some hit the protective field and began to burn, but a score and more of them got through and tumbled onto the bed of the truck. They immediately slithered towards the men’s feet.
Wiggins was fastest to react, striding forward and stomping, almost jumping, on the squirming things, mashing them quickly to a pulp underfoot.
“Top tip,” he shouted once he was sure he’d got them all, “if you’re going to shoot one of the big fuckers, make sure it’s not going to shite these wee fuckers all over us.”
A second worm rose up in the air on the left-hand side of the truck, close enough to reach out and touch.
“Don’t shoot,” Banks shouted.
The worm came out of the sand high enough that Donnie looked right down its gaping throat. The copper wire glowed golden and the vibration rose to a howl. Blue static crackled across the worm’s body. It leaned forward as if intent on attack only to draw away back into the sand when the defensive field flared in a blast of gold.
Something shifted underneath them, the truck taking a lurch to the left of several inches before settling. Out in the desert, more sand was displaced as large worms burrowed and seethed, moving faster now as if angered that they couldn’t get to their prey.