— He felt the gun.
He wrapped his sweaty hand around it, forcing himself to move deliberately, knowing he would not get another chance. He swung his hand out from under the couch and took aim at the parasitic host nearest him, the thing that used to be Julie, and almost lost his nerve.
Then one of the worm-things finally managed to force its way between his lips, wriggling and questing, and all conscious thought left him. He fired.
Julie’s head exploded, the left side of her face disappearing, pulverized by the 9 mm slug. Matt was vaguely aware of a fine crimson mist coloring the air as her body fell and he thought I can’t believe I didn’t miss and then he pivoted his wrist and fired again. The bullet missed Tim’s head but struck the little boy square in the chest, blowing his small body backward, opening a ragged hole in his Spider Man pajama top.
The worm-like creatures were pulled off Matt’s face as their hosts fell to the floor. He registered a faraway popping sound through the roaring in his ears, as if dozens of suckers were being yanked off the skin of his face. Then he rolled off the couch, his feet scrabbling for purchase as he stumbled toward the hallway, moving without any real purpose other than to get away from the horrible parasitic organisms.
He reached the hallway at the far end of the living room and turned, half convinced the alien pests would be wriggling across the floor in dogged pursuit. But they were nowhere to be seen. Across the room the bodies of the two people who until forty-eight hours ago had constituted his entire family lay crumpled unmoving on the floor. Most of Julie’s head was missing and Tim’s arms and legs were splayed out unnaturally from the force of his fall. Matt could see blood oozing sluggishly from Tim’s chest wound. There was less blood than he would have expected.
He began shaking uncontrollably, now certain he was going into shock but not caring. He leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Matt knew no one in law enforcement would believe his story, he would be arrested and charged with murder, but knew also that once the autopsies on Julie and Tim were completed he would be exonerated.
It didn’t change the fact, though, that Matt Hardiman had just gunned down the two people closer to him than anyone else in the world. He felt feverish and sick, and before he realized what was happening, he puked, partially digested food and stomach acid spewing out of his mouth onto his legs and onto the floor around them.
He welcomed the nausea, was thankful for it. One of those wormlike things had succeeded in forcing its way between his lips and maybe by throwing up he could rid himself of its awful taste. He pictured the segmented bodies of the long, thin parasites wriggling and crawling along his skin and knew he would feel their presence forever. He could scrub his face with steel wool and it wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference. He would feel the slimy trail of their mottled bodies as long as he lived, and in all probability would suffer nightmares about them every night as well. Assuming he ever slept again.
Sweat rolled down Matt’s face and his stomach twisted and churned and he knew he was going to be sick again. His head hung on his chest and he closed his eyes for just a second. He felt tired, so damned tired.
And a ropy, slick body slithered up his arm, moving incredibly fast, faster than Matt would have thought possible. It flew up his arm to his neck, its goal obvious, its intent clear. His eyes opened and his stomach emptied again and he dug his heels into the carpet, trying to push away from the parasite, instinctively trying to flee but succeeding only in pressing his body harder into the wall.
In a flash the thing had wriggled across his face into his open mouth, undeterred by the vomit spraying in the other direction. Only then did Matt remember the Glock. He was still clutching it in his left hand and he lifted the gun but there was nothing to aim it at. The long slimy body of the creature was plastered to his own, wriggling and moving, and it had already entered Matt’s mouth.
There was nothing to aim at but Matt fired anyway. He became vaguely conscious of a stinging pain in his foot as the slug blew his toes off at the same time the parasite’s head, if it even was a head, found its goal and slid smoothly down Matt’s throat.
The thing moved quickly and the taste was nowhere near as bad as he had imagined it would be and it kept going, wriggling and squirming, moving steadily into Matt’s mouth and down his throat until in a matter of a few seconds it had disappeared entirely.
And Matt knew his problems were over.
About the author
Allan Leverone is a 2012 Derringer Award winner and 2011 Pushcart Prize nominee. He is the author of the Amazon bestselling thriller, THE LONELY MILE, as well as the thrillers, FINAL VECTOR and PASKAGANKEE. In addition to THE BECOMING, he is the author of the horror novellas, DARKNESS FALLS and HEARTLESS. Connect with Allan on Facebook, Twitter, @AllanLeverone and at AllanLeverone.com.