I held on tight to Misty and helped her as we made our way to the wooden stairs. The water was surging around our knees now, and combined with the sucking mud of the parking lot, it was getting harder and harder to keep my balance. Fat Ernst charged past us like an enraged bull and stormed up the stairs. He paused at the top to glance at his Cadillac, crumpled underneath the west window as if it had tried to crawl underneath the building. He shook his head and kicked the door open, then stomped inside.
I put Misty’s hand on the railing and gently pushed her up the steps. She didn’t say anything, and I got worried that shock might be settling in, creeping in around her brain like a comfortable, hazy fog. I hoped she was okay, because I wasn’t sure how I could get her to a hospital. Now that I was out of the floodwater, I wasn’t in any hurry to jump back into it.
At the top of the stairs, I turned back and surveyed the frothy brown ocean that used to be the parking lot. The landscape had suddenly become flat, unreal. The telephone poles and the couple of vehicles rising above the surface of the water were the only things that gave any proof there was solid ground under all that water. Ray stumbled to the bottom of the steps, fighting the floating cornstalks that were propelled by the current like ragged spears.
He looked up at me, eyes frantic. “I got any on me?” he asked hoarsely, jerking his legs out of the water. I gave him the once-over andshook my head. He didn’t seem to believe me and kept slapping at his shoulders, twitching his head. “You see that?” he asked. “I mean, did you fucking see that? Fucking worms, Jesus, man, they came right out of his fucking head.” Fresh blood trickled down Ray’s chin from the hole right under his lip. “I mean, they were fucking inside of him. Jesus.”
I nodded and stepped into the restaurant. The lights had gone out, and the gray light that spilled in through the open windows gave the whole room a dark, dead look. Fat Ernst leaned back against the bar, staring at the floor. Misty was standing by herself near the tables, looking out at her uncle’s pickup through the shattered window. Ray pushed past me and staggered over to the bar, still slapping at himself. “I got any on me?” he pleaded to Fat Ernst.
“Shut the fuck up, Ray. I gotta think here.”
“But … but … do I got any on me?”
Fat Ernst sucked at his teeth, finally looking up at Ray. “Turn around.”
Ray was more than happy to oblige. He spun around, pivoting on his boot heels, arms straight out as if he had been crucified.
Fat Ernst nodded. “Yep. There’s one by your ear there.”
Ray went nuts, clawing at both ears, crying, “Jesus, oh Jesus …”
I had watched when he turned around and knew there weren’t any worms by his ears. There might have been one somewhere else, but I could see there weren’t any on his head. At least you knew it when these things bit you; it hurt like hell, not like some mosquito or leech you didn’t notice at first. Still, it made me nervous enough that I forced myself to run a shaking hand over my own head and around the back of my neck. My hand came away smeared with bloody mud, but that was all.
I checked Misty, looking her over, but she was okay. She just stood there, face white, unblinking. I led her over to one of the booths and helped her into the seat. She clasped her shaking hands together on the table in front of her like she was praying. I sank into the seat across the table and put my head in my hands. Despite everything, I just hoped Grandma was okay. I hoped the dry creek bed hadn’t flooded and she had been calling about something else.
Ray finally calmed down, realizing that Fat Ernst was only fucking with him, and asked something we were all wondering. “What the fuck are we gonna do now?”
Fat Ernst waddled around the bar and sank onto his stool with a grunt. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly through his nose. “You got any ideas, I’d be glad to hear ’em,” he said, reaching under the bar and grabbing a bottle of tequila. He unscrewed the cap, tilted it to his lips and took one long gulp. “Sit down, Ray. Relax.”
Ray didn’t want to relax; he kept pacing up and down in front of the bar stools but eventually gave up after a few minutes. It was as if all the fight, all the energy, all of the adrenaline, had left him at the same time, like air escaping a balloon. He dropped onto a barstool in front of Fat Ernst and didn’t say anything.
In a rare gesture of generosity, Fat Ernst pushed the bottle of tequila across the bar to Ray. He took it without looking up and gulped from the bottle. I watched from the booth and hoped this was a sign that things might have changed. I should have known better.
Fat Ernst took another drink, sat up straight on his stool, and said, “Ray, go on out to your car and radio for help.”
Ray lifted his head, then slowly swiveled around on the barstool, looking at his squad car through the open window. He slowly shook his head, once, twice. “I … I can’t get there.”
I looked out the window. The squad car was at least thirty feet beyond the trunk of Fat Ernst’s Cadillac. Ray would have to wade through all that floodwater to get to his car. It looked like the water was at least two feet deep now. Too damn deep, too damn far, too many goddamn worms in the water. Ray swiveled back around to Fat Ernst and shook his head again, more decisive this time. “Nope. No fucking way. You go out there.”
Fat Ernst pulled the bottle off the bar and shook his head. “What a goddamn pussy.”
I glanced back out the window. Misty’s pickup, nearly halfway to Slim’s pickup, was too far as well. We were stuck.
Ray jumped off the bar stool, shouting, “I’m a pussy? I’m a pussy?” He gestured wildly toward the front door, his voice a taut, vibrating wire. “You’re so goddamn tough, you go on out there. Go ahead. Be my guest.”
“Settle down, Ray.” Fat Ernst looked over at me. “What about you, boy? You wanna be a man? Go get us some help?”
I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
Misty suddenly shoved the table toward me, got up, and stalked over to the bar. For a second, I thought she was going to ask Ray for the keys to the squad car. I don’t know what I would have done then. Instead, she snatched the tequila bottle out of Fat Ernst’s surprised hand and came back over to the table.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” Fat Ernst said.
“Put it on my tab.” Misty spit on the floor and slammed the bottle in front of me. “You. Drink.”
“I don’t really drink much.”
“I don’t care. Drink. Now.”
What else could I do? I gingerly grabbed the neck of the bottle, put the rim to my lips, and tilted it up. The tequila tasted like somebody pissed in a kettle full of bathwater, heated it up, and bottled it. If anything, I think I preferred the taste of Junior and Bert’s whiskey. I managed to swallow, fought the expected rising gorge. I didn’t think Misty would be too impressed if I puked all over the table.
“Take another one.”
I forced down another gulp. The second time tasted even worse. Then I noticed the worm, cold and dead at the bottom of the bottle like a carefully preserved little cat turd.
“Now. You’re going to tell me what the hell is going on around here.”
I shrugged, still holding onto the bottle. “I guess the reservoir flooded. I mean, we were just up there yesterday, so you saw how high the water was.”
Misty just looked at me. “You know what I mean. What happened to my uncle?”