The filthy polluted water from the sink faucet had slowed down to a murky trickle before sputtering out in brown, stinky clumps of raw sewage rife with large, slithering larvae.
The worms under the city had been another ill-addressed issue by city and state governments. Supposedly they had been placed there to consume the potent toxic wastes and massive volume of garbage and refuse that filled the sewers and clogged the waterways. The same filth that had bred the N.E.C.R.O.--then the rats carried it on their mangey coats, and in their white-speckled spittle.
The worms would grow in huge sacks along the sides of sewer walls. Large, pulsating, lung-pink and watermelon sized, these sacks of pure, sinewy protein helped incubate and feed the pale red wigglers. After several weeks the fleshy bags would become stretched to their limit with the vulgar simplistic life-forms. As they would tear, the larvae would then fall to the filth below in clear gelatinous globs of what looked like spam jelly.
These worms were only drawn to, and could only sustain themselves off of filth, garbage, decay, and rot. Eventually they wormed their way through the underground to the “clean” waterways that carried water to the general populace from the drugged and borderline-septic reservoirs.
From there, they would occasionally cluster together and cause serious damage to plumbing. Faucets would pour worms, not water.
“I’m thirsty, Dexi,” Anna complained. It had been a little over a week and the girl seemed to actually be doing okay, if you discounted her tumultuous nightmares. During the waking hours, however, she was almost a pleasure to be around.
To everyone except Chas, that is. He put everyone, including the child herself, on edge with the way he would leer at her. Looks of violence and rage.
Dexi looked, with a frustrated sigh, at the writhing mass in the sink and turned off the faucet. “Looks like apple juice again, Anna.”
The child whined, “Warm?”
“I’m sorry hon, that’s all we have.”
The rolling blackouts had stopped rolling several days prior and stayed put in blackout. There was no more power. No more news. No more internet. They were literally in the dark as to any further details about the outside world.
And no one wanted to move back the newspaper from the window and look outside.
The child huffed impatiently and continued to draw on the loose computer paper at the table. She was becoming restless and bored.
Dexi poured bleach onto the wigglers in the sink. It stunk the apartment up good with the burning, irritant scent of chlorine, but seemed to have no effect on the worms. They appeared to thrive off the poison.
Figuring (more like hoping, but really knowing better) it would just take a little time, Dexi ushered Anna out of the room and away from the noxious fumes.
Dexi was still jittery from her opiate withdrawal, but had successfully maintained her clean stance. She had focused most of her energy on caring for Anna, and tried to remain as level-headed as possible.
But with the full onset of reality came the paralyzing consternation about the way things really were. Her true emotions, and worse yet, her sex drive, had come rushing back to her in not-so-subtle waves of insomnia and private, late night tears.
Ward, her longtime best friend, was dying. There was no two ways about it. With his immune system going real sketchy, the strange and harsh contagions that could infect him at any moment became that much more frightening. He was out of medication, and they were trapped fifteen stories up. Even if they could get to a pharmacy worth looting, it would most surely have been already rendered useless.
Those awful vines could be heard creeping further up the building walls daily. At night, Dexi swore she could hear the sounds of large rodents squeaking and scratching inside the walls. And the sounds of red wigglers squirming inside the pipes. She could hear wheezing from Ward’s bad breathing, probably the early onset of pneumonia. She could hear Anna’s night terror whimpers. And Chas sneaking around. Although he thought no one could hear him rummaging through almost bare cupboards and leaving the apartment. Nightly.
What she could no longer hear was the chaos of humanity outside, or the night 'copters, or the incineration trucks.
She knew deep down that they were doomed.
But it was still Chas that scared her more than the rats and N.E.C.R.O. and vines and worms and her familial friends gasping for air. Where his sick mind was going with the pilfered cupboard goods was anyone’s guess, though she did have an idea. She had real issues with the padlock on Chas’ door.
Even with her mind focusing on so many terrible realities at on time, one invasive thought still trumped all.
She needed to get laid. Bad.
Around four p.m. the apartment was silent. Everyone was napping in the deathlike silence. Dexi figured to hell with this, I’m using it to my advantage.
With one tea candle lit, she snuck quietly into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the toilet with the lid down. She snickered to herself inside the dingy little bathroom with its current “mood lighting”.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, letting her mind drift slowly into counting carnal sheep. She was rubbing her hands over her fishnet-stockinged thighs, carefully fondling the sheathed knife strapped to her right leg, inspecting the feel of the worn leather softly, as though it were a real male member.
With her other hand over her groin, she could feel the warm wetness beginning to dampen her black panties. She continued to rub in firm circulations, grinding her ass hard against the seat. Her other hand began to creep up to her stomach, soft and flat, underneath her tight and low-cut Alien Sex Fiend T-shirt, gently caressing her small breasts.
Rubbing harder now, she could feel tingling beginning deep inside of her. Her hand then ran from her breast to her long neck, and she began to finger her finely sculpted collar bones, lightly squeezing her own neck.
As she felt the muscles of her moist vag begin to contract in ecstacy, she could also feel a slight tickle on the back of her knee. She scratched at the tickle and continued pushing herself into what was sure to be a tumultuous orgasm, resuming her self-love session. Her hand continued the soft squeeze around her neck, gripping tighter the closer she came to coming. The two feelings worked off each other splendidly.
Another tickle, on her calf. Another closer to her vag, on her inner thigh.
She stopped frigging herself momentarily to scratch her thigh, and then looked down.
Even in the moody dimness of a solitary tea light candle, she could see several pale red wigglers slithering down the side of the hopper.
She jumped up, on the verge of a serious climax, and pulled open the toilet seat lid. The bowl was filled to overflow with the red wigglers squirming in the candlelight.
In an uncharacteristic panic, she jumped back and recoiled into the tub, bellowing at top volume for Ward, or anyone at all.
Ward opened the bathroom door to see the mess of worms spilling onto the floor, a sea of quasi-maggot madness. He could see the multiple looks of frustration, rage, and terror on Dexi’s face. Her looks contorted from her usual bored punk rock intelligentsia into the sexually rageful look of a dominant, fuck-me-raw vixen.
“THIS CLOSE!” she snarled through her pursed, angrily pouting lips and gritted teeth, her thumb and forefinger making a tight pinching motion.
He knew exactly what she meant, and could smell her fuck musk hanging thick in the air. Queer as he was though, he did find it nice to catch a scent of real human as opposed to the synthetic yet arousing pheromone of deception skunked out by the vines.
Dexi then stormed mission-like out of the infested bathroom, leaving Ward to clean up the mess.
Come back tomorrow even tho'
IT AIN'T NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS