Banshee Worm King: Book Five of the Oz Chronicles Read online

  I considered his question and then remembered the picture in Stevie’s room, the drawing of the Délon. I frantically felt around in my pockets and sighed in relief when I found a folded piece of paper. Holding it up, I said, “I do.”

  “The Délons are hanging on by a thread. That thing is the key to their power. That’s why the Pure wants it. That’s why General Roy wants it. Whichever one gets it rules with nothing standing in the way. Whoever controls the Source controls everything.”

  “Which means that as long as I have it, they won’t stop looking for me or the others.”

  Archie took the paper from my hands and unfolded it.

  “You want it?” I said with a snicker.

  He handed it back. “My Creyshaw days are over, my friend.”

  “Okay, so any suggestions on what I should do with it?”

  He stood. “Yeah, make a choice.”

  “A choice?”

  “The Pure or General Roy.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  “You’ve got to hand it over to one of them.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve got in your possession the most powerful bargaining chip in this world. You can use it to get whatever you want and be a king maker at the same time. You might as well take advantage of it.”

  “Yeah, but you’re telling me to just hand it over. To give up.”

  He laughed this time. “You’ve already given up, Oz.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s over for you. You ain’t looking for a way home anymore.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because if you do, you might find it. If you find it, you lose Lou. You ain’t willing to take that risk.”

  I sat with the drawing in my hand, gripping it tighter and tighter.

  “Easy now,” Archie said gently reaching out for my hand. “Don’t destroy it.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  He carefully took the drawing from me. “About Lou? Yeah, it’s true.”

  “She’s not real.” I said it just to make sure we were talking about the same thing.

  “She is here, with you, fighting the Destroyers, but...”

  “She can’t go back home with the rest of us.”

  “This is her home.”

  I heard a low humming and jerked my head up. The fluorescent light over the bed flickered erratically. “I don’t want it to be true.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less true.” He carefully folded the paper and handed it back to me. “Treat this like it’s your last kidney, kid. Keep it safe.”

  I yanked it out of his hand. “I don’t really care what happens to it.”

  He shook his head. “You should because if that thing gets ruined, all hell breaks loose.”

  “All hell? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Don’t be fooled into thinking things can’t get worse, Oz. Because they can. Much worse.”

  The light overhead popped so loudly I ducked, expecting shards of glass to rain down on my head. I was surprised when they didn’t.

  “That drawing gets destroyed and you’ll have a war on your hands. The Délons will have nothing left to stay in power. All the other Destroyers will swoop in and make their claim to the throne of this crappy world.”

  “Fine. Let them fight each other.”

  His face soured. “You think you won’t get caught in the middle of their war? You think the Keepers won’t get caught in the middle of it? You think Nate will still be safe? That drawing gets destroyed and all bets are off. You hear me? There’s no more order, which means there are no more rules. You don’t want that kind of hell, Oz. Trust me.”

  Just as the word “me” left Archie’s mouth, the long tubular light exploded and the room went pitch black. I covered my head with my hands and fell to the floor waiting for the glass to fall. I waited a few seconds and then peered out into the darkness.

  I was kneeling on the muddy ground, trees all around me.

  The dream was over.

  Two

  We talked, but we didn’t really say anything that mattered. The morning brought the coldest temperatures yet so most of our conversation centered on the weather and how we needed to find warmer clothing.

  Wes pointed out that we were on top of a mountain on a planet that was pretty much dead. Every store from here on out would most likely have been picked clean of anything useful to us or other survivors, if there were any.

  “What do you suggest we do?” April asked. Her voice was weak and her face was drained of color. She looked like an extra in a zombie movie.

  “Don’t know,” Wes said. “Just making an observation.”

  Gordy was sitting up for the first time since we arrived at our little spot on the highlands. His arms were crossed tightly in front of his chest, and he was shaking violently.

  Lou knelt beside him and gave him a sip of water. “The cold isn’t doing Gordy any good.”

  “You ain’t lying,” Gordy said. He tried to smile, but he was too weak.

  Lou held the bottle of water out. “We’re running low on supplies, too.”

  “Sitting here and complaining isn’t very useful,” Tyrone said.

  I didn’t like his tone, but he was right. “First things first,” I said. “We need to find shelter. Get out of this cold.”

  “What do you suggest?” Wes asked.

  I looked up and down the trail. “We’re on a mountain in the woods. Gotta be a cabin around here somewhere, right?”

  April’s eye widened. “A cabin?”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “It’s just that last time we took shelter in an abandoned house we all tried to eat each other.”

  Gordy let out a short cough and said, “She’s got a point.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll steer clear of any creepy mansions we come across.” I stood. “Tyrone and I will scout out the area ahead. We’ll take Kimball and Ariabod... you know, just in case we run into trouble.”

  “We know,” Wes said.

  “Wait,” Lou said standing. “We shouldn’t split up.”

  “We shouldn’t do a lot of things,” I said. “But we don’t have much choice. Gordy’s in no shape to go exploring.”

  The resolve left her face. She knew I was right. “Just don’t do anything stupid. We can’t afford to lose you two.”

  Ariabod huffed.

  Lou rolled her eyes. “We can’t afford to lose any of you.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said turning up the trail. “I’ll be just stupid enough.”

  “That’s not funny,” she said.

  Tyrone joined me and we headed up the trail with Ariabod and Kimball in tow.

  We walked out of range of the other’s voices before we started talking to each other. It was Tyrone who started the conversation.

  “I was thinking the other day.” He paused to step up a steep incline and then continued. “I was thinking about how old I was when all this started. I was eight, right?”

  I nodded and stepped up the incline. “If you say so.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  I gave his question some thought. “I don’t know. Must have been...”

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  I tried hard to come up with a number. “I must have lost track.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “And that don’t seem right to me. We should have some idea of how much time’s gone by. We were only in that Biltmore place less than 10 days, but it feels like years. That can’t be right, can it?”

  I sized him up. “Anything can be right in this world. Even if it’s wrong. By the looks of you, I’d say you’re thirteen... fourteen, maybe.”

  “What would that make you?”

  I did the math and gasped. I couldn’t be that old. I mean really that old. This wasn’t the facility where I was tricked into thinking I was a middle-aged man. This was real life... well, as real as this life could get. I never stopped to thin
k that seeing Tyrone look so different, so much older, meant that people must think the same thing about me.

  “That makes you about 18, right?”

  I nodded.

  “How could that many years go by and none of us really notice?”

  I shrugged tentatively. “When you’re struggling not to get eaten or tortured or pummeled by monsters, I guess you just don’t pay attention to those sorts of things. Besides maybe we can’t think of years as years in this place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re in a story, Tyrone. We’re as old as the Storyteller needs us to be...”

  We heard the sound of a stick breaking. It stopped us dead in our tracks. I held up a hand urging for quiet. Kimball and Ariabod froze. Tyrone grabbed the handle of his knife and turned his face to stone.

  The sound of feet walking on the debris on the forest floor followed.

  “You two squawk too damn much,” a low gravelly voice said.

  I heard the sound of Tyrone’s knife being slowly pulled from its sheath.

  I gripped his wrist and shook my head.

  “Not just you two. Every damn person in your party yaps like there ain’t nothing to be afraid of in these damn woods.”

  “Who are you?” I asked. “Show yourself.”

  The man with the gravelly voice broke out into laughter. “That’s a fine request, boy, when your companion’s drawn a knife on me.”

  “Put it back,” I said to Tyrone.

  He grimaced and reluctantly put his knife back in its sheath.

  “Come up the way,” the voice said.

  We didn’t move.

  Exasperated, he said, “I’m too damn old to traipse up and down this mountain more than necessary. Come up the way to the peak in the path and you’ll lay your eyes on me.” He laughed. “And a prettier sight you shall not see!”

  We still didn’t move.

  “Shit on a stick. Send the dog up. He’ll let you know I ain’t got nothing nefarious on my mind. Dogs can tell.” He whistled.

  Kimball bolted up the slope before I could stop him. He reached the top of the path and stopped. A hand reached out from behind a tree and scratched behind his ear. He wagged his tail and licked the hand.

  “Fine dog,” the voice said.

  I motioned for Ariabod to move on ahead of us, and he sauntered up the slope effortlessly. Once at the top of the incline, he showed minimal interest in the man behind the tree. Tyrone and I slowly made our way up the path.

  Reaching the top, we discovered an enormous, heavily bearded man propped up against the trunk of the tree.

  “Howdy,” he said.

  “Who are you?” Tyrone asked.

  “You two ain’t much on niceties, are you?” He struggled to push himself away from the tree. He towered over us. He was a tall, thick man dressed in clothes made from what appeared to be hides of various animals. “Bostic’s the name.”

  “You following us?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “That ain’t how it works, young fella’.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You don’t get to ask me two questions in a row like that. There’s got to be some flow to this conversation, some back and forth. You asked me who I was. I answered. Now it’s your turn. Who are you?”

  “I’m Oz...”

  He groaned. “I know your names. Told you before I’ve heard everyone in your damn party spouting off about this and that. You’re Oz. He’s Tyrone. The dog’s Kimball. That ape over there is Airopod. And then back yonder is Wes, Lou, April, Gordy - boy’s about to bite it, by the way - and then there’s that other ape, Apex or Apax or some fool name like that.”

  “Ajax,” I said.

  Ariabod grunted.

  “And that one’s Ariabod, not Airopod,” Tyrone said.

  “Whatever.”

  “How do you know so much about us?” I asked.

  “Told you. You talk too damn loud.”

  “You spying on us, old man?” Tyrone asked.

  Bostic raised a bushy eyebrow. “Son, this old man could hogtie and skin you before you could count to what-for.”

  Tyrone glared at him curiously. “What-for? How the hell do you count to what-for?”

  “Smart-ass punk is what you are,” Bostic said.

  “Hold on,” I said. “Let’s get back on track here. Were you spying on us?”

  Bostic held Tyrone in a stare for a moment longer before he turned his attention to me. “Not spying. Living.”

  “Living?”

  He pointed up to the forest canopy. “In the trees.”

  I looked at the tree trunk he had been leaning against. Small blocks of wood were evenly spaced apart and nailed all the way up the tree. “You live in the trees?”

  He nodded and scratched his thick beard. “Yep. They can’t get me up there.”

  Tyrone and I traded a look.

  “Who can’t get you?” I asked.

  “The Banshee worms.”

  “Banshee worms?”

  “That’s what I call them. Don’t know what they’re really called.”

  Tyrone groaned. “I don’t suppose these are little bitty worms like earth worms.”

  “No they are not,” Bostic said. “They’re big. Long as a man. Fat as a good-sized hog. White, slimy teeth.”

  Tyrone gulped. “Teeth?”

  “Like sharks. They ain’t got eyes. They just burrow through the ground. They only surface when food’s around.”

  “Food?” I asked. “I’ve got a pretty good idea what the answer is to this question, but I’ll ask it anyway. What do they eat?”

  Bostic smiled. “Loud talkers.”

  “Crap,” Tyrone said. “This guy’s just full of good news.”

  I started down the hill. “C’mon, Tyrone. We’ve got to warn the others.”

  “That ain’t a smart idea,” Bostic said. “The Banshee worms know you’re here. They’ve been stalking you for a couple of days now.”

  “Stalking us?” I asked.

  “They’re hunters. Smart hunters. They don’t go half-cocked after prey. They study you first. Make an account of your self-defense skills and health. They ain’t interested in eating diseased meat. That Gordy fella’s probably safe... from the Banshee worms anyway.”

  “And the rest of us?”

  “Wes’s big enough to be dinner. The rest of you would make good-sized snacks. And, they just about got you all figured out.”

  Tyrone puffed up. “Mister, you have no idea what we’re capable of. We’ve fought more monsters than you’ve laid eyes on...”

  “Son,” Bostic said, “I’ve come up against them, too. Slaughtered more butt-uglies than I can remember.” He held his arms out to show off his attire. “You think I bought these clothes from a store. I pieced these threads together from Takers, Silencers, Bashirs, and brain suckers. You name it, I’ve killed it, skinned it for clothes, and cooked its meat up for food. So, I got a pretty good idea what you’re capable of because I’m capable of it, too. One thing I’m not capable of is killing Banshee worms. Damn things are like ghosts.” He looked up at the treetops. “Used to have half a dozen companions with me living in the trees. Damn worms got to them one by one. Wasn’t nothing I could do about it.”

  Tyrone stood with a horrified look on his face. “You ate a shunter?”

  “A what?” Bostic asked.

  “A brain sucker,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah. Roasted it over an open flame. Got a kind of bitter flavor to it, and too much of it will give you the runs, but it’s got a bearable taste.”

  “This is all very disgusting and fascinating,” I said, “but we really need to go warn the others.”

  “Agreed,” Bostic said. He reached up and pulled on a rope hidden on the other side of the tree. A sturdy wooden platform big enough for a person floated down and gently lay flat on the ground. “Tell your pooch to get on my elevator,” he said.

  I hesitated and looked up.

  “Go on. We’re wasting
time.”

  I snapped my fingers and directed Kimball onto the platform.

  “I’ll pull him up. You climb up to the first level. Tyrone and the gorilla will follow. I’ll bring up the rear.”

  I gave Kimball a pat on the head and told him to stay. Bostic pulled on the rope and slowly started to raise the platform up towards the canopy. I hurried and climbed. I couldn’t see the first level he was talking about until I was a good 15 feet off the ground. It was just past a thick cover of branches. I sped up.

  When I reached the last step before the first level, I looked down. I could see the ground through the branches, but barely. I stepped on the huge wooden structure and marveled at its size. It was big enough for a dozen people or more.

  The elevator reached the top, and Kimball bounded off it onto the deck. I greeted him and couldn’t help but feel happy that I was with my dog, and we were both safe. Tyrone reached the deck, followed by Ariabod and then Bostic.

  “Thing was designed by this engineer fella,” Bostic said stomping on the wooden floor. “It’s sturdy as a rock.” He pointed behind us. “Pretty cool design, too. Got decks like this scattered about from tree to tree about six miles in each direction. Most of them connected to one another by little bridges. Others connected by zip lines.”

  “They all this big?” I asked

  “Big?” he said with a laugh. “This is a small one. The main one is four times this big. Covered, too. With walls. It’s a regular mansion in the sky.”

  “Great,” Tyrone sneered.

  “Something against mansions?” Bostic asked.

  “We just haven’t had great luck with them,” I said.

  “Luck?” Bostic scratched his bearded jaw line. “Son, if you know where to get a hold of some luck in this world, you turn me onto it as quick as you can because I sure would like to have some.” He reached up into a tree limb and pulled down a paintball gun. “Let’s go warn your friends.”

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “This?” he said holding up the gun. “In case we come across any Banshee worms on the way.”

  “You going to paint them to death?” Tyrone asked.

  “No, I am not,” Bostic said. “It shoots neon glow-in-the-dark paint. I tag those slimy white suckers with as much paint as I can whenever I get the chance. Makes them easier to spot when they surface.”