Squirm by Richard Curtis

Author:Richard Curtis
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0722127316
Publisher: Sphere Books
Published: 1978-10-16T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

IX

Roger hauled the dripping oars into the boat and let it drift to a halt in the middle of the lagoon. They gazed at the shore, watching the figure of Mick recede into the woods. Then he was gone and they were completely alone. Just Geri and Roger—and a box of worms.

“Might as well try right here,” Roger said, peering into the murky water. “One place is as good as another, I guess!”

Geri didn’t agree. She’d rather, a million times more, be on dry land with Mick than in a boat in the middle of nowhere with this unstable young man. She prayed he’d keep to his fishing and give her no trouble.

She picked up her rod and cast her line into a quiet patch of water a few yards astern of the rowboat. It made a plop as the sinker punctured the surface of the lagoon, then no sound was heard. She gazed at the point where her line cleaved the water, waiting for a tug, but she soon became aware of Roger’s eyes roving over her body. She concentrated harder, pretending nonchalantly that the boy’s hungry gaze did not exist.

Finally she became terribly uncomfortable. “You want me to bait one up for you?” she asked. “Two lines are better than one.”

“No thanks,” Roger said. “I’m fine.”

They sat this way for several minutes, almost frozen into their postures like the subjects of a seascape. There was no breeze, not a ripple on the surface of the lagoon. Roger remained fixed on the bow thwart, oars in hand, looking at Geri; Geri remained fixed on the stern thwart, looking at the water. Nothing moved.

Nothing but the worms.

For, unknown to Geri and Roger, the lid of the box had come undone when Mick had jumped to his feet and rocked the boat. The worms, fearful of sunlight, had at first shrunk back into their seething tangle in the box, but a half dozen specimens, tortured by a hunger they had never known before, had ventured out of the box and slithered out, dropping to the floor of the boat. They probed the metal bottom angrily, seeking cool dirt and food, but all they could see, smell, and sense were the trunk-like objects that rested on the floor of the boat.

Those were human feet.

And they made for them. Slowly, but certainly, and, to the owners of those feet, invisibly.

Suddenly this frozen portrait was shattered as Geri’s rod bowed downward, its tip quivering violently. “I got one!” she cried joyously, standing up. She handled it well, her arms straining to keep the line tight as she played the fish closer to the boat, reeling in line as it went slack. “Roger, Roger, it’s a big one!” she shouted.

Roger whooped triumphantly and stood up behind her, trying to catch a glimpse of the fish as the shuddering line made irregular circles closer and closer to the boat. At last it was close enough to pull out. Steadying himself by placing one arm around Geri’s waist, he reached over the gunwale and yanked the line.

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