Magic Space: Struggling to Survive in the Apocalypse-Chapter 33: Downpour, Nematodes

Evelyn Ford cut the worm in two. The pieces continued to writhe frantically. Even after a long time, they didn’t die. Instead, like an earthworm, they separated into two living bodies.

The white threadworm was as fine as sewing thread. Its body was incredibly soft, with no bones or spine, but covered in fine segments. Evelyn Ford examined it under a magnifying glass for a long time and discovered that its head was sharp and protruding, with a suction-cup-like mouthpart. This threadworm likely belonged to the same family as the earthworm. However, unlike an earthworm, it was much smaller and capable of burrowing into human skin and blood vessels to parasitize or devour the body.

’In that sense, it’s more like a leech.’

Since cutting them didn’t work, Evelyn Ford had no choice but to pour alcohol over them and set them on fire. As the threadworms burned, they let out a sour, foul stench and writhed frantically. They then secreted a green liquid, and once their bodies shriveled, they finally died.

Officer Graham’s calf was fine. After the threadworm was removed, the swelling slowly went down, and the sutures showed no signs of infection. Mrs. Graham gave Evelyn Ford a new, thin blanket as payment.

The downpour had eased to a light rain, and more and more people were outside salvaging things. Some had even built crude rafts from wooden planks and were preparing to venture out.

Evelyn Ford had no idea what other unknown dangers lurked in the murky floodwaters. The temperature had already plummeted to negative twenty degrees Celsius, and the cold snap showed no signs of letting up.

In the adjacent building, three members of a family of four died from carbon monoxide poisoning after closing their windows to keep a fire going. The sole survivor, an elderly man, cried out to his neighbors for help. But when they came in, they just looted the apartment. The old man stood in the hallway, weeping and cursing them. As he argued, a strong man shoved him down the stairs, and he tumbled directly into the flood.

Arguments erupted daily on the eleventh floor. The residents of the sixth and seventh floors despised one another, even getting into physical fights over sleeping space.

People pounded on Evelyn Ford’s door several times a day, but she simply played dead and refused to open it. Listening to the muffled curses from outside, she flipped the pork belly on her grill pan, sprinkled it with chili powder and cumin, and was instantly enveloped in the savory aroma.

In apartment 1101, over a dozen people were crammed into a two-bedroom unit. In a corner on the north side of the living room, Chuck Doyle from 701 hadn’t moved all day. Thinking he was dead, someone snuck over and pulled back the blanket covering him. A horrific stench immediately filled the air. Terrified, Chuck Doyle shoved the person away and huddled back into the corner, gripped by fear.

"Did you shit yourself under the blanket? Chuck Doyle, there’s a bucket in the bathroom! Use the damn bucket and dump it out the window! How many times have we told you? You’re a man in your forties, how can you be so disgusting? There are over a dozen of us living here. Can’t you be a little more considerate? There’s no ventilation as it is. Are you trying to stink us all to death?"

Chuck Doyle didn’t refute him. He just pulled the blanket tighter, covering his entire body except for his head.

Chuck Doyle’s wife and daughter were downstairs gathering firewood, leaving him to endure everyone’s disgusted stares alone. He kept his head bowed, remaining silent.

Seeing his reaction, a flicker of suspicion crossed the man’s eyes. Just then, he spotted a patch of rotting flesh on Chuck Doyle’s neck and let out a terrified shriek.

"Chuck Doyle is rotting! He’s diseased! Do you all remember what Harvey Sullivan said? His wife and mother-in-law started biting people after they got sick! Chuck Doyle is turning! He’s going to eat us!"

The man yelled as he backed away. The others, terrified, scrambled for the corners, grabbing any makeshift weapons they could find and watching Chuck Doyle warily.

Chuck Doyle frantically tried to explain, but as he emerged from under the blanket, the putrid stench washed over them. The entire room filled with the acrid smell of decay. Everyone could now clearly see the rotting flesh on his neck and the backs of his hands. Looking closely, they saw that Chuck Doyle, once a well-built man standing nearly six feet tall, now had hollow cheeks and was wasted away to skin and bones.

"Stay back! Don’t bite me..."

"I’m not going to bite anyone! I won’t infect you, don’t be afraid."

But the more Chuck Doyle tried to explain, the more terrified they grew. At that moment, his wife and daughter returned. They hurried to his side, frantically trying to hide his rotting flesh and cover the stench.

"Throw the Doyles out! Chuck has turned, and his wife and daughter must be infected too! Get them out!"

Once one person spoke, the others seemed to find their courage. Brandishing their weapons, they all advanced on the family, cursing relentlessly.

"Get out! Get out now!"

"My dad hasn’t turned! He’s just sick! It’s not contagious, he’ll get better soon!" Nana Doyle explained desperately. But a moment later, someone struck her hard across the back with a laundry pole.

"Are you trying to get us all killed? Get out! Chuck is rotting away, and you’re still claiming he hasn’t turned? What happens if he bites someone? We have kids here, we can’t let his family stay!"

The others immediately agreed, raising their weapons to strike. With a THUD, Chuck Doyle fell to his knees and began kowtowing desperately to his neighbors.

"Please, don’t kick us out! I won’t bite anyone. I haven’t turned."

"We’re all neighbors, you can’t do this," Mrs. Doyle cried, also dropping to her knees.

However, the crowd was terrified by the sight and smell of his decaying flesh. No one was capable of reason or pity.

The Doyle family’s blankets and belongings were thrown out into the hallway. Nana Doyle was kicked, and she curled up on the floor, whimpering in pain.

Chuck Doyle’s eyes blazed with fury. He rushed forward to attack, but someone kicked him, sending him flying like a broken doll. He tumbled down the stairs, coughed up a mouthful of black blood, and began to convulse on the floor.

A knock on the door woke Evelyn Ford. She threw on her army greatcoat, grabbed an emergency lamp, and went to answer it. She was surprised to find Lauren Keller standing outside.

"It’s the middle of the night. What’s wrong?"

Lauren Keller sighed and told Evelyn Ford what had happened on the eleventh floor.

"Mr. Doyle helped me once. A man was following me on the street, and he chased him off. That’s why I decided to take them in for now. Evelyn, could you please take a look at him? He’s doing very badly. I don’t think he’s going to make it."

Evelyn Ford stared at her for a few seconds before nodding.

"I’ll go get my medical kit."

After Lauren Keller headed downstairs, Evelyn Ford glanced up at the door of 1101.

After putting on a knit cap and a face mask, Evelyn Ford carried her medical kit to Lauren Keller’s home. In the living room, Chuck Doyle lay on the floor. Firewood burned brightly in a makeshift hearth. Nana Doyle and Mrs. Doyle wept beside him, while Lauren Keller stood back, her hands tucked into her sleeves.

"Dr. Ford, please, you have to save my father."

Seeing Evelyn Ford arrive with the medical kit, Nana Doyle rushed forward and fell to her knees in front of her. Evelyn pulled her back to her feet.

"Let me examine your father first."

’They had actually knocked on my door a few days ago,’ Evelyn Ford recalled. ’But I was playing dead back then, ignoring everyone who came knocking.’