Savage by Thomas E. Sniegoski

his parents had set up some shelving to store emergency items for times very much like this. The storm was still going pretty fast and furious outside, and he hadn’t a clue how long they might be holed up there, so he hoped that there was something on the shelves even remotely appetizing, or they were screwed.
    Rich navigated the cramped space. The place had pretty much become storage for junk; stacks of old patio furniture, boat cleaning supplies, and boxes of beach toys were scattered about the room, placed upon wooden pallets to keep them up from the damp dirt floor.
    The edge of his flashlight beam caught movement, and he shined it down to the floor to see the segmented body of a good-size centipede disappearing beneath a pile of garden tools. A shudder of revulsion went through his body as he reached the shelves.
    â€œBingo,” he said, finding that there were more cans on display than he expected. He shined the flashlight beam onto the cans to read the contents. There were lots of vegetables—peas and green beans making up the majority—but he doubted that was what Sidney had a hankering for.
    And that had been the problem for years.
    He’d wanted to talk to her about how he felt, but he was never quite sure how she would react. There were times when he thought he was getting a clear message and would psyche himself up to tell her his feelings, but then she’d say something about Cody and her relationship, and the wind would get totally taken out of his sails. That was just how it had been, and he’d pretty much given up on anything ever happening, until this afternoon in the marina parking lot when things suddenly changed.
    â€œYou’d better not be eating all the good stuff,” Sidney warned from the kitchen.
    He ignored her, reaching for more cans and hoping for something other than vegetables. On the shelf below the veggies he found a can of SpaghettiOs with meatballs and felt as though he’d hit the lottery.
    â€œOh yes,” he said, taking the can, discovering that there were other delectable meals on the shelf as well—cans of cheese ravioli and corned beef hash. He tried to take them all into his arms while still holding the flashlight, which resulted in the SpaghettiOs falling to the ground.
    â€œShit,” he muttered, bending down carefully so as not to cause the other cans to tumble, and felt around for the wayward canned feast. His fingers touched it but also something else—something that tickled the flesh of his hand before the incredible sting of pain.
    â€œYarrrah!” Rich screamed, dropping all the cans as he pulled his hand away and held it up before the light. The skin had already started to redden and swell.
    Something had bitten him.
    The image of that centipede crawling beneath the tools filled his head, and he shuddered. Whatever it was that had bitten him, it hurt like hell.
    â€œWhat’s going on down there?” Sidney called out.
    â€œNothing,” Rich said, feeling embarrassed. “I’m coming up with a feast fit for royalty.”
    He shined his light around the fallen cans and saw that there was nothing in their immediate area. But as he squatted down to retrieve them, the dirt seemed to come alive.
    â€œWhat the f . . . ,” he began, the beam of his flashlight still illuminating the ground.
    There were bugs coming up out of the dirt. Not just one or two, but lots, hundreds, and it wasn’t even just one particular kind. He saw carpenter ants, centipedes, earwigs, and some kind of beetle that he wasn’t at all familiar with.
    There were all coming up out of the damp earth of the cellar floor and crawling toward him.
    Rich backed up, deciding to leave the cans, and felt a sudden pain beneath the collar of his shirt.
    â€œAhhh!” He slapped his hand to his neck and felt something crunch and squirt with the impact. Bringing his hand away from his neck, he shined the light on his fingers