Chapter 5: Worms in the Wound

I found Leonard Young alive and well, his house smelling of old pipe tobacco and lemon oil, sunlight slanting through lace curtains. He greeted me with a sly grin and a fresh cup of coffee.

“I’ve been waiting for you, General.”

He already knew why I’d come. “All this was sent to me by the Secretary himself, by carrier pigeon.”

Leonard confirmed the White Bluff trust was a scam, and that the late President had wanted Landon dead. My mind reeled—this was more Twilight Zone than Civil War.

Landon, it turned out, wasn’t the President’s son at all. The real Landon had died at Black Creek. The one leading the Union was a monster swapped in by the Bloc.

The late President hadn’t killed him because only he could see the monster’s true form, and he was too kind, unwilling to destroy what others saw as a son.

Leonard’s answer for victory was simple: a direct campaign north to strike at the root. But he had no hope, only resignation.

“If you want a way to restrain Landon, Dr. Howard might know. He’s alive, hiding in the Bloc.”

With hope flickering again, I stood to leave. But Leonard stabbed himself in the belly, blood soaking the floorboards, the sharp tang of iron filling the room.

“I ate the feast bestowed by that monster. If I don’t end myself, he’ll discover everything.”

From his wound slid snow-white worms, writhing in the blood. I stumbled back, bile burning my throat. The horror was only beginning.