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Mandibles
by Jeff Strand
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Copyright (c)2002 Jeff Strand
First published by DDP,August 2002
Double Dragon Publication
www.double-dragon-ebooks.com
Fantasy/Science Fiction
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Duplication or distribution of this work by email, floppy disk, network, paper print out, or any other method is a violation of international copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by:
*Double Dragon eBooks*
PO Box 54016 1-5762 Highway 7 East
Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 CANADA
http://double-dragon-ebooks.com
Cover design by O'Reilly-Wang
ISBN: 1-894841-72-7
First Edition eBook Publication August 8, 2002
*-AUTHOR'S NOTE-*
This novel takes place in Tampa, Florida. However, I have taken some taken some minor liberties with the geography of this fine city, and apologize to its residents.
*-ANOTHER AUTHOR'S NOTE-*
While I'm apologizing, I should probably mention that I've taken a few scientific liberties as well, many of which involve plus-size ants running around killing people. I would like to emphasize that the instances of ant-related fatalities in this novel are purely the product of the author's imagination and in no way represent factual events that the author managed to uncover and was ordered by the United States government not to share with the general public.
I would also like to apologize to all of the professional physicists in the world for the occasional glitch in the laws of physics. This should in no way be taken as any kind of attack on your hard work, but rather a criticism of an education system that would allow an author such as myself to graduate with such feeble knowledge of how the real world works.
Most importantly, I would like to apologize to the designers, manufacturers, and retailers of extension cords worldwide for the treatment of their product in this work of fiction. When used for their intended purpose, extension cords are a handy, affordable, and attractive addition to any home or business. I highly recommend that all readers of this novel patronize their local businesses and purchase extension cords on a regular basis.
As one final note, any characters that seem underdeveloped are based upon real-life individuals, and it quite frankly is not my fault if they could use a little boost in the personality department, if you know what I mean.
*-PROLOGUE-*
Charlie flung his bag of gummi bears into the sink, disgusted and furious. This wasn't the lousy generic brand that Lauren always bought; these were direct-from-Germany, premium quality gummi bears, one of the few pleasures in his miserable life, and now the whole bag was filled with ants.
He smacked his fist against the counter. "Damn it, woman, you left the bag open again! Are you going to learn to follow my rules or do I have to start slapping you around?"
Charlie cringed and looked frantically toward the kitchen doorway. He hadn't meant to say that quite so loud. _Please, God, please, please, please don't let her have heard that over the television_, he prayed.
"What was that, honey?" Lauren called out from the living room.
"Nothing."
"Are the dishes finished?"
"Yes."
"Did you wipe off the table?"
"No."
"Then the dishes aren't done, are they?"
Charlie wanted to argue that, technically, wiping off the dinner table had nothing to do with washing the dishes, but he was still rattled from his close call. Anyway, he hadn't worked up the courage to argue that little detail with her in eight years of marriage. Maybe tomorrow.
He peered into the sink. Several of the tiny red ants had crawled out of the bag and were making their way up the side. _Perhaps some swimming lessons are in order_, he thought as he turned on the hot water full blast. He picked up the sprayer and directed the water at the ants on the side of the sink, knocking them off. He envisioned little Lauren faces on them as they swirled down the drain, screaming in unbearable agony.
He picked up the bag by the bottom corner and shook out its contents, gasping as hundreds, maybe thousands of ants poured out. He could barely even see the colors of the gummi bears. Some of the ants ran up the bag toward his arm, so he quickly dropped it.
_Time to perish, Lauren-ants_. He flipped on the garbage disposal, grinning wickedly as he sprayed more and more of the ants to their doom. Some others tried to escape up the side of the sink again, but he sprayed around the rim and took care of the rest of them. It wasn't long before all of the Lauren-ants had been washed down the drain, their incessant complaining silenced for all eternity.
Lauren was saying something over the noise. He flipped off the switch. "What was that?"
"I said, quit playing with the garbage disposal."
"I wasn't playing with it. I was using it."
"It doesn't take two minutes to use the garbage disposal."
"There were ants in my gummi bears."
"Then you shouldn't have left the bag open."
Charlie clenched his fists but didn't say anything. He'd seen a bit of orange gummi bear in Lauren's teeth last night, and knew for certain that _he_ would never leave a bag of direct-from-Germany, premium-quality gummi bears exposed to the elements, but arguing the issue would be a waste of time.
Oh well. He was thirty-eight years old, and far too mature to grieve over a simple bag of candy. The ants got into it, the ants had suffered their deserved fate, and that was the end of it. Once her show ended, Lauren might let him switch over to the Sci-Fi Channel and then everything would be okay.
"Did you check for more of them?" Lauren called out.
"More what?" he asked.
"Ants," Lauren replied, her voice clearly indicating that he was a gargantuan idiot.
"No, I got 'em all."
"I mean, did you check the rest of the food? They could have gotten into more things."
"I don't think so. I only saw them in the gummi bears."
"Well why don't you _check_?"
Charlie decided to check. He opened the pantry door and searched the floor carefully. No sign of any ants amidst the numerous shreds of onionskins that had fallen through the bottom wire shelf. He glanced at the shelves, and everything looked okay.
He wanted to walk out into the living room and ask her if he should open up the canned goods to ensure that they were ant-free, but he decided that it wasn't a good idea. Lauren's sense of humor tended toward the non-existent.
A box of cereal on the top shelf was open. Not surprisingly, it wasn't his Froot Loops or Count Chocula that had been left open, but Lauren's grain cereal with the unpronounceable name. She should be the one in here looking for bugs in the food.
He took down the box and peered inside. Not only had she left the box open, but also she hadn't bothered to roll down the top of the bag. And yes, the cereal was absolutely swarming with tiny red ants.
He closed up the top and headed for the garbage can, but no, Lauren should at least see that it was _her_ cereal that was infested. She always tried to blame everything on him, but she knew darn well that he never touched her crappy twig cereal.
"You left your cereal open," he said, displaying the box as he stepped into the living room. Lauren was lying on the couch, feet propped up on the armrest, bony legs bent at the knee.
"Then maybe you should close it," she suggested, glaring at him with her eyes of Satan.
"Too late. The ants already got it, see?" He opened the lid and waved the box at her.
"No, I don't wanna see. Just throw it away. What's the matter with you?"
"I just thought you might want to see."
"Why would I want to see a bunch of bugs in my cereal? Maybe if you wouldn't forget to close the pantry door this wouldn't happen."
Charlie frowned. Now _that_ was going too far. "The door ends an inch from the floor," he pointed out. "There's no ant in the world that couldn't get in under there."
Lauren sighed. "Why are we having this conversation?"
"I was just saying -- "
"I know what you were just saying, but you can't possibly think it's important, can you?"
Charlie resisted the urge to throw the box of cereal at her. "You said that it was my fault for leaving the pantry door open, and I was saying that the ants would have gotten in anyway, that's all."
"Well it's not a big deal either way. Just throw away the box."
"The only reason it's not a big deal is because it's your fault instead of mine."
Lauren swung her legs off the armrest and planted them on the floor. "Honey? Throw the box away, okay?"
Charlie didn't move. Maybe he _should_ throw the box at her. Hit her right in the face. A nice big mouthful of ants might shut her up for a while.
"Charlie? Are you listening?"
The ants might even devour her tongue. Then she'd never be able to gripe at him again unless she learned sign language, and she hated to study.
He could do it. He could throw the box.
It would be all her fault.
"Charlie!"
"I'm sorry," said Charlie, lowering the box.
"That's okay. I just don't see why you have to make a big deal out of everything. Finish up in the kitchen and we'll watch whatever you want."
Charlie nodded and turned away, then cried out as burning pain tore through the back of his hand. He dropped the box of cereal as a swarm of red ants quickly moved across his wrist.
"Help me!" he wailed, desperately trying to brush them off. Lauren immediately jumped off the couch and rushed over to him. The back of his hand was already covered with dozens of small welts, and the agony was incredible.
Lauren grabbed his other arm and dragged him into the kitchen. She pulled him over to the sink and turned on the faucet. "Put your arm under it!"
Whimpering, Charlie held his arm under the water. It was scalding hot, but that couldn't compare to the unbelievable burning pain in his hand. He'd been stung by bees several times and it was no big deal ... how could ant stings possibly hurt this bad?
Lauren used the sprayer to wash the rest of the ants off his arm. Once they were all gone, she took the dishtowel from where it hung over the refrigerator door handle and gently blotted his arm dry. His hand and arm were already starting to swell up.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "How bad does it hurt?"
"It's like my hand is on -- " he began, and then let out a scream. "_They're under my shirt_!"
He could feel some ants scurrying across his shoulder. With Lauren's help, he quickly pulled off his shirt and threw it to the floor.
"I don't see them!" said Lauren.
Charlie fell to his knees and began smacking the back of his neck, where the pain was at its worst. "Get them off me!" he shrieked.
"I still can't see them!"
"They're in my hair!"
Charlie began to claw at his scalp, practically sobbing. How could they sting him so many times so quickly? It was like somebody had jabbed red-hot needles along the ants' path.
He was going to die. He'd read about people dying from ant stings in Florida before, and was never able to figure out how something like that could happen, even to the elderly people who were the usual victims. Now he knew.
He was barely aware of his surroundings as Lauren pulled him to his feet and led him to the bathroom. She shoved him into the shower, turned on the water, and hurriedly helped him out of the rest of his clothes. The cold water eased the pain a bit, and he vigorously scrubbed at his hair, trying to rinse out the insects.
"Just stay under the water!" Lauren said. "I'll go get help!"
Charlie nodded and grabbed the shampoo bottle. He squeezed some into his palm and began rubbing it into his hair, hoping that would help get rid of the ants. He wasn't feeling any new stings, and while the pain was still excruciating, it was starting to subside just a bit.
Over the spray of the shower he could hear Lauren talking on the phone. Her loud mouth had never been more welcome. She'd take care of him. An ambulance would be here soon, and then he'd be fine. The only reason anybody ever died from ant stings was because they didn't get medical attention in time. Lauren wouldn't let him die.
Then he felt something dig into his left eye.
Total panic took over. His feet slipped out from under him. And the burning misery went away for good as his head struck the tile floor.
*-CHAPTER ONE-*
In her six years as a dental assistant, Roberta Alten had encountered some of the nastiest breath imaginable. Breath that made your nostrils burn and your eyes water. But this ... this went beyond simple human decency. This was the kind of breath that could make a devout priest question his faith, for if God truly loved His creations, how could He allow any of them to be subjected to this hellish halitosis?
But she was a professional and would behave as one. She fit the temporary crown over the lower left second bicuspid and shoved it down with her thumb. "Bite down," she said, removing her hand from his mouth. She was thankful for the rubber glove. Otherwise the patient's breath might have made her fingerprints dissolve away.
The patient, a heavyset man in his fifties, bit down.
"How does it feel? Too high?"
The patient nodded. "Uh-huh."
Roberta popped out the crown and filed it down a bit. After a couple more tries the fit was right.
"We'll set you a follow-up appointment in about ten days so you can get the permanent one," she said, as the patient got out of the chair. "Just try not to eat anything hard or sticky on that side of your mouth and you'll be fine." _And try to exhale as rarely as possible_, she mentally added.
After directing him over to Agnes Vale, the receptionist, Roberta glanced at her watch. Just after six. Dr. Ruiz kept the office open for extended hours on Thursdays, so she'd be here until at least seven, probably later. But they'd be closed tomorrow for the Fourth of July, and nothing in her last hour or so could possibly be worse than that breath-o-death.
She'd worked at three different dental offices since she graduated from college, and the office of Dr. Daniel Ruiz was far and away her favorite. He was a short, mostly bald man of about sixty, with a thick mustache and ever-present smile. He was also an incessant practical joker, and while he never played any pranks on his patients (though he'd think up at least two or three good ones every week), his staff received the full brunt of his sense of humor. You never knew where a set of wind-up chattery teeth might be waiting for you.
It was a very small office, located in a strip mall along with an ice cream shop and a travel agency. The video store next door had made a valiant attempt to stay in business, but finally succumbed to the unstoppable force of the huge rental chains. Roberta had felt terrible as she watched the husband-and-wife owners walk out of the store for the last time, especially because she did most of her renting at Blockbuster.
Anyway, the video store was going to be replaced by a Chinese restaurant, which pretty well ended any hope of Roberta sticking with her diet this time. Why couldn't they open a granola shop instead?
The good news was that they were finally repaving the parking lot. At least she thought they were. Phase one, the "ripping the hell out of the old parking lot" phase had been completed three weeks ago, but phase two, the "putting nice new pavement on the parking lot" phase had yet to begin, so they had to use the parking lot of the grocery store next door. The extra walk wasn't exactly a cardiovascular workout, but it was always nice to have something new to complain about.
Dr. Ruiz peeked his head into the room. "I just gave Mr. Davidson the Novocain. I think he sat on one of the needles, so when he's numb, you steal his wallet, yes?"
"Sure thing," said Roberta, giving him a mock salute.
"Good, good, we need the money. Too many people brushing too well. Bad for business." Dr. Ruiz winked at her. "See you at the root canal."
"Oooooh, my favorite! Save a good spot for me."
"I will. Bring popcorn," Dr. Ruiz said as he left.
Smiling, Roberta took off her gloves and dropped them into the wastebasket. Since his five grandchildren were visiting from Arizona, Dr. Ruiz was even more cheerful than usual. He was going to take them to Universal Studios' Islands of Adventure over the long weekend and had even invited Roberta to tag along, probably to watch the youngest two children, while Dr. Ruiz took the older ones on ferocious roller coasters. It sounded like fun, but once the temperature passed the ninety-degree mark, standing outside in long lines lost a great deal of its allure. Besides, she already had plans.
She'd only gone out with Tony once, but he was pleasant enough and certainly worth a second date. And he was black, so maybe her parents would get over their conniption fit. Two months ago, she'd dated a white guy and they hadn't spoken to her since. They never much cared for the idea of her working for a Hispanic, either. Her parents probably wouldn't mind if she ran off with some bone-through-the-nose cannibal as long as she was dating within her own race.
Her friends often told her that somebody in her late twenties shouldn't be concerned with what her parents thought of her boyfriends, but Roberta couldn't help it. She wasn't about to change her dating habits to suit them, but their opinions certainly mattered to her, even the blatantly stupid ones.
As she walked out of the room, Agnes set down her can of root beer and waved her over. "Mr. and Mrs. Taylor just called at the last minute to cancel their appointments," she said, covering her mouth as she yawned. "They were pretty mad that we're not going to be open tomorrow."
"Weren't they just coming in for tooth whitening?" Roberta asked.
"Yeah, but they needed it for their son's wedding on Saturday. Evidently the whole event is going to be ruined because of us."
"Well, there are lots of dentists in Tampa, I'm sure that somehow their son's wedding will be saved from disaster. What're your plans for this weekend?"
Agnes yawned again. "Sleeping. Studying."
She was fifty-two years old, but had gone back to school and started taking night classes after her divorce last year. Roberta admired her ambition, even if the instances of oversleeping and being late for work were becoming a bit too frequent. "Sounds like a good plan."
"Nah, wild sex would be a good plan, but I'll probably have to be happy with sleeping and studying."
Roberta gave her a pat on the shoulder then walked back to the room with Dr. Ruiz and his patient, Zachary Davidson. Zachary was forty, well tanned from outdoor work, and ruggedly handsome. He wore an orange Buccaneers tee shirt. He'd been in three times this month, and Roberta couldn't quite figure out how much of his curmudgeonly nature was an act.
"Numb yet?" she asked.
"Gettin' there," Zachary said in his cigarette-ravaged voice. "Hey, did you see that show on the Discovery Channel last night? The one about mummies?"
Roberta shook her head. "I don't have cable."
"You don't need cable. A guy sold me this descrambler thing, lets me pick up all the satellite TV signals I want, and I don't have to pay some damn cable company every month. Those cable companies, they screw you over every which way they can. I tried it for a month, they didn't even send me a bill, just a note that said 'Bend Over.'"
"Aren't you worried about getting caught?"
"Hell no. Satellite signals come through the air, right? Ain't nobody tellin' me what I can or can't do with the air on my own property."
"A good point," said Dr. Ruiz.
"Did you see the mummy thing?" Zachary asked him.
"No. My grandchildren are visiting. Nothing but cartoons."
"Oh. That sucks. Anyway, they were showin' these mummies and how this guy made his own mummy, just like the Egyptians did. It was freaky. I've got a few people I'd like to mummify while they're still alive, but that's another story. Like that guy who does those lawyer commercials, you know him?"
"I might," said Roberta.
"Yeah, you know him. Loud guy. Got that stuff in his hair. I wouldn't trust him to get me out of a jaywalkin' ticket. But I guess people call him, or he wouldn't be able to afford TV commercials. People just got no common sense these days."
"Maybe another shot will numb you more quickly," said Dr. Ruiz.
Zachary chuckled. "I'm just playin' around. Except for that damn lawyer. Whoa, look at that!" He pointed at the floor near his feet and sat up in the chair.
Roberta didn't see anything. "What was it?"
"A roach, I think."
"Are you sure?" asked Roberta, crouching down.
"It kind of looked like an ant, but it was too big. I hope it didn't crawl over anything you're goin' to put in my mouth."
Roberta glanced around the floor. "I don't see it. I'm sure it wasn't a roach."
"Well, I saw somethin', unless you slipped a little bonus juice in my Novocain. You may want to get this place fumigated."
"We keep it very sanitary in here," Dr. Ruiz assured him.
"Oh, don't worry, I trust you," said Zachary. "Just lettin' you know that you might have a roach problem. I can recommend a good guy to take care of it, if you want. You've gotta watch his ass to make sure he don't rip you off as far as the cost, but he'll get rid of those things, I promise you."
"I know somebody," said Dr. Ruiz. "Now just take a deep breath, relax, and we'll get started."
*-CHAPTER TWO-*
"Do you think they'll come back?" Patricia Ketchum asked, nervously scratching her forearm.
Her husband, Joe, pulled the curtain aside a bit and peeked outside. "They're long gone. There's nothing to worry about."
"Are you sure? What if they come back and we don't hear them in time?"
"Do you honestly think we won't hear them?"
"We might not. And the lock isn't working, remember?"
Joe kissed her gently on the lips. "Relax. We'll be fine. I promise."
"But think of what would happen if -- "
Joe put his hand over her mouth. "It takes twenty minutes to walk to the lake, so even if the kids decide not to go swimming, we've still got forty minutes. But we're wasting time. Let's hurry up and get naked."
He removed his hand from her mouth and kissed her again, this time with passion. She responded, putting her arms around him, but her eyes kept darting back to the door of the camper, as if expecting the kids to burst in at any second.
Joe pulled away. "Quit looking at the door," he said.
"But what if -- ?"
"Look, if they catch us in the act, I'll personally drive them to each and every appointment with their psychiatrist, okay?"
"It's just that -- "
"Sweetie, I'm not sure if you realize this or not, but we have very, very loud children. We'll hear them coming."
"I know, but -- "
"The danger is not in us getting caught, but in Andy never coming back because Michelle pushed him into a swamp. We'll be lucky if this camping trip doesn't end with one of them impaling the other with a flaming marshmallow-on-a-stick. We'll have plenty of notice."
"Yeah, but -- "
"Don't talk."
"But -- "
"Don't talk."
"Joe -- "
"If you say one more word I'm breaking out the bondage equipment and we'll screw those kids up for life. I'll do it. Twenty years from now they'll be blubbering to the other convicts about Mommy's ball gag."
Patricia smiled. "You don't have a ball gag."
"You don't know that."
"We'll be quiet, right?"
"Of course." Joe began to lift Patricia's tee shirt.
"I should leave the shirt on, just in case we need to get dressed quickly."
"How on earth did we ever make a second baby?"
"Your parents took Michelle for the weekend that one time, remember?"
"Yes, I remember," Joe said with a sigh. "Okay, the shirt stays on, but I'm not penetrating you through those shorts."
"You don't have to be crude."
"I said penetrate! That's the least crude description there is! That's what a doctor would say, for God's sake!"
Patricia glanced back at the door. "I think I hear the kids!"
"You don't hear the kids."
"I do!"
"You're wasting valuable penetration time."
"What if they -- ?"
"Here, I'll help you." He knelt down, unzipped her shorts, and pulled them down to her ankles. She lifted her feet and he removed them completely.
"Make sure they're within reach," Patricia said.
Moments later, they were on the bed. Joe nibbled on her ear as he thrust into her. "I love you."
"Do you think we're rocking the camper too much?"
Joe began to thrust harder. "Shhhh."
"I think I hear the kids!"
"You don't hear the kids," Joe assured her, picking up the pace even more.
"What if -- ?"
Joe began to thrust as hard as he could. That did it. Patricia closed her eyes and began to moan softly. "Ooooohhhh God."
"Ooooooohhhhh," Joe agreed.
They continued rocking the camper and moaning for another few seconds, until suddenly Joe let out a sharp cry of pain.
Patricia opened her eyes as he stopped thrusting. "What's wrong?"
"Ow, damn! I did something to my back."
"Are you okay?"
"I can't move!"
"What do you mean, you can't move?"
"I mean I can't move! I hurt my back!"
Then Patricia gasped. "Oh, shit, I hear Michelle!"
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, of course I'm serious! Get off me!"
"I can't!"
Michelle's voice was getting closer as she called out "Mommy!" over and over, clearly in tears.
"Joe, you have to get off of me!" Patricia said, her voice on the verge of total panic.
Joe pushed himself up, forcing himself not to scream as agonizing pain shot through his back. Patricia immediately scooted out from under him, causing Joe to lose his balance and fall off the narrow bed onto the floor.
"Joe! Are you okay?"
"Dead, actually."
"Get dressed! Hurry!" Patricia stepped over him and began to put on her shorts.
"Just throw a blanket over my corpse."
As Patricia hurriedly finished getting dressed, Joe realized that his back no longer hurt. The fall must have worked like a chiropractor. Maybe he'd suggest that technique the next time Patricia had a headache.
"Mommy!" wailed Michelle, right outside the camper door.
"Don't come in here, honey!" Patricia called out.
Joe sat up, grabbed a pillow, and set it on his lap just as the door flew open. But Patricia quickly scooped their ten year-old daughter into her arms and left the camper before the pillow or the nakedness it was guarding could be glimpsed. Joe tossed the pillow aside, thankful that it was Patricia's and not his, and then stood up and began to put on his clothes.
Oh well. At least he'd had a little bit of sex.
He stepped out of the cabin, where Patricia was trying to console Michelle. "What happened?" he asked.
"Andy's in some kind of trouble," Patricia explained.
Michelle sobbed and nodded to show her agreement.
"Was he playing with those fireworks like I told him not to?" asked Joe.
Michelle shook her head.
"Where is he?"
The little girl tried to answer, but by now she was sobbing with such intensity that she couldn't speak.
"Can you take us to him?" asked Joe, feeling like he was trying to communicate with Lassie.
Michelle nodded.
"Good. Let us throw on our shoes and we'll go get your little brother."
* * * *
They jogged down the path toward the lake for about five minutes, but then Michelle directed them off on a side trail through the woods. The children had been given very specific instructions not to leave the main path, and Joe could see a nice padded-out lecture in their future.
He'd purposely picked this campsite because it was way out in the boondocks and hardly anybody ever came here. The reasoning behind this was to have a relaxing vacation, a truly self-delusional concept.
They slowed their jog to a brisk walk as they moved through the trail. Joe had a mental image of Andy lying on the ground, twitching, blood trickling from the twin fang marks on his ankle. They should have grabbed the snakebite kit from the camper before they rushed off.
A few minutes later, they emerged from the path into a clearing. Andy stood at the far edge of the clearing, about fifty feet away, and Joe sighed with relief to see that the eight-year-old boy looked unharmed. Andy grinned at them and waved, but it was clear that he'd been doing a lot of crying.
"Oh my God..." said Patricia.
Joe turned his attention away from Andy and looked at the ground. No wonder the kids were so scared. The clearing was filled with four-or-five inch-high mounds of loose dirt, dozens of them, about a foot in diameter. They looked like anthills, except that those didn't usually have quarter-sized entrances.
"Are you okay?" Joe called out.
Andy nodded.
"Good. Don't move."
As Joe stepped forward, something scurried out of the nearest mound. A red ant. Easily the biggest one he'd ever seen. It had to be two inches long. He crouched down to get a better look.
"Wow, can you believe this thing?" asked Joe, picking up a small stick. "I've never seen an ant even close to this size. This has got be some, like, Amazon jungle ant or something."
"Don't get too close to it," Patricia warned.
"I won't, I'm just ... man, that is one _big_ ant."
Joe poked the creature with the stick. It crawled on the tip and began to scurry up the wood toward his arm, so he quickly tossed it away.
"Stay right there," Joe told Andy. "I'm coming to get you."
*-CHAPTER THREE-*
Trevor Sotter decided for the seventeenth time that day that his job really, really sucked.
He knew that the feeling would be short-lived. He worked for the corporate accounting department of Lavin, Inc., and while it was hardly a rewarding job and far from what he thought he'd be doing at age thirty-six, he only had to work when people dropped stuff in his in-bin. The rest of his day could be spent working on his novel. Usually things were pretty slow, giving him plenty of time to write, but the third working day of each month, the "drop dead deadline" for getting everything done that needed to be credited to the prior month, was always ridiculously busy. So he was forced to work overtime, a concept that went against everything he stood for as a human being.
Essentially, his job involved moving money from a cost center to a profit center and vice-versa. Well, no, to be truthful, _other_ people moved the money, and he simply did the data entry to record the transaction. Actually, although he'd been working here for two years, he still wasn't one hundred percent certain what was actually affected by the work he did, but he knew _how_ to do it, and that was good enough for him.
He picked up the next transfer sheet. It was for eight cents. Eight lousy cents. What a waste. Trevor was going to earn more than eight cents just recording this stupid transaction. Then he realized that he wasn't going to earn all _that_ much more than eight cents, and felt bummed-out again.
His novel was called _Snot_. He'd let several people read it (the first couple of chapters anyway) and they all thought it was nothing more than an endless stream of childish bodily functions gags. They just didn't get it. It was a _satire_ of endless streams of childish bodily functions gags, and a darn meaningful one. He wouldn't have devoted seven years and thirty-four drafts to the book unless he truly believed in its message.
But he couldn't work on it now because he was wasting too much time selling his soul to Lavin, Inc. None of his co-workers understood his desire to write, to create, to change the world through his words. They were going to be working in corporate accounting for the rest of their lives, except for Fred Hibbson, who'd been promoted last week. Trevor had to admit that his co-workers were all pretty nice to him despite their lack of understanding, so he'd invite them to his lavish champagne parties in his Beverly Hills mansion, but they'd be flying coach.
He finished moving the eight cents and set the transfer sheet in his "completed" bin. There were far too many sheets remaining in his in-bin. He'd probably be here until eight or nine.
It was time for a cigarette.
Trevor pushed back his chair and got up. As he walked past the high-wall cubicles toward the department exit, he stopped at Monette Odell's lair. Her job was similar to Trevor's, but as she'd explained on several occasions, substantially more complicated. She sat at her desk, typing furiously.
"Hey, Moni, you up for a smoke?"
"No thanks."
"That's cool."
Trevor often wondered if, in an alternate universe where Moni wasn't ridiculously happily married to some stud muffin who sent her flowers every Friday without fail, she'd ever consider going out with him. He certainly wasn't unattractive. He was tall and physically fit, with long brown hair and a mustache and goatee that suited him extremely well, if he did say so himself. His wire-framed glasses were stylish rather than functional (writers weren't supposed to have 20/20 vision, so he wore lenses made out of regular glass to maintain the appropriate image), and even though management had approved a business casual dress code, he made it a point to wear a tie. A tie with Bugs Bunny on it, but a tie nevertheless. He'd rank himself about a seven on a scale of one to ten.
Moni was a solid nine. She was about twenty-five, blonde, well developed, and had a low, sultry voice that made even casual comments like "No thanks" make him want to drop to the floor and start worshipping her shoes. She had the most gorgeous smile and the most perfect teeth he'd ever seen. If her husband ever turned into a complete prick, Trevor would be the first one there to console her.
"Leaving for the day?" asked Abigail Hardin as he walked by her desk. She was Winston Kamerman's administrative assistant, a middle-aged, no-nonsense woman who did wonders to compensate for Mr. Kamerman's overall incompetence the as head of corporate accounting.
"Yeah, right. I don't think so. At least it's a three-day weekend. Got any plans?"
"My husband and I are repainting our front porch."
"Sounds like fun. I might do that too."
Trevor walked over to the wooden door that led out of the department. He swiped his ID badge through the reader, then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Thank God they had this security system. You never knew when somebody might try to steal his backup for the eight cents.
He proceeded over to the fourth-floor elevators and pressed the down button. The building felt vacant. The other four hundred and fifty people who worked in this building probably got to leave early for the holiday, which made his mandatory overtime all the more painful. Not that he had any real plans beyond watching some movies and working on his book, but it was the principle of the whole thing. Overtime was evil.
He rode the elevator down to the ground floor, then stepped out and took a left turn so he wouldn't have to deal with the sinister security guard at the main entrance. He walked across the carpeted floor past the cafeteria to the side entrance and pushed the glass door open until whatever that little sliding thing was that held it open caught. Employees weren't supposed to use this door, but he much preferred to look at the side lawn than the parking garage while he smoked.
Trevor pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and took a deep drag. Ah, yeah. That was good. He refused to have anything to do with illegal drugs of any kind, but he was darn well going to pack his body to capacity with nicotine and caffeine.
As he took another drag, he saw a tiny red ant crawling on the concrete by his foot. He squished it. Ants were vile little creatures that didn't deserve to live. So were all insects. Chapter eighty-six of his book made a very good argument for that point of view.
Another red ant crawled up onto the concrete and Trevor instinctively took a step back. Even the biggest ant he'd ever seen wasn't more than an inch, and this one was as long as his pinky. The ant darted toward him, and he crushed it under his shoe, cringing just a bit at the loud _crunch_.
Where had that thing come from? Florida ants didn't get anywhere near that big.
He surveyed the newly mowed lawn, trying to find an anthill, or at least more of the creatures. He didn't see any right away, but ants were always in groups, weren't they? He didn't know very much about the insect world, but he thought that maybe ants were supposed to stick together like an army platoon, or something like that. He'd never been in the military, so he wasn't sure.
Trevor inhaled some more refreshing nicotine, and then decided that since he was going to be stuck here until late this evening anyway, it couldn't hurt to spend a few minutes seeing if any more of those monster ants were hanging around.
He crouched down and pulled his socks up over his pant legs, creating an argyle shield against ant bites. Then he began to walk around the Lavin lawn, searching for more pinky-sized insects.
There were quite a few regular-sized black ants crawling on the trunk of a tree. He flicked a couple of them off with his index finger, and then watched as they dutifully crawled back toward the tree through the grass. Impressive. For him, that would be the equivalent of falling something like ... a couple of miles, maybe? He wasn't quite sure, but he didn't feel like measuring the tree trunk and dividing it by the height of the ant (or were ants measured by length?) and multiplying it by his height or whatever it would take to make the calculations. It was still an impressive fall, either way.
He looked around for about five more minutes, but didn't find any more of the big red ants. It was probably some sort of mutant, or freak of nature, or something like that. If he hadn't squished it under his shoe, he probably could have sold it to Epcot Center. _Nice move, Sotter_, he thought to himself.
Trevor returned to the side entrance and saw one of the mega-ants crawling along the concrete toward the doorway. He needed a cup or something to trap it. The cafeteria was closed, so he couldn't get anything from there. He'd probably have to go all the way back up to his desk and get the Tupperware container he'd used to store the leftover lasagna he'd had for lunch ... or else pick the thing up with his bare hands.
He considered it.
Nah.
Then he figured, screw it. If there were two of them, there were bound to be more. He stomped the ant with the heel of his shoe, then walked back inside the building and shut the door behind him, briefly wondering if any ants had crawled inside while he was out exploring.
*-CHAPTER FOUR-*
Dustin Abbott had been blessed with a brilliant scientific mind, but his sense of direction was non-existent. He drove down Dale Mabry Highway, or what he assumed was Dale Mabry Highway, struggling to follow the incoherent map. At least the traffic in Tampa wasn't as bad as it was in Houston, although he was starting to get the impression that a lot of Florida people protested traffic tickets with the argument "But officer, it had only been red for a few seconds!"
He realized that he was suddenly in a turn-only lane, but couldn't get over in time and was forced to make a right onto Kennedy. He was definitely going to have to stop and ask for directions. Something to drink would be nice, anyway, so he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store.
Dustin was in town on business. Sort of. He worked in the entomology department of Texas A&M University with a specialty in _Solenopsis invicta_, the red imported fire ant, or RIFA. The stings of these insects created a very painful burning sensation, thus the name fire ants, but they were rarely fatal to humans. There were fewer than one hundred recorded deaths in the United States. People who died from fire ant bites were usually severely allergic to the venom, had been bitten hundreds or even thousands of times, and were elderly or invalid and unable to escape. An allergic 90-year-old woman confined to her bed might be swarmed by the insects and eventually die from their stings, but a healthy woman in her thirties was unlikely to suffer anything more than some pain, some swelling, and a nasty white pustule.
Except that in the past three months, at least four Tampa residents had died from fire ant stings. Healthy people. One of them, Charles Windfall, had slipped in the shower and broken his neck as result of being swarmed by the ants. That case was certainly out of the ordinary, but understandable. But a man named Jason Eckor had been swarmed while he was on his couch taking a nap. Alerted by his screams, his wife had rushed into the living room to find him crawling on the floor, clawing at the ants that were all over his body. He died on the way to the hospital. He was thirty-one years old and a personal trainer.
The other two victims had been Denise Crossley, 18, and Margaret Draper, 40. Margaret had mild asthma, but neither of them fit into the category of people who should have had any chance of being killed by fire ants. Fire ants were aggressive, no doubt about it, but not _that_ aggressive. How were they protecting their nest by attacking somebody sleeping on his living room couch?
Last week he'd received a bizarre letter from Tyler Enzian, one of his old college professors, asking him to fly to Tampa for some extremely important _Solenopsis invicta_ research. Top-secret research. And Mr. Enzian was offering him more money for two weeks' work than he normally made in a year. They'd spoken on the phone a couple of times since then, but the only information Dustin could get out of the old man was that it would be well worth his while to show up in Tampa. Dustin was somewhat suspicious, of course, but his fifteen years as a workaholic at the university had left him with a nice big stack of vacation days, and it was certainly worth checking out.
Not worth flying for, though. Dustin's research took him all over the southern United States (the red imported fire ant was currently found in nine states from California to Florida, infesting over 275 million acres) but he'd never boarded an airplane in his life. There was no real reason for his fear, since he'd never lost any relatives to plane crashes or had any kind of traumatic experiences involving air travel, but he had the phobia, accepted it, and drove everywhere. Besides, this way he got to listen to a lot of books-on-tape.
He got out of the car, yawned, and stretched. He'd slept poorly in the hotel last night, since a couple of kids thought it would be desirable if they ran up and down the hallway until three in the morning, shrieking and giggling. If something like that happened at the hotel he stayed at tonight, he was going to call the front desk and complain.
Dustin was forty-one years old, six feet tall, and fairly lean. At his high school reunion three years ago, he'd promised himself that when his hair loss reached the point that a comb-over seemed like a fine idea, he'd shave it. Last year, he'd kept that promise, so now his black hair was in a nice buzz cut.
He'd kept himself in pretty good shape all these years, save for a brief eating binge in his mid-thirties after Betty dumped him for the taxidermist she'd paid to stuff her dead parrot. He'd had an on-again, off-again relationship with one of his fellow entomologists since then, but romance was no longer a high priority in his life. He had his bugs.
He walked into the small convenience store, grabbed himself a Snickers bar and a bottle of unsweetened iced tea, and went up to the cashier, a young guy, probably a college student. "Could you tell me where Trexler Road is?" he asked.
"Sure thing," said the cashier. "That's right off Independence Parkway. You'll need to keep going west on Kennedy until you pass the Westshore Mall, and once you're there -- "
"Just a second," said Dustin, taking a small notepad out of the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. "I'd better write this down."
"Oh, it's pretty easy."
"Not for me it isn't."
The cashier grinned and gave him the directions, double-checking Dustin's notepad to make sure he'd written it down correctly. "So did you just move here or are you on vacation or what?"
"Business."
"Cool. What kind of business?"
"Ants."
"Ants? Hey, I've got ants all over my yard. Me and my roommates are just renting the house, so it's not a big deal, but I was wondering the best way to get rid of those things. One of my roommates heard that you should pour boiling water all over their mounds, but he burned himself and didn't finish. That's just an old wives' tale, right?"
Dustin shook his head. "Actually, that can work. You need to use about three gallons of hot water on each mound, but it kills the ants and collapses the inside structure of their nest. I'd say it works about half the time."
"Really? I'll have to try it tonight. So what do you think is the best way to get rid of them?"
"Depends on the kind of ant. My specialty is RIFA, the Red Imported Fire Ant."
"Who the hell would import those things?"
"It wasn't done on purpose. They were brought from South America in the 1930's because they ended up in soil that ships used for ballast."
The cashier frowned. "And ballast would be...?"
"Stuff they used as weight to stabilize the ships," Dustin explained.
"Ah, okay. I think I heard that before."
"So, anyway, the ants ended up in Mobile, Alabama, started thriving, and now they've spread all over the southern United States and probably your yard."
"Bastards."
"Well, the queen _is_ kind of a tramp."
The cashier paused to ring up a young woman's purchase, and then returned his attention to Dustin. "So, seriously, what's the best way to get rid of those things?"
"In my opinion? _Pseudacteon tricuspis_."
"Is that poison?"
"Phorid flies. The females are attracted to fire ants. They zip down, quickly inject an egg into the ant's body, then zip away before the ant knows what happened to it." Dustin demonstrated this with enthusiastic hand gestures. "Then the egg develops in the ant's thorax for about ten days, sort of like in _Alien_."
"Cool. Does it burst out of its stomach?"
"Worse. The larva moves into the ant's head. Then the head falls off and the larva uses the decapitated head as its home for the next month."
"Nasty."
Dustin smiled. "Wonderfully so."
A pair of sleazy-looking guys in jeans and leather jackets that looked way too heavy to be wearing in this weather entered the convenience store, and Dustin decided that he should probably be on his way. "Anyway, good luck with the hot water treatment."
"Thanks. If you need to borrow somebody's yard for your research, especially those flies, let me know."
"Will do."
The cashier rung up his candy bar and drink. Dustin paid him, thanked him for the directions, and headed for the door. One of the sleazy-looking guys, freakishly thin with a heavily pockmarked face and dirty brown hair stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
"Going somewhere?" the guy asked.
"Well, out that door was my intention," Dustin said. Or would have said, if his mouth hadn't gone completely dry.
Dustin heard a gasp, and turned around to see the second sleazy guy, who was slightly overweight with unruly red hair, point a gun in the cashier's face. The guy in front of the door took out a gun of his own. "All right, lovely patrons of Seth's Quik-Stop, it is my great pleasure to announce that this fine establishment is now in the process of being robbed! Which of you loyal patrons would like to be our first volunteer to get shot in the head?"
*-CHAPTER FIVE-*
"Roberta, I think there's something you need to see," said Agnes, standing in the doorway.
"We're kind of in the middle of a root canal right now," Roberta explained. Zachary, lying on the chair with the rubber dam over his face to isolate the tooth being worked on, incoherently grunted his agreement.
"I know, but it's kind of important."
Roberta sighed with annoyance, but Dr. Ruiz waved her away. "Go on. I can handle it. Zachary's a good patient." Zachary grunted his agreement again.
Agnes led Roberta out to the waiting room, where Mrs. Baine, a short, fragile woman in her seventies, stood peering out the glass door.
"Oh my God," said Roberta, looking outside.
There had to be a couple of hundred ants scurrying along the sidewalk and around the unpaved parking lot. That in itself was no big deal, except that these ants were _huge_. One of the dark red insects was crawling on the door, and it had to be the length of a business card.
"I left my purse in the car," Mrs. Baine said. "But I can't go back and get it by myself."
"Have you ever seen ants that big?" asked Agnes.
Roberta shook her head. "Never."
"What should we do?"
"Mrs. Baine, I think we should reschedule your appointment. I'll help you get out to your car safely, okay?"
"Yes, that would be good," Mrs. Baine agreed.
Agnes returned to her desk and began typing on the computer. "Do we have any Raid or anything?"
"No," said Roberta, picking up the fire extinguisher. "But this should keep them away from us."
"Should we call the police?"
"Uh-uh. It's just some bugs."
Agnes nodded, though her face had turned pale and a bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She looked over at Mrs. Baine. "I can get you in at four o'clock on Tuesday if that's okay."
"Yes, yes, that's fine," said the old woman, nervously fiddling with her wedding ring as she looked outside.
Roberta walked over and put her arm around her. "Don't worry, I won't let any of them get on you. Do you have your keys ready?"
"They're in my purse, in the car."
"It's not locked, is it?"
"No, no, I'm sure it's not."
"Good. Okay, I need both hands to use the fire extinguisher, so if you'll open the door, we'll head on out."
Mrs. Baine opened the door and the two of them quickly stepped outside. Roberta immediately sprayed the sidewalk in front of them, knocking several ants away with the yellow foam.
Several more ants began scurrying toward them.
Roberta sprayed those away as they moved off the sidewalk into the parking lot, keeping as close together as possible. More ants followed. "My God, look at the way they're coming at us," Roberta said. "Ants don't do that, do they?"
"Several people have died from ant bites this year," Mrs. Baine noted, as Roberta sprayed one that was mere inches from her foot.
"I heard that on the news, but I didn't hear anything about ants being so big."
Mrs. Baine was moving with surprising speed and agility for somebody her age, but Roberta still wished she'd pick up the pace. The ants seemed to be all over the grocery store parking lot as well, and most of the cars had at least two or three crawling on them. Where had they come from all of a sudden?
"Which one's yours?" asked Roberta.
"The blue Plymouth, right there."
Roberta missed one of the ants with the fire extinguisher spray, and stomped on it as hard as she could. Mrs. Baine let out a yelp and frantically brushed something off her back. "One's on me!"
"Turn around!"
Mrs. Baine did so.
"You're okay, there's nothing there." Roberta stomped another ant.
"I can feel it!"
"No, it's just your imagination. C'mon, we need to keep moving."
They hurried over to her car. Roberta sprayed an ant off the door, and then opened it, grateful that Mrs. Baine had been correct about the door being unlocked. Mrs. Baine quickly got inside, and Roberta slammed the door shut.
She realized that an ant was crawling up her leg, screamed, and quickly brushed it away.
Mrs. Baine started her engine and backed out of the parking space as Roberta rushed back toward the office. She threw open the door, ran inside, and pulled the door shut.
"Are you okay? Did you get stung?" asked Agnes.
"I'm fine," Roberta said, dropping the fire extinguisher and frantically brushing phantom ants off her body. "Did you _see_ those things? What in God's name is going on?"
"I don't know, but I think we need to get out of here," said Agnes.
"You'd better believe we need to get out of here. Those things are going crazy. You'd better shut down for the evening."
While Agnes went back to her desk, Roberta watched through the door, praying that Mrs. Baine would make it out of there safely. She was driving slowly through the parking lot ... and then the car stopped.
Mrs. Baine was swatting at something.
Roberta picked up the fire extinguisher and prepared to rush outside again, but then the car resumed moving. She watched until Mrs. Baine was out of sight, then, satisfied, set down the fire extinguisher again and walked back down the hallway.
"Dr. Ruiz...?"
"Everything's good, yes?"
"Actually, no. I don't know what's going on, but there are ants all over the place outside. Big ones. I think we should get out of here."
Dr. Ruiz gave her an amazed look. "I don't think our patient would appreciate a half-finished root canal."
Zachary grunted his agreement.
"I know, but there are lots of them out there, and they're two inches long, and they're hostile."
"Hostile?"
Roberta nodded. "They kept coming after me and Mrs. Baine. I don't know what's going on out there, but it's really scary and we need to get out of here."
"You're playing a joke, yes?"
"No. No joke."
Dr. Ruiz held his fingers a quarter-inch apart. "Ants are little things."
"Not these."
"Check in back for a really big magnifying glass. We'll burn them."
"Dr. Ruiz, I'm serious! They're all over the parking lot! Who knows where else they might be? How do you even know your grandchildren are safe?"
Dr. Ruiz glared at her. "Not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny."
"All right. We'll go. But I can't leave Mr. Davidson like this. We'll finish up quickly and go."
Zachary grunted something.
"No, not too quickly," Dr. Ruiz assured him. "Your tooth will be fine. Roberta, tell Agnes to call my grandchildren."
*-CHAPTER SIX-*
"Be careful," said Patricia.
"That's part of the plan," Joe assured her, carefully taking a step forward. As long as he didn't disturb any of the ant mounds, he should be able to just walk across the clearing, pick up Andy, and carry him back to safety without any problems.
"Is Andy going to be okay?" asked Michelle, sniffling.
"Of course he is," said Patricia, scooping her daughter up into her arms. "Daddy will get him."
Only fifty feet. Even if the ants launched an all-out assault on him, Joe should be able to make it fifty feet and back without anything bad happening.
"Why are they so big?" asked Andy, as Joe continued walking forward.
"No idea."
"Is it radiation?"
"I'm sure it's not radiation. Maybe they just have big ants out in the woods. I don't know much about them."
"Will they sting?" Andy asked, his voice cracking.
"I'm not going to let them sting you," Joe promised. "Now don't talk. We don't want to make them mad."
He was about halfway across the clearing. An ant scurried over his foot, but then went on its way. No problem. Soft steps, take it slow, don't freak out, and everything would be perfectly fine.
Another ant crawled up on his shoe, but this one didn't leave.
Joe's first instinct was to try to shoo it away like a dog, but of course that would be ridiculous. He stood motionless, waiting for it to crawl off his foot and go away.
It didn't move.
"What's wrong?" asked Patricia.
He glanced over his shoulder and quietly shushed her.
The ant crawled up toward the top of his shoe.
Very slowly, Joe lifted his leg, bringing it up close enough that he could swat the ant off with his hand.
The ant crawled off his shoe and under his pant leg.
Joe let out an involuntary whimper.
If he jostled it, the ant would probably sting him. He'd been stung by the regular variety of red ants on numerous occasions, and had absolutely no desire to discover what the sting of the deluxe version felt like.
The ant dropped off his leg onto the ground.
Joe wanted to stomp on it, but didn't dare. Instead, he resumed moving forward toward his son.
"It's going to be okay," he whispered, more for his own reassurance than Andy's.
He picked up his pace a bit.
Finally, he reached the far end of the clearing. Andy threw his arms around him and began crying.
"Shhhh ... shhhh ... it's fine now," said Joe, running a playful hand through the boy's hair. "C'mon, I'll give you a piggyback ride."
He wiped away Andy's tears with his thumb, and then crouched down to allow the boy to climb up on his back. Once Andy was in place, he headed back toward Patricia and Michelle.
"One safe little boy, coming up," Joe announced.
About ten steps into the clearing, he stopped moving. "Gotta loosen the grip, kiddo," he said. "You're choking me."
"I'm sorry," said Andy.
"That's okay." He stood there for a long moment. "You still haven't loosened your grip."
Andy relaxed his arms a bit. It was still kind of hard to breathe, but he couldn't exactly blame the kid for being terrified. He was pretty close to losing bladder control himself. At least this experience would be better for the kids in the long run than any safety lecture he or Patricia could give them.
"Daddy, be careful," said Andy once they'd reached the halfway point. "Some of them are coming."
Joe swiveled a bit to the right and saw that, indeed, several ants were pouring out of a nearby mound. Maybe it was time to just make a run for it.
With the next step, Joe's foot broke through the dirt and he fell face-first onto the ground.
He let out a loud _oooomph_ as the wind was knocked out of him. Andy and Michelle screamed at the same time.
"Let go of my neck," Joe moaned.
Andy let go of his neck. Joe rolled over on his side, felt a sharp pinch, and then let out a cry of pain as a stinging, burning pain tore through his arm. He lifted his forearm and saw one of the ants clinging to his flesh with its mandibles, its body curled up so its stinger could jab into him repeatedly. It stung him again and again, getting in at least four stings before he ripped it off his arm and threw it aside.
"Andy, get out of here!" he shouted.
Several ants were pouring out of a mound mere inches from Joe's head.
Screaming in terror, Andy got to his feet and ran across the clearing toward his mother and sister.
Another ant stung Joe in the side. Then the leg. Then the stomach.
And suddenly they were swarming him.
He struggled to stand back up, but the stings were so painful that he fell to the ground again.
This time, his face struck the anthill.
He immediately pulled away from it, with five or six ants already hanging from his face by their mandibles. He frantically slapped at his cheeks, chin, and neck, trying to dislodge the insects. He howled in misery.
The ants were stinging him through his tee shirt.
He rolled onto his back and desperately smacked the ants away, even as they began to sting his palms and the back of his hands.
"_Help me_!" he shrieked.
He felt a tight grip on his arm. "Get up!" Patricia pleaded.
Joe tried again, and this time with Patricia holding onto his arm he was able to pull himself to a standing position. He shrieked again. There were ants all over his body, dozens of them.
He and Patricia stumbled forward, until she screamed in pain as well. She gave Joe's arm a sharp tug to get him to move faster, but this only caused him to tumble to the ground yet again, bringing her with him.
He could hear Andy and Michelle screaming and sobbing.
More ants swarmed over Joe's body, and he began to flail around, frantically trying to get them off. One of them was stinging his lower lip. His body felt like somebody had completely doused him with gasoline and touched him with an open flame.
Patricia writhed on the ground next to him, also covered with the stinging ants. Her arms, legs, and face were a mass of red welts. And more ants kept joining the others.
Joe made one more attempt to get to his feet, but this time he wasn't able to so much as sit up. He continued to beat at the insects, crushing some under his fists but barely making a dent in their numbers.
He looked over at Patricia, who was so heavily covered in ants that he could barely recognize her. She was on her stomach, trying to crawl to safety, but making virtually no progress.
Joe let out one last piercing, agonized scream as the ants completely overwhelmed him.
* * * *
As she watched her father's ant-ridden body go limp, Michelle grabbed Andy's hand and tried to pull him away.
"Let's go!" she shouted.
"They're killing Mommy and Daddy!" her brother wailed.
"It's too late! We have to run or they'll kill us too!"
It was true. Several of the ants were making their way toward them. More than several, actually. Maybe hundreds.
"We have to save them!" Andy insisted.
"We can't save them! We've got to _go_!"
She yanked on Andy's arm, as hard as she possibly could. Her brother let out a tortured cry, but then followed her as the children rushed back through the path toward the campsite, screaming in terror.
*-CHAPTER SEVEN-*
Trevor decided not to mention the ants to anybody as he returned to his cubicle. Best to just sit down, get his work done, and start enjoying his weekend. Maybe he'd stop by the video store on the way home and rent a copy of _Them!_
About ten minutes later, Jack Lacefield stopped by his desk. Jack was in his early twenties and tried to compensate for a naturally unattractive face with stylish clothing and attitude. The stylish clothing part he had down pretty well, but the attitude needed work.
"Hiya, Trev, how's it hanging?"
"Low and to the east."
"Good man, good man. Any big plans for the ol' holiday weekend?"
"Not really. Just working on my book."
"Ah, yeah, the book. I get an autographed copy when you're rich and famous, right?"
"Absolutely."
"Good man, good man. Hey, pull my finger."
"I'm not going to pull your finger."
"Come on, be a pal, pull my finger."
"Pull your own finger."
"I'm not gonna do anything, just pull my finger."
"No."
"I'll give you a buck."
"Fine." Trevor pulled his finger. Jack let out an obnoxiously loud belch, then burst into laughter.
"You thought I was going to fart, didn't you?"
"Yes, Jack, that's exactly what I thought. You sure fooled me."
"You need to put that in your book."
"Where's my dollar?"
"I fooled you there, too." Jack burst into laughter again.
"Here, pull this finger," said Trevor, flipping him the bird.
"Good one, good one. You got me." Jack's eyes widened. "Dude, don't move."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"I'm not playing around, but there's a big-ass ant on your chair."
Trevor leapt out of the chair and began brushing off his shirt. "Is it still there?"
"It's on the armrest. That's not a real one, is it?"
The ant crawled off the armrest and onto the seat.
"Wow, that thing is gigantic," Jack observed. "I wonder where it came from?"
"There were a couple of them outside," Trevor told him.
"Well, I'm glad you were generous enough to bring them inside to share with the rest of us. Jeez, that thing must have escaped from a zoo or something."
"What are you two babbling about?" asked Moni, stepping outside of her cubicle.
"Come over here and see this," Jack said.
Moni walked over as Jack pointed to the chair. "What is that, a toy?" she asked.
"It's a real ant."
"Yeah, right."
The ant crawled off the seat, fell to the floor, and crawled underneath Trevor's desk.
"Uh-oh," said Jack. "You may want to watch where you put your feet." Jack looked at Trevor more closely and raised an eyebrow. "Dude, what's with your socks?"
Trevor realized that his socks were still pulled up over his pant legs and crouched down to fix them, embarrassed. "It was because I was looking for the ants," he explained.
"Don't change anything on my account," Jack said. "I believe it's important to preserve individual fashion."
"Maybe I should get a custodian or something to take care of it," Trevor remarked. "They've got bug spray and stuff, I'm sure."
"They already sent the custodians home. We're pretty much the only losers stuck in this place. Anyway, for that thing you don't need bug spray, you need a rat trap," Jack observed.
"No, what you need is to stop being such a wuss and be a little more proactive," said Moni, picking up a ruler from the edge of Trevor's desk. "I'll get it."
"Watch out, it might spit acid," Jack warned.
"Ha-ha."
"Here, give me the ruler, I'll get it," said Trevor, reaching out to Moni.
"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to get acid on your glasses."
Trevor took the ruler from her. "If I die, I don't want any part of my vast estate going to Jack."
"You sure are stingy with twenty bucks," Jack retorted.
Trevor got down on his hands and knees and looked under the desk. There was no sign of the ant.
"Do you see it?" Moni asked.
"Nope."
"Try an ant call," Jack suggested.
"Try shutting up."
"You know, dude, you're going to lie awake all night tonight wishing you'd said something more clever than 'try shutting up.'"
Trevor thought he saw some movement on the underside of his desk, so he lunged forward with the ruler, but didn't hit anything.
"See it yet?" asked Moni.
"Nope."
"By now it must be on your chair," Jack informed Moni.
"Why don't you go sit on it to find out?"
"You could sit on my lap."
"That's sexual harassment."
"No, it's space conservation."
"It's hazardous duty."
Even with Moni's sultry voice, this conversation was getting on Trevor's nerves. "Both of you, be quiet," he said. "I'm trying to find a really big ant."
"You should check out JoAnn who works in human resources," Jack said. "She's got the biggest damn ... oh, you said _ant_."
"I'm not kidding anymore, be quiet."
"Yes, sir."
Then Trevor saw the ant. It was next to the surge protector, and looked like it was nibbling on one of the cords. He began to carefully crawl towards it, the ruler clenched in his fist like a serial killer wielding a butcher knife.
When he was within striking distance, he raised the ruler and prepared to slam it down. He almost got the sense that the ant was trying to stare him down. He scooted just a bit closer, and then without warning brought the ruler down as hard as he could.
And missed.
The ant scurried up the wall. Trevor cursed under his breath.
"Lose something?"
Trevor jerked upright at the sound of Mr. Kamerman's voice, bashing his head on the underside of his desk. He cursed again, softer this time, and crawled back out from under it.
Winston Kamerman ("Mr. Kamerman" to his face, "Winnie" behind his back) stood there with Abigail. As usual, Mr. Kamerman was dressed in full business attire, even though his job required no contact with actual customers. He held himself with a poise and dignity that belied the fact that he was something of an ignoramus.
"Just looking for an ant," Trevor said, standing up and brushing off his pants.
"One ant?"
"One very big ant." Trevor held his thumb and index finger two inches apart. "It was under my desk."
"Then I'm glad that's where you chose to look for it," said Mr. Kamerman.
"Thank you, sir."
"Did you catch it?"
"No. It crawled up the wall."
"Well, I'm sure it will still be around once your work is complete. Remember that you're on overtime now. Lavin Incorporated doesn't have unlimited funds, you know."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Kamerman walked back toward his office. Abigail rolled her eyes and followed him.
"Guess I won't be getting that big promotion, huh?" asked Trevor. Moni smiled and returned to her cubicle. Jack had already left, probably at the first sound of Mr. Kamerman's footsteps.
Trevor checked his chair thoroughly, then sat down and resumed his work. It was difficult to concentrate, though. He wasn't scared of bugs, but it was still a bit unnerving to know that such a big ant was crawling around near his desk. He wondered if it would be possible to get an exterminator to come in over the holiday weekend.
He willed himself to focus, so that he might leave this hellhole sometime in the next six hours. The next transfer was for sixteen thousand, two hundred and eight dollars and seventy-seven cents. Now _that_ gave him a sense of real power.
Maybe he'd have a killer bug movie marathon this weekend. In addition to _Them!_, he could rent _Tarantula, Food of the Gods_ with its giant mosquitoes, that movie with the giant killer locusts, and a couple of others. Or maybe he'd narrow the focus to killer ant movies. _Phase IV, Ants_ with Susanne Somers, and ... what else? Maybe that computer animated one with Woody Allen's voice, _Antz_. They weren't exactly killer ants in that one, but --
He yanked his hand back from the keyboard with a yelp. The ant, dangling from his wrist, stung him again. He grabbed it with his other hand and crushed it, ant guts squishing through his fingers. The head remained in place, its jaws still fixed on his wrist.
The pain was a thousand times worse than any bee sting he'd ever suffered, and a massive wave of dizziness struck Trevor as he tumbled out of his chair and fell to the floor.
*-CHAPTER EIGHT-*
Stanley "Hack" Jacobs loved guns. He loved holding them, he loved pointing them at people, and he loved shooting them. Of course, he couldn't just go around blowing folks away at random, and in his lifetime he'd only killed four people, though he'd told his partner it was seventeen. He'd shot two people during gang fights, one old woman in the back of the head execution-style after stealing her social security check, and one guy who was out on a canoe, just for the hell of it.
Nobody was supposed to die today, but that was okay. The other people in the convenience store -- a kid working the cash register, some tall guy in a flannel shirt, and a mother with her teenage son -- were all terrified, and scaring the shit out of them was almost as much fun as killing them.
Dave "Slash" Bungen, Hack's best friend for the past two months, pressed his revolver between the cashier's eyes. "Maybe you wanna think about opening that register, huh?"
The kid pressed a key and the register drawer popped open. The kid took a step back, holding up his hands to prove that they were empty. "Take whatever you want."
"Smart boy," said Slash, walking around behind the counter. "Must be college educated. They teach you how to handle a robbery in college, or is that special convenience store training?"
"Just take the money, okay? There won't be any problems."
"You hear that, Hack? He says there won't be any problems." Slash shoved the cashier against the wall. "I think that's my decision. If I want there to be problems, you damn well better believe that there are gonna be problems, college boy."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"I don't care how you meant it."
Hack flicked the barrel of his own revolver against the nose of the guy who'd tried to leave the convenience store. "I bet you don't approve of my friend's attitude, do you?"
The man didn't respond.
"What's your name?"
"Dustin."
"Can I call you Dusty, Dustin?"
"Whatever."
"You don't sound very smart, Dusty. What do you do for a living?"
"I'm an entomologist."
"What's that? You unclog toilets or something?"
Slash cackled at that.
"I study insects."
"I see." Hack nodded thoughtfully. "I shoot insects. Would you like me to shoot you, Dusty?"
"No."
Hack turned to the mother and her son, who were cowering in the candy aisle. The mother was wearing a blue skirt and looked pretty hot, although she was probably a pain in the ass. "What about you two? You want me to shoot ol' Dusty here?"
"No, please," said the mother.
"How about I just punch him in the stomach. How about that, Dusty? May I punch you in the stomach?"
Dustin didn't say anything, so Hack punched him in the gut so hard that the insect man doubled over and then dropped to his knees. Hack bashed his elbow against the back of Dustin's neck, hard, just for good measure.
"Good one!" cried Slash, stuffing his pockets with money. "You da man, Hack!"
"No, _you_ da man, Slash!" Hack poked at Dustin with his foot. "Hey, Dusty, I was giving some consideration to kicking you in the head. Tell me, what do you think of that?"
"I say, do it!" said Slash.
"Thank you for your support. I believe I shall."
Suddenly Hack realized that the cashier had grabbed a gun of his own, and before his partner could react the weapon was pointed at Slash's neck. "Drop your gun!" the cashier shouted.
Without hesitation, Hack stepped into the candy aisle and pulled the mother to her feet. "_You_ drop the gun or this kid's mom gets it through the brain," he said.
When the cashier didn't move, Hack dragged the woman over to the counter, kicking Dustin out of the way. "You want her blood on you? Do you? Drop that gun or she dies and I leave you a blind cripple."
"Just take the money and go," the cashier said, arms trembling. "The cops will be here any second."
"Well then, let's not force them to clean up a bloodbath, okay? Put the gun down, then I'll put my gun down, then my buddy Slash will put his gun down, and we'll take our money and go."
Slowly, the cashier lowered his gun.
"I didn't say lower it, I said drop it," Hack told him.
The cashier hesitated for a moment, and then Hack heard a _thump_ as the gun hit the floor. "Good boy."
Hack shoved the mother back into the candy aisle. Slash grabbed the last handful of cash out of the register and came out from behind the counter. "You were lucky this time," Slash told the cashier. "But you better hope I don't find out where you live."
The cashier was silent. Hack pointed his revolver at him. "Actually, you weren't _that_ lucky," he said, firing three shots into his chest.
The kid flew back against the rack of cigarettes, and then slid to the floor. Hack peeked over the counter and smiled at the abundance of blood.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Slash screamed.
"Target practice."
"This isn't a joke! There was no reason to kill him!"
"He might still be alive. Maybe the bug doctor can save him."
Slash slammed his fist against the counter. "Let's get out of here."
* * * *
The gunshots were still ringing in Dustin's ears as he lay on the floor, expecting one of the guns to be fired at him at any moment. These guys weren't just convenience store robbers; they were complete psychopaths. Overly aggressive fire ants no longer seemed like such a bad problem.
Christ, the cashier probably wasn't even twenty-two years old. Dustin wanted nothing more than to get up and beat the crap out of those maniacs, but he wasn't about to leave his spot on the floor, and even if he'd had the courage, his stomach was hurting so badly that he might not even be able to manage it. He could hear the woman crying.
"Later, Dusty," said the skinny robber who'd punched him and shot the cashier (Hack, the other one had called him), stepping on Dustin's hand as he pushed open the door.
But instead of stepping outside, the robbers rushed back into the aisle with the woman and her son. "You stupid idiot!" screamed Slash.
"You're the one who wasted time getting the money!"
"You're the one who murdered the kid! Oh, man, we are so screwed!"
Dustin saw what they were talking about as a pair of police cars pulled up in the convenience store's parking lot. Not wanting to get caught in a crossfire, Dustin dragged himself into the first aisle.
Hack and Slash emerged from the candy aisle, Hack holding the mother in front of him as a shield, and Slash doing the same with her teenaged son. They moved across the store and ducked down behind the counter.
* * * *
The mother let out a whimper at the sight of the dead cashier. Hack liked hearing it, and roughly twisted her head to force her to look at it more closely.
"Pretty gross, huh?" he asked.
She was too busy crying to reply.
"That could be you, you know," Hack said. "All dead and bloody and gross. You probably wouldn't like that much, would you? What if your son went first? Would that make you feel better about the whole situation?"
"Shut up!" Slash barked at him.
"Oh, relax and have some fun once in a while," said Hack. "What do you say?" he asked the woman. "Ready to greet our adoring public?"
He stood up and yanked her to her feet. Four cops were already outside, so he made sure that they couldn't possibly miss seeing the gun that was pressed against the side of the woman's head.
"Just stay calm and we'll see how this all works out," he said. "If we're lucky, nobody else will die. But my guess is that we're gonna see a little more blood before this situation is resolved."
*-CHAPTER NINE-*
Agnes wrung her hands together as she peered out the glass door. There were at least twice as many ants on the sidewalk and parking lot as there had been when Roberta led the old woman to safety ten minutes ago. It was hard to tell because they were constantly moving, but there seemed to be about one of those ants in every square foot, running around like they were insane. Maybe this was a sign of something ... a hurricane, perhaps?
Dr. Ruiz's wife hadn't noticed anything unusual around their house way up in the north end of Tampa, but she'd told Agnes to "let that overly dedicated dentist know that his precious grandkids are anxiously waiting for him to come home." Agnes had conveyed the message, remaining professional enough not to scream that if she didn't get out of here soon she'd go absolutely bonkers. That sense of professionalism wasn't going to last much longer.
She returned to the room where Dr. Ruiz and Roberta were working on Mr. Davidson. The poor guy had come in here with an excruciating toothache, and she could understand why it was necessary to complete the procedure (you couldn't just let somebody walk out of the office with a big chunk missing from his tooth), but she mentally pleaded with them to finish as quickly as possible.
"Yes, Agnes?" asked Dr. Ruiz, looking up from the temporary filling he was putting in.
"There are more of them," Agnes said. "A lot more."
"Anything on the news?"
"Not yet, not that I've heard. Could I please go home now?"
Dr. Ruiz shook his head. "We should all go together, make sure we get out safely."
"Yes, you're right, I'm sorry, I just have this ... thing about ants."
"We'll go soon. I promise."
Agnes returned to the waiting room and looked outside again. So many of them.
_The training wheels just came off Monday, and Agnes has been riding almost constantly all week. When Derek grabs her by the arm and pulls her off, she's more concerned about her bicycle getting damaged than the pain in her arm_.
"_Leave me alone!" she screams_.
_Derek drags her off the sidewalk and onto their lawn. "I told you if you ever touched my stuff again, I was gonna make you eat dog crap," he says_.
"_I didn't touch anything!" she insists, struggling to pull herself free_.
"_A pack of my bottle rockets is gone._"
"_I didn't take it!_"
"_You did so!_"
_He drags her around for nearly a minute, while his mean friend Marcus laughs and laughs. But they can't find any dog poop, because Dad spent all morning cleaning the yard._
"_I'm letting you go for now," Derek says, "but the next time Digger takes a dump your face is going right in it!_"
"_No, don't let her go," says Marcus. "I've got a better idea. When we were over by your swings I saw a really big anthill..._"
Agnes turned away from the door. Her hands were quivering and she felt like she was going to burst into tears. How long did it take to fix one lousy tooth?
"_Let me go, Derek! Let me go! I'll tell!_"
"_Okay, Marcus, you can let go of her arms, she's learned her lesson._"
"_No, no, not yet._"
"_Derek, please ... they're getting in my mouth!_"
"_Then stop screaming, you little brat!_"
"_Shut up, Marcus! Let her go._"
"_No!_"
"_She's my sister! I said let her go!_"
"_They're stinging me!_"
"_Let her go!_"
"_They're stinging my face!_"
"_Marcus, stop it! We'll get in trouble!_"
"_Quit hitting me! She's just being a baby._"
"_Derek please it hurts it hurts it HURTS!_"
Screw Dr. Ruiz, screw Roberta, and screw Zachary Davidson and his poor little toothache. She was getting out of here right now, before it was too late.
She dug her car keys out of her pocket, looped the ring around her right index finger so she could still work the trigger of the fire extinguisher, picked up the extinguisher, threw open the door, and rushed outside.
The ants immediately started coming for her. God, there were thousands of them. She sprayed the extinguisher in front of her as she sped across the parking lot toward her boxy but ant-proof brown sedan, crushing several of the horrible things under her feet.
She reached the car and sprayed the door, knocking off the ants that were crawling all over it. She sprayed the ground in a circle around her feet, then lowered the fire extinguisher and slammed her car key into the keyhole. At least she tried to. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took several attempts to get the key in, but finally she did it.
Something stung her ankle.
"_My face, they're all over my face! Derek, please, make him stop!_"
"_Quit screaming, you brat!_"
"_They're gonna sting me to death!_"
Agnes stomped on the ant as hard as she could, violently grinding her foot against the pavement. She reached for the key, but there was already a new ant crawling along the door handle.
She put her right hand back on the trigger of the fire extinguisher and sprayed away more of the ants coming toward her feet. Then she raised the stream toward the car door ... but it quickly died, spitting out only a few useless spurts of the yellow foam.
Another ant scurried over to the door handle. Agnes tried to brush it away, but her hand froze before it could touch the insect. Instead, she used the bottom of the fire extinguisher to knock it off the car door.
_Ants all over her face, crawling up her nose, digging deep into her ears, stinging and stinging and stinging..._
Another ant stung the side of her leg.
"_Let her go or I'll kill you!_"
"_I'm just messing around!_"
An ant stung her wrist as she tried to turn the key.
_Suddenly her arms and legs start jerking around by themselves. She doesn't know what's going on. She can barely even hear Derek and Marcus anymore, although she thinks that her brother pulled Marcus off her. She can't even feel the stinging anymore. There's nothing but absolute, raw panic_.
Barely able to hear her own screams, Agnes began slamming the fire extinguisher into the car door, again and again, splattering as many ants as she could. She was dimly aware that she might be damaging the door to a point where she couldn't open it, but the only thing that mattered was killing these nightmare ants.
_Is she running? She can't feel her legs, or hear her own voice, but she can see that she's running. Derek has Marcus on the ground, punching his face with both hands. She hopes he gets a bloody nose_.
Agnes dropped the fire extinguisher and ran from the car, running to safety, running to anyplace without the ants.
_The front door opens. Mom steps outside. She looks mad at first, but she looks frightened as soon as she sees Agnes. Agnes rushes into her mother's arms, not sure if either of them are crying or not_.
The garbage dumpster.
It was safe. It had to be.
There were fewer ants over this way. She'd made the right choice. She raised the lid with one hand, then with agility she didn't even know she had she quickly climbed inside, letting the lid drop as she fell onto several bags of garbage.
The smell was horrific, but no ants could get inside.
There was a narrow stream of light coming from the lid. That was good. Total darkness would have been too scary. She didn't like the dark.
Wasn't a stream of light bad, though?
Didn't it mean that there was a gap?
Why was the garbage moving?
Something blocked part of the stream of light.
Then something else.
Lots of things were moving underneath her.
Where was Derek?
The light was flickering, like the light from a movie projector.
Things were crawling on her.
The smell was making it hard to breathe.
She needed Mom to rescue her.
The movie projector light was getting dimmer.
She could barely see anything.
But she could feel things all over her.
They were hurting her.
She bit down on one.
She tried to wipe them out of her eyes, but they were on her fingers, too.
She was covered with them.
There was no need to be a brave girl.
When would they stop hurting her?
The movie projector went dark.
*-CHAPTER TEN-*
Fire ants covered the dead bodies of Joseph and Patricia Ketchum. A line of the insects returned to the nest, some of them storing liquid they'd ingested from the bodies, which they would share with the other ants within the colony. Others used their sharp mandibles to tear solid chunks from their prey. These would be carried back and placed in front of the oldest larvae in the nest, which would vomit digestive enzymes onto the food until it was liquefied. After the larvae sucked up the protein, they'd regurgitate it to the worker ants, who would then pass it on to the rest of the colony.
It was a quick, efficient process. The corpses would not go to waste.
* * * *
"Andy, get up!"
He'd fallen three times already as they ran down the path back toward the campsite. Michelle wasn't sure if the ants were following them or not, but she did know that they had to get help, fast. Maybe their parents weren't dead yet, and the police could save them, or somebody else at the campsite, or anybody. They could still be alive. It was possible.
Yeah, right.
Michelle pulled Andy to his feet again. He was going to get them killed, just because he couldn't run. She was scared, too, but you didn't see _her_ falling all over the place.
"Will you get up?"
Andy got to his feet and wiped his eyes. "I don't want them to eat me!"
"They won't eat you if you just hurry! Come on!"
They sprinted down the path, finally reaching their campsite. There were ants all over the camper.
"How'd they get here already?" Andy shrieked.
"There must be another nest, somewhere close!"
"But how did they _find_ us?"
Michelle screamed at him to shut up, even though she wanted to know the same thing. These weren't monsters, like the kind she used to think lived under her bed and in her closet. These were just bugs. They were big and dangerous, but they weren't really _hunting_ them, were they?
"What do we do?" Andy wailed.
"Get in the car!"
They rushed over to the car, which was parked right next to the camper. There weren't nearly as many ants at their campsite as there were back where Mom and Dad got ... got hurt ... and Michelle was able to brush the ants away and open the car door. She shoved Andy inside, his elbow accidentally honking the horn, and then jumped in after him and slammed the door shut.
They both sat there for a moment, shaking and trying to catch their breath.
Several ants were crawling on the windshield.
"Are they gonna get us?" asked Andy.
"No. We're okay. They can't get inside the car."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, of course I'm sure. You've never heard of ants that can eat through metal, have you?"
"I've never heard of ants that big." Andy buried his face in his hands and began to cry again. "They're going to eat us."
"I promise, they're not going to eat us. We're in the car and we're safe. All we have to do is drive to someplace where people can help us."
"You don't know how to drive."
"I've watched Dad millions of times," Michelle informed him. "It's easy. Don't worry. I won't let them get you."
She reached for the ignition, and then let out a sudden sob.
"What's wrong?" Andy asked.
"We don't have the keys."
"Oh no!" Andy turned around and frantically looked in the back seat. "Maybe they just dropped them! Maybe they're on the floor!"
Michelle shook her head. "I saw Dad take them when we went out to get you." _This is all your fault!_ she wanted to scream, but that would do no good. She had to protect her little brother, not make things worse.
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. Somebody will come looking for us. Maybe we should crack the windows a bit and scream as loud as we can."
"No! They'll get in!"
"We'll just do it a little bit."
"No!"
"Then what?" Michelle demanded, slamming her fist against the steering wheel.
Andy was silent for a long moment. Then his eyes lit up. "I know! I know where a key is!
"Where?"
"Under the car! There's that magnet box that Mom bought!"
"That's right!" Michelle said, almost giddy with relief. "Which tire was it next to?"
"Ummmm..." said Andy, biting his lip. He pointed to the front right tire. "That one, I think."
"Are you sure?"
"I think so."
"No, not you think so, are you _sure_?"
"I don't know! Mom put it there, not me!"
Michelle sighed with frustration. "Okay, trade me places. I'll have to get it."
"What if the ants get in?"
"What do you want us to do, just sit here and die?" Michelle shouted. "Do what I say."
The children silently switched places. "Scoot as close to me as you can," she said. "I need you to brush them off if any of them get on me."
Andy nodded.
"And kill any if they get inside." She glanced around the car for a moment, and then picked up two coloring books off the floor. She rolled up the first one, handed it to Andy, and then rolled up the second one for herself. "Are you ready?" she asked, grabbing the door handle.
"Uh-huh."
"On the count of three. One ... two..._three_!"
Michelle threw open the door and hurriedly leaned over the side. She could see six or seven ants up close, and batted at them with the coloring book while she reached under the car and tried to find the magnet box.
"It's not here!"
"It has to be!"
Michelle swung the coloring book from side to side, knocking away the ants that were coming at her. "It's not!"
She leaned back up and pulled the door shut. An ant had crawled onto the ceiling, and she slammed the coloring book at it, missing twice before finally squashing it.
"Did any more get in?"
"I didn't see any!"
Michelle scooted back over to the driver's side. Once Andy had moved next to her, she opened the door and leaned down again.
An ant crawling along the underside of the car ran right at her face. She screamed and leaned back up.
Andy smacked at an ant. "Is it there?"
"I don't know."
Michelle took a deep breath as if preparing to dive underwater then leaned outside again. The ant was still there, but she could see the little black box. She swatted the ant away and wrapped her fingers around the box. But it wouldn't pull free.
She felt something crawl on her shoulder, then a blow as Andy smacked the coloring book against it.
Michelle yanked as hard as she could.
An ant crawled onto her arm, but she didn't care. She just kept tugging. The magnet had to be strong enough not to fall off when the car went over bumps and stuff, but it couldn't be _that_ strong.
Andy smacked her with the coloring book again.
Then Michelle remembered that she didn't need to pry the whole box free. She slid the lid off and the key dropped onto the ground. She scooped it up and leaned back into the car.
She pulled the door shut, but several ants had already gotten inside.
It took a few minutes for them to hunt down the ants, Michelle crushing five of them with her coloring book, Andy crushing four.
"Did we get them all?" asked Andy when they were finished.
"I think so. But keep your feet on the seat."
Andy obliged, leaning back against the door.
Michelle put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Dad had never even let her _pretend_ to drive on his lap, but she'd paid close attention on several occasions, and she knew the basics. She pushed the button on the center shift and pulled it back to "R."
The car instantly jerked backward. She slammed her foot on the right pedal, and it shot back faster. She quickly pressed down on the left pedal. The car screeched to a halt.
"Put on your seat belt," she told Andy.
She very slowly released the brake, and as the car began moving she turned the steering wheel until the front of the car was facing the exit to the campsite. Then she stepped on the brake again and set the center shift to "D."
She took a moment to compose herself, and then pressed the gas pedal. The car moved forward in jerky motions, but as long as they were making progress she didn't care if the ride was uncomfortable.
"Where are we going?" Andy asked.
"I don't know. We'll find somebody."
A bunch of ants were on the windshield. Michelle spent a moment trying out different things until she found the windshield wipers, which knocked most of them off.
"Try to squirt that cleaning stuff on them," Andy suggested.
"I'm not sure which one it is."
"I think it's the one with -- _Michelle watch out_!"
A man staggered out of the woods, dozens of ants crawling on him. Michelle screamed and tried to slam on the brake, but in her panic floored the accelerator instead.
The car shot forward, narrowly missing the man, but slamming into a large tree. One of the branches burst through the front windshield, spraying safety glass all over the children. The hood of the car bent almost in half as it struck the trunk of the tree. Michelle struck the steering wheel and slumped backward in her seat.
"Michelle?" asked Andy, trying to unfasten his seat belt. "Michelle? Are you okay?"
She turned toward him, but her eyes were only half-open, and she fell over onto her side.
"Michelle, I can't get the seat belt off!"
Ants began to climb in through the broken windshield.
"Michelle, _please_! They're getting in!"
Andy looked outside. The man with ants on him had fallen to the ground. He was still alive, but he was screaming and rolling around.
Andy pressed the button on the seat belt again and again, but it wouldn't release. As one of the ants began to crawl on Michelle, he tried to squirm his way out of the seat belt. It was much too tight.
Ants continued to pour in through the front window. Some of them crawled on Michelle, but others went after Andy.
He smashed at them with his fists. One crawled up on his knee and stung him before he was able to kill it. It hurt so bad he could barely stand it.
"Michelle! Wake up!"
She had nine or ten or more ants on her now. Ants kept coming in, way too many for Andy to kill with his bare hands. He grabbed the seat belt and pulled as hard as he could, as if he'd be able to break the material with super-hero strength, but it wouldn't give. He cried out as another ant stung him. And then another.
Michelle sat up with a gasp, and then bellowed at the top of her lungs as the movement caused a dozen ants to simultaneously dig their mandibles into her skin and jab her with their stingers. They stung her over and over as she clawed at them, bawling.
* * * *
Herbert Layman listened helplessly to the sounds of the terrified children. It was his fault they'd crashed, and he would gladly have sacrificed his own life to save them.
Unfortunately, his own life wasn't worth a whole hell of a lot right now. His entire body was burning, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to the ants' venom.
* * * *
Michelle and Andy were fortunate. Their minds were unable to cope with the horror and shut down completely. First Andy's, and then Michelle's. Their final minutes were spent in a protective haze, unaware of what was happening to them, and certainly unaware of what the ants would do to their bodies after they perished. It was almost peaceful.
Herbert Layman was not so lucky, and remained completely aware of his surroundings and the ghastly pain until the very last second of his life.
* * * *
The two men stared at the bodies of Herbert Layman and the children. It was the twenty-first of October, just over eight months before the other unpleasantness began.
"What do you think, success or failure?" asked the first.
The second man sighed. "Failure. If those brats hadn't stumbled onto the site, the ants wouldn't have attacked at all. It's like I told you, we need more control."
"You're the boss. We'll abort the natural habitat plan."
"We should never have even gone down this route. A waste of time. Get this mess cleaned up before anybody comes looking for these people."
"Yes, sir."
"You look a bit upset. It doesn't bother you that children were involved, does it?"
"A little, yes, sir."
The second man chuckled. "At least we didn't have to shoot them ourselves. Get over it. I don't want you distracted. We have a lot of catching up to do."
*-CHAPTER ELEVEN-*
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure! It was just an ant bite, for crying out loud."
"Sting, Trevor," Abigail explained. "Dogs bite, ants sting. And it was a sting that knocked you out of your chair."
"I know, but I'm fine now," said Trevor. "I just wasn't expecting it to hurt so much." He looked at the ugly red welt on his hand, which was nearly an inch across ten minutes after the sting, even with an ice pack pressed to it.
"And you're certain you're not allergic?"
"Yes, I'm certain."
"Do you think you can drive yourself to the hospital?"
"I don't need a doctor," Trevor assured her, even though he was having a little trouble breathing. "My hand isn't going to fall off or anything. People get stung by ants all the time, this just happened to be a fairly large one. Maybe I should go home and get some rest, though."
"To the doctor or back to work, Trevor. Your choice."
Trevor shrugged. "All right, I probably should see the doctor. Yes, I can drive myself."
"I'll expect a doctor's note on Monday."
"Are you kidding me?"
Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever once kidded you?"
"No. You should start, though."
Moni and Jack walked over to Trevor's cubicle. "How's the patient doing?" Jack asked.
"I'm driving him to the doctor," Abigail said.
"Bummer. That's worse than overtime."
"You don't need to drive me anywhere," said Trevor. "My hand is fine. It barely even hurts."
Then a huge wave of nausea hit him, and he tumbled out of his chair again.
* * * *
The idiot kept insisting he was fine as he was led down the hallway, Moni on one side, Jack on the other. Abigail was walking a few paces ahead of them in her usual I-am-a-woman-on-a-mission-so-don't-mess-with-me stride, a stride that Moni could do a remarkable impression of but didn't dare share with the others.
Moni hated that she'd probably be stuck here until the wee hours of the morning, but at least her husband would understand. Phil would probably crack some joke about her having an affair, and she'd make some sweet comment like "Just keep being you and that'll never happen," and then he'd make kissy noises into the phone that she wouldn't return because, after all, she was at work, and when she got home they'd stampede for the bedroom.
Well, she supposed she could handle postponing her passionate ecstasy for two or three hours. Trevor's hand _did_ look pretty bad, and if there was any chance of permanent damage it was definitely for the best that they took him to the hospital. But she was still really annoyed that he'd been stupid enough to play around with that ant.
They got Trevor into the elevator then rode it down to the ground floor. Abigail walked ahead of them, turned the corner, then looked back at them and frowned.
"There's no guard."
"Maybe they let him go home early for the holiday," Moni suggested.
"No, there was supposed to be a guard here until ten this evening."
"Then he must be taking a leak," said Jack.
"If he is, he's in big trouble," said Abigail, walking behind the desk.
Moni and Jack led Trevor to the small couch that was by the door and helped him sit down. His eyes were bleary and unfocused, and he was perspiring heavily.
Then Moni noticed the ants.
The pavement outside was filled with them. So many that you probably couldn't take a step without your foot coming down on one. And they all looked approximately the size of the one that had stung Trevor.
"Whoa!" said Jack as he noticed them. "Trevor must be one hell of a dedicated smoker to go out in that!"
"How are we going to get out of here with that many of them outside?" asked Moni. "I mean, they're all..."
She trailed off as she saw a body lying facedown on the grass. She couldn't see the face, but she definitely recognized the Lavin, Inc. guard uniform underneath the swarm of ants.
Abigail came out from behind the guard's desk. Moni had never seen the woman express anything resembling intense emotion, but the way her face tightened was the equivalent of any normal person running around while screaming and flailing their arms in panic.
"I'll call the police," she said.
"I'm ... I'm feeling kinda sick..." Trevor admitted in a slurred voice, bracing himself upright by putting his hands on his knees. "I'd kinda like to go to the doctor now ... if that's all right."
"I'm not sure we can make it to a car," said Jack. "If they brought down the guard, we don't stand a chance if we're out there trying to hold up Trevor."
"It says all circuits are busy," Abigail announced, now with a slight tremor in her voice.
Outside, a woman stumbled into view, twenty or thirty ants crawling on her body. She ran toward the entrance, weaving wildly as she did so, finally slamming face-first into the window.
"Open the door and let her in!" said Abigail.
"No way!" protested Jack. "Those ants will get in!"
"Do it! That's Cindy from marketing!"
The woman began pounding on the door with both hands. Moni pulled the door open and the woman burst inside, tripping and falling to the floor. Ants ran off in all directions as Moni frantically pushed the door shut again.
Jack began to stomp on the ants as they crawled off the woman, while Abigail swiped them off with a manila folder she'd taken from the guard's desk.
"Cindy? Can you hear me?" asked Abigail. There was no response from the woman. "Roll her over," Abigail ordered.
Jack took a couple of seconds to find a spot where he could push the woman without his hands getting stung, then rolled her onto her back, crushing several ants underneath her in the process. Moni stomped nine, ten, eleven ants before she'd killed all of the ones that had gotten in through the open door. She joined Jack in stepping on the others that were crawling off Cindy.
Abigail gently patted the woman's face. "Cindy? Talk to me, Cindy."
Cindy opened her eyes. She gave the faintest hint of a smile and spoke, so softly that she could barely be heard. "Lots ... of bugs ... out there..."
Moni realized that a half-crushed ant was still stinging Cindy's arm, so she squashed its head with the toe of her shoe. The woman was completely covered with red welts like the ones on Trevor's hand.
"Jack, try to call 911 again," said Abigail.
Jack stepped on another ant, then went over to the guard's desk and picked up the phone. "Still no good," he reported a moment later.
"Do you think she'll be okay?" Moni whispered to Abigail.
Abigail shook her head. "She's dead."
"Oh my God!"
Abigail stood up, dabbing at the corner of her right eye with her finger. "Jack, give Mr. Kamerman a call and tell him to come down here, then keep trying to get through to 911. Moni, you stay with Trevor while I check the other entrances."
"All right," said Moni. Then she noticed that there was an ant on Trevor's shoulder, stinging him repeatedly. Trevor was just sitting there, staring ahead, not reacting.
Moni slapped her palm against the ant, and then wiped its remains off on the wall, cringing as if it might still be alive. She did a very quick scan of the room to make sure the ants were gone, then crouched down next to Trevor.
"Trevor? Trev? Talk to me!"
Abigail crouched down next to him as well, then put her hand on his wrist. "There's no pulse."
"Trevor! Snap out of it!" Moni began to shake him. His head lolled forward, revealing another ant clinging to the back of his neck.
Abigail stood up as Moni smashed the insect. "I think he's dead, too."
"No! He can't be dead! He only got stung a few times ... you can't die from that! He's just in a coma or something!"
"He'd have a pulse if he was in a coma."
"Shit!" Moni screamed. "How the hell did all these ants come from nowhere? We're in the city, for God's sake!"
Jack lowered the phone. "Is Trevor really dead? He can't really be dead, can he? I mean, he was just -- "
"I need to check the other entrances," said Abigail, cutting him off. "Maybe the ants aren't as bad around one of the other doors and we'll be able to make a run for it."
Moni shook Trevor again as Abigail stepped around Cindy's body. As much as she wanted to believe that he wasn't really dead, gazing in his eyes left no doubt that the stings had killed him. She lifted his head back up, resting it against the wall, and then closed his eyelids with her fingers.
"I'll go with you," she told Abigail.
The two women walked out of the lobby and into the main hallway. Several ants were crawling on the carpet about twenty feet away, next to an open door, and were quickly joined by several more.
The open door led to the loading dock, where trucks pulled in to deliver the mail, office supplies, inedible cafeteria food, and whatever else. If that sliding door had been left open, those few ants scurrying toward them were unquestionably just the beginning.
*-CHAPTER TWELVE-*
Dustin looked around for something to use as a weapon, but somehow pelting the two psychopaths with Skittles didn't seem like the right approach.
Hack caught his eye and grinned. "You just stay calm and keep out of trouble. I'm not saying we _will_ start executing hostages, but it's definitely something to keep in the back of your mind."
"Are you seriously going to go through with this?" asked Dustin. "You've just murdered somebody in cold blood. The cops are going to take you out, I guarantee it."
"Is that so?" asked Hack. "Then I suppose there's no real reason to keep the three of you alive, is there?" He pressed the gun more tightly against the woman's head, making her wince. "What's your name?"
"Louise."
"Full name, please."
"Louise Youngman." Her breathing was so rapid that she sounded ready to hyperventilate.
"And your son? He is your son, right? You're not just his sugar momma?"
"Yes, he's my son."
"What's his name?"
"Gary."
"Well, Louise Youngman," Hack said, "would you mind so terribly much if I were to shoot Gary?"
Louise began to cry.
"Because your friend over there seems to think that I'm screwed, and if I really am in a no-win situation, I can't see any good reason to keep hostages around. What do you think, Louise Youngman? Am I in a no-win situation, or would live hostages improve my chances of getting out of this unpleasant little pickle?"
"Okay, you've made your point," Dustin said.
"Was I asking you? Are you always this rude?"
"All right, shut up, both of you," said Slash. The phone behind the counter began to ring, and Slash dragged Gary over to it.
"Don't let him step in the cashier's blood," Hack said. "I'm sure Louise paid good money for those shoes."
There had to be a way out of this, but Dustin was damned if he could see one at the moment. Sprinting for the door would do nothing but get him shot in the back, and he couldn't take any real action while the mother and son both had guns pressed to their heads.
The scariest part is that neither Hack nor Slash appeared particularly concerned about the presence of the cops outside. Did they have some sort of foolproof escape plan? That seemed unlikely. The lunatics weren't even wearing facemasks. From what Dustin could see, they didn't much care if they got away with the robbery or not, which probably meant that they didn't much care if anybody else got murdered or not.
It wasn't hard to imagine that the cashier was only the beginning of the body count.
Slash shoved the teenaged boy against the wall and kept the gun pressed against the back of his head, while answering the phone with his free hand. "Seth's Quik-Stop. Lowest beer prices in town. How many I help you?" He lowered the phone after a few moments. "Hey, Hack, it's the police. They seem a bit ruffled about something."
"Uh-oh. I suppose you'd better find out what displeases them so," Hack suggested.
"Yes, I suppose I should." Slash winked, and then spoke into the phone again. "Here's the deal. It's nice and simple, so don't worry about taking notes. We have three hostages, a mother, her son, and some nerd. We will kill them without hesitation, and if you consider this a bluff, you'd better put on a raincoat before chunks of brain start flying through the air. Got it?"
"I didn't give you permission to use my raincoat comment," said Hack.
Slash waved at him to be quiet, and then lowered the phone again. "I think they're going to need proof." He gestured toward Dustin with the phone. "Why don't you drag your dead friend out where they can see him?"
"No."
Slash rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't even pretend you're going to start some kind of power struggle with me. Let me rephrase the request. Drag the bloody, disgusting, gruesome, mangled corpse of the dead kid out from behind the counter, or I'll pull the trigger and then make you drag both bloody, disgusting, mangled bodies out from behind the counter."
"You forgot gruesome," Hack pointed out.
Slash glared at him, and then returned his attention to Dustin. "What do you say, nerd-boy?"
Without a word, Dustin walked behind the counter and knelt down beside the cashier's body. A large pool of blood had formed underneath him, but Dustin was able to simply grab his feet, keeping his hands clean as he dragged the surprisingly heavy body out to where the cops could see it from outside the store.
"See that?" Slash asked into the phone. "Not too pretty, is it? I'm guessing you don't want to see anything else like that, so I'd appreciate it very much if you'd do me a big favor and not mess up my request. We want a truck out front in five minutes. If it's not here in five, the nerd dies. If it's not here in ten, the brat dies. If it's not here in fifteen, his mother starts losing body parts. Got it?"
There were at least six cars and a dozen police officers out front by now, but Dustin noticed that several of them seemed distracted, as if something was going on to the left. What could be more interesting than a hostage situation?
"They've got it," Slash told the others. "Good," he said into the phone. "Five minutes. If there aren't any problems, you can have the nerd. The mother and son will stick with us for a while just to keep you on your best behavior. Talk to you later. Tell the wife and kids I said hi."
He hung up, and then pulled Gary closer to him. "Thank you for not making me shoot you, kid. Your mom should be proud."
"You think they'll try to screw us over?" asked Hack.
"It seems like a pretty strong possibility. But they'll be sorry if they do. I hate to overuse all of the references to shooting people in the head, but if they try anything funny, we'll have to shoot some people in the head."
"Amen to that," said Hack. He glanced outside and frowned. "What's going on out there?"
Making sure to keep Gary in front of him as a shield, Slash leaned over the counter and looked out. "No idea. That's pretty weird."
Three or four of the officers had left their spot outside the convenience store. Maybe there'd been a massive car accident, or a shooting, or something else that overshadowed a pair of lunatics with hostages.
"You think they're trying a sneak attack?" asked Hack.
"Nah. They're all panicked. What's their problem?"
A gunshot rang out from outside. Hack wrapped his arm more tightly around Louise's neck. "This is messed up, Slash. I don't think we're gonna get our car."
More of the officers rushed out of view, leaving only two of them stationed outside of Seth's Quik-Stop. The two cops were clearly trying to keep an eye on the situation inside the convenience store, but kept watching whatever was going on to the side.
"What do you think? Make a run for it?" asked Hack.
"Hell no! Just wait."
"It's creeping me out, man. Cops aren't supposed to act like that."
Suddenly a cop lurched into view, right in front of the door. He was covered with what looked like ants, except that they were far too big. The cop spun around in a circle, frantically trying to get the things off of him, then stumbled out of view again.
"What the shit was that?" Hack demanded.
"I don't know!" Slash shouted. "Shut up!"
Another gunshot went off.
And then Dustin noticed a few of the things crawling along the ground. They looked and moved like ants, but they were far too big. Regular ants were nowhere near as big as...
Just what kind of top-secret research had he been called here for?
"You have to let me go," he insisted. "I told you, I'm an entomologist. My specialty is ants. I need to find out what's going on out there."
"Yeah, right," said Slash. "Stay where you are."
The ant-covered cop stumbled into view again. This time he dropped to the ground, still struggling to get the ants off of him but with substantially less strength.
"It's a fake-out!" said Hack. "They're trying to make us panic and rush out of here."
"Yeah, that's what it is," said Dustin, sarcastically. "Need to take care of a tense hostage situation? Try simulating a fake onslaught of giant killer ants!"
"Shut up!"
More of the ants came into view. Many, many more.
"All right, Slash, this is getting way too bizarre for me," said Hack. "We've gotta do something besides just stand here."
"Well, what exactly do you suggest? You want to run out there and start pulling their legs off?"
"Oh, real funny. I wish I could be that -- "
A pair of gunshots rang out, and the lower half of the door to the convenience store came crashing apart in a shower of glass.
*-CHAPTER THIRTEEN-*
Gunther Clarke wasn't scared of anything. A guy who outweighed him by eighty pounds had once mugged him with a knife, and though the mugger did end up getting away with his wallet, Gunther had been proud of the way he'd remained calm and composed. He'd once fought off a rabid dog with his bare hands, never even breaking a sweat.
Only one thing truly scared him.
Dragonflies.
He couldn't quite figure it out. During a trip to Arizona, he'd picked up a tarantula and let it crawl along his arm, but dragonflies petrified him. Fortunately, he didn't see many of them, and was quite content to keep that little phobia to himself. As far as his friends and family knew, Gunther Clarke wasn't scared of anything.
However, the ants currently crawling all over his windshield were definitely a source of concern. He'd never seen ants that big. He'd once petted what the sign said was the World's Biggest Caterpillar, which probably wasn't, but he'd never seen an ant that was two inches long, let alone dozens of them.
Maybe this was God's way of telling him that parking outside his ex-wife's house in an attempt to catch her with her new boy-toy wasn't such a good idea. Or at least that he shouldn't fall asleep in the car while he was doing it. Either way, while he certainly wasn't scared of them, he figured he should at least find a car wash or something to get rid of these ants.
Margaret's garage door opened, and he forgot about the ants for a moment.
* * * *
"Isn't that your ex-husband's car?" asked Darren Metcalf, placing his hand on Margaret's bare leg.
"Oooh, your hand's cold!"
"Sorry." Darren quickly pulled it away.
"Yeah, that's his car. What a loser. Why don't you stick your tongue in my ear to make him jealous?"
"Seriously?"
"Nah, that would be mean."
"So, does he hang outside your place a lot?"
"Every once in a while, yeah."
"Don't you think you should call the police?"
Margaret shrugged. "He's harmless."
"Are you sure? It seems kind of spooky that he'd be stalking you. Maybe he was peeking through the windows or taking pictures."
"Then he caught a good performance."
"Thank you very much." Darren glanced in the rear-view mirror. "What's that on his car?"
"Dirt."
"No, it looks like bugs."
"I dunno. Is it love bug season?"
"Nope."
"Then I don't know."
"I guess it doesn't ... whoa, look out!"
* * * *
Ian Rush almost fell off his skateboard as the jerks in the car nearly ran him over, but regained his balance and skated back up onto the sidewalk. It wasn't even dark out yet. Drivers really needed to pay more attention.
There was something on the sidewalk up ahead. A dead squirrel, it looked like. Time to test his jumping skills again. His mom would freak if she knew he was doing jumps without his helmet or kneepads, but Ian figured that since he didn't smoke, drink, do drugs, cheat on tests, or knock up the girls at his school, he could at least be rebellious as far as personal safety was concerned.
Hmmmm ... there were a lot of things crawling around on the sidewalk next to the dead squirrel.
Were those ants?
Ian made the leap, but too early. The front wheels of the skateboard landed on the squirrel with a disgusting _splat_ and Ian flew forward, throwing out his arms to break his fall. He slammed into the sidewalk and slid forward a few inches, accidentally biting down hard on the side of his mouth.
He lay on the ground for a few seconds, moaning. He didn't have to look at his hands to know that they were raw and bleeding, and he could taste plenty of blood in his mouth. His birthday was coming up in a couple of months, and now was the time to start pestering his mother about a new, less crappy skateboard.
As bad as his hands hurt, the pain was nothing compared to the sting on his leg.
* * * *
At the end of the block, Ernie Rushton chuckled softly. "That dumb kid," he said. "Did you see that, Dent?"
Dent didn't respond, preferring to vigorously tug on his leash. Ernie could never figure out why the dog didn't choke itself to death.
One half of the dog's face was black, and the other half was a light tan. The two colors were divided almost equally down the front of its face, so Ernie had named it after Harvey Dent, the alter ego of Two-Face in the Batman comics. It was not the brightest dog ever to come into existence, but as long as it didn't eat its own feces in his presence, Ernie wasn't all that picky.
Dent continued to struggle against the leash. Ernie tugged the dog backward. "C'mon, let's go this way," he said. If they didn't take a different street, he'd probably end up having to help that dumb kid. As far as Ernie was concerned, kids who did tricks on skateboards deserved whatever injuries they received as a result.
Why was the kid rolling around like that? Some sort of temper tantrum? It was hard to tell from this distance, but it almost looked like things were crawling on him. Maybe he should go over there and check it out, just in case.
"Dent!" Ernie shouted as the dog's leash popped out of his hand. "Come back here!"
The dog, of course, didn't listen, and took off down the block toward the busy road.
* * * *
Adrienne Webster slammed on her brakes as the dog rushed out into the street. Her new car screeched to a halt just as the dog changed its mind and hurried back onto the sidewalk. A split second later, Adrienne jolted forward as another vehicle hit her from behind.
"Dammit!" she cursed. She was twenty-eight years old, and this was the first new car she'd ever been able to afford. Hadn't even had it for three weeks. It was insured, yeah, but now she had to deal with the frustration of filling out all that paperwork and having to fight with the insurance company and having the mechanic screw things up even more and having to bum a ride off her deadbeat boyfriend until it was fixed.
Well, maybe not. It was probably just a fender bender.
She pulled into the McDonalds parking lot and got out of her car at the same time as the other driver, a cute guy about her age. "What was that all about?" he demanded.
"A dog ran in front of me."
"So then you swerve, you don't brake. Or else run it over."
"Hey, just calm down," Adrienne told him. "It's not a big deal. Look, there isn't even any damage to your car."
"That I can see."
"Here, I'll write down my address." Adrienne dug into her purse, searching for a pencil and notepad. "I'll need yours, too."
"Nah, that's okay. I'm sure you didn't hurt my car."
"Well, you might have hurt mine."
"It looks fine."
"As far as I can see, yeah."
The guy looked at the ground. "Look, I kind of don't have insurance."
"You're not insured?"
"I _was_, but, no, not right now."
"Oh, well, that's just wonderful."
"But your car looks fine."
"Driving without insurance is illegal, you know. You'll probably lose your license."
The guy flashed her what he undoubtedly thought was a charming smile. "How about I take you out to dinner to make up for it?"
"Do you at least have medical insurance for when I punch you out?"
"That's a personal threat. I could sue you but I'm not going to. Now we're even." The smile broadened.
"You're not a tenth as cute as you think you are," Adrienne said.
"That still makes me pretty darn cute, though."
Adrienne started to disagree, but then looked over her shoulder. "Do you hear screaming?"
"What kind of screaming?"
"Shhhh."
They both listened for a moment. Then Adrienne began to scream herself.
* * * *
Neil Hadigan nearly wet himself as the chick started screaming for no reason. She was hot, no doubt about it, but maybe she had mental problems.
She lifted her foot and began batting at it with both hands, and Neil realized what she was screaming about. There was a big red ant on her leg. No, two of them.
"Hold still!" Neil told her, but the crazy chick just kept screaming and hopping around. Near the Wal-Mart entrance, some other people were screaming, too.
The chick finally got the ants off her leg, and quickly got inside her car. Since Neil obviously wasn't going to get a date or get arrested for driving without insurance, he got back into his own car, started the engine, and pulled out onto Dale Mabry after the crazy chick.
As he drove down the road, he noticed a lot of pedestrians moving around like something was attacking them. This was just plain freaky. If there were killer ants invading Tampa, he was driving his butt back to Sarasota, pronto.
As he saw an ant-covered man running toward his car, arms outstretched, Neil pulled into the center lane of traffic.
* * * *
Why wouldn't anybody stop? The ants were stinging him to death, and it took every last reserve of Lance Magin's strength just to stay on his feet, but the cars just kept driving by.
Moments later, his strength gave out, and he toppled forward onto the street.
* * * *
Clarissa Thompson saw the man fall in front of her car, felt the jolt, and even heard the hideous sound as the tires went right over his torso, but she had more important things to worry about, like the huge ant that felt like it was trying to dig its way into her ear.
* * * *
Rose Dobbs slammed on her brakes at the sight of the man getting run over and hurriedly got out of her vehicle to help. The car that'd run him over hadn't stopped, so she stared at the license plate number, trying to burn it into her mind.
The man was beyond saving, but even if he hadn't been, Rose knew she wouldn't be going anywhere near him. Ants were swarming his body. She ran back to her car, rolled up the windows, and locked the doors.
* * * *
"Wow, didja see that?" asked Jeremy Pepin, peering out the back window. "Some guy just got creamed!"
"Did he really?" asked his mother, looking into the rear-view mirror. "What happened?"
"A car ran him over! It was gross!"
"Oh, the poor man. I hope he's all right." Maggie Pepin sighed as the vehicles in front of her came to a halt. "So why are we stopping? What is it with this traffic?"
"Hey, Mom, there are bugs on the ground."
"There are always bugs on the ground, sweetie."
"Not like these."
Maggie started to turn around to humor her son, until she noticed the black mass moving along the sidewalk a couple of blocks up ahead. What could that possibly be? It almost looked like a swarm of insects, but there'd have to be thousands of them.
* * * *
"Henry, turn around!" Trish Valencia said. "There's something coming!"
"I can see it ... what is that?"
"I don't know, but I'm scared!"
* * * *
"Honey, I think I'm going to be late," said Christopher Hult into his cell phone. "There's like this huge swarm of ants coming down Dale Mabry. No, I mean huge. I'm not kidding. No, I'm not at a bar. I'm serious. There must be ... oh shit, some guy on a motorcycle just fell over! No, I'm not kidding! They're swarming him! Damn it, honey, I'm being serious!"
* * * *
As the ants stung him to death, Marcus Murray's only thought was that his ten year-old daughter had been right about motorcycles being dangerous.
* * * *
"Stay in your vehicles!" a police officer shouted through his car's intercom. "Pedestrians, get to shelter! I repeat, stay in your vehicles! Do not open your doors for any reason! I repeat, do not open your doors for any reason!"
He watched the ants take down the woman carrying a sack of groceries and crossed himself.
*-CHAPTER FOURTEEN-*
"Do you think she got away?" asked Roberta.
Dr. Ruiz nodded. "Agnes is fine. She just got scared and left us. I'll have to cut her salary this week." He smiled, but it was forced.
"I can go out there and look for her car," Zachary offered for the second time, his speech somewhat slurred from the Novocain.
"We need to stay here," said Dr. Ruiz. "There are too many of them."
Roberta looked back outside and felt another involuntary shiver. There were at least twice as many of the ants as there were before. The parking lot wasn't exactly a huge red mass with no pavement visible, but Roberta definitely didn't see many places that you could step without your foot coming down on one of them.
Dr. Ruiz sighed. "This is all my fault. We should have left as soon as something was wrong, yes?"
"We had no idea it would get this bad," said Roberta, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Agnes did."
"Really, I can go out and check for her," Zachary offered. "No goddamn bugs are going to keep me cooped up in here."
"No, it's too dangerous," said Dr. Ruiz. "They can't get in here. We wait, yes?"
"Yeah, but how's anybody supposed to find us?"
"I'll try again," said Roberta, walking back over to the receptionist's desk. She picked up the phone, placed the handset to her ear, and then rapidly tapped on the plunger several times. "Oh, great."
"What?"
"I'm not getting the all circuits are busy message anymore. Now the phone isn't working at all."
"Those things must've chewed right through the phone lines," said Zachary, shaking his head in frustration. "You've got a cell phone, right?"
"I don't," said Roberta.
"I bought one for emergency use only," said Dr. Ruiz. "It's in the car."
"Well, that's just wonderful. I looked into gettin' one for myself, but I ain't signin' any long-term contract with those bastards. So what do we do?"
Roberta tapped the plunger a few more times, and then replaced the phone in its cradle. "It's not the Apocalypse. If we just hide out here, I'm sure the authorities will take care of the problem. They're just ants, I'm sure they've got stuff that can kill them."
"It'll probably kill us, too," Zachary muttered. He rubbed his jaw. "I sure wish this numbness would go away."
"Anyway, what I'm saying is that things can't possibly be that bad. If we wait it out, we'll get out of this without any problems."
Zachary considered that. "What you're really saying is that things could be a hell of a lot worse elsewhere, so we'd better stay put so we don't go out of the fryin' pan into the fire, right?"
"You're not the cheeriest person in the world, are you?" asked Roberta.
"Not after a root canal, no. I'll be cheerier when I can feel my face."
"So what do you think is causing this?"
Zachary shrugged. "Could be those x-rays that you guys bombarded me with. You forgot to make tiny protective vests for the ants, and now we've got a shitload of problems."
Roberta chuckled. "I always knew we were doing evil work here. Darn that radiation. And here I thought it was black magic."
"That was my guess," said Dr. Ruiz. "You are a witch, yes?"
"Oh, absolutely. Actually, there aren't even any ants out there; it's all just an elaborate spell I cast over both of you. Sorry about that."
"To be completely serious, I'll tell you what it is," said Zachary. "It's that goddamn malathion we sprayed all over the meadflies. Messed with our ant population. Somebody needs to get canned for that one."
"Or maybe they're from outer space," Roberta suggested.
"No, really, it's the malathion. Who knows what else it did? We've probably got foot-long maggots squirmin' around in our sewers and we just haven't found them yet."
"At least the alligators will have something to eat."
"It's genetics," said Dr. Ruiz. "Research gone bad."
"Yeah, that's another good one," Zachary agreed. "Those scientists were out there tryin' to make square watermelon or straight bananas and they screwed up ant DNA or somethin' like that."
"It seems like you'd have to be working directly with ants to mess up their DNA," said Roberta.
"No, not if they crawled into the watermelon maker or whatever they use. Of course, those government people are so dumb sometimes that maybe they thought we could get some kind of benefit out of really big ants."
"Like what?"
"Maybe they eat meadflies."
"I'm still voting for outer space. I'm sure they'll return to their home planet after they abduct a few rednecks."
"Did you hear that?" asked Dr. Ruiz.
Everybody was silent for a moment. There was a scuffling sound coming from one of the other rooms.
Roberta got up and slowly walked down the hallway, followed by Dr. Ruiz and Zachary. She looked into each room in turn, but they were all empty. At least, as far as she could tell.
The sound was getting louder the further back she walked.
She reached the end of the hallway. There was one door to her right, and it was shut.
"Should we just leave it closed?" she asked.
They stood there and listened.
"Is the sound coming from in there?" wondered Zachary. "I can't tell for sure."
"I say leave it closed," said Dr. Ruiz.
"I'm kind of curious, but yeah, I'm gonna have to agree," said Zachary. "We've got a good thing going here, let's not ruin it by being stupid."
"You're right." Roberta leaned over and put her ear next to the door. "That room doesn't have any windows, though. How could they possibly have gotten in there?"
"Maybe they can chew through walls now," said Zachary.
"Let's go back," said Dr. Ruiz, turning around the walking back toward the waiting room. "I needed to replace some things in there anyway."
"Good idea." Zachary started to follow him, then looked back at Roberta. "Come on. I'm sure we'll find out what's in there soon enough."
Suddenly the ceiling collapsed, showering Roberta with chunks of plaster and over one hundred red ants.
*-CHAPTER FIFTEEN-*
It was almost too much for Moni's mind to process at once. Trevor was dead. Lavin, Inc. was being overrun by ants on the outside, and possibly now on the inside. Maybe the venom of a single ant wasn't fatal, but it sure didn't take much more than that to kill a human being.
They reached the loading dock, which was like a huge garage. The sliding door at the far end was wide open, and ants were streaming inside by the dozens. Moni realized with horror that the only reason they'd taken this long to enter the main part of the building was because they were distracted by two dead bodies, neither of which were recognizable under the mass of ants.
If only there'd been a truck inside...
Abigail cursed loudly. The button to open and close the sliding door was on the far end of the loading dock, and there were so many ants in here now that getting there would be virtually impossible. For a second Moni thought that Abigail was actually going to try it, but instead she pulled the hallway door shut. There was a one-inch gap at the bottom.
"Moni, step on as many of these ants as you can," Abigail ordered. "Jack," she said, as he came running down the hallway. "Give me your shirt."
Skipping the wise-ass comment such a request would normally elicit, Jack pulled off his shirt and handed it over as Moni went to work on the ants. She wished she had a good solid pair of work boots.
Abigail took the shirt and stuffed it underneath the door. "This isn't going to hold them."
"Need my pants?"
"No, we need the front desk. Moni, keep at it."
Moni wasn't big on having orders barked at her, but given the circumstances she could let it slide. She continued trying to stomp the ants as Abigail and Jack hurried back to the employee entrance, but with this many ants scurrying around it was extremely difficult to step on them while at the same time making sure she didn't get stung.
There was a loud crash. Obviously keeping the stuff on top of the desk in good condition was not a primary concern.
Abigail and Jack returned, with the desk on its side, sliding it along the carpet. "Drag it toward the other wall," said Moni, stepping back as they approached. "Then you can let it fall and squash a bunch of them before we block the door."
"That'll work," said Jack, veering the desk toward the left. They reached the door to the loading dock and let the desk topple over, the surface striking the floor and sending a couple of dozen souls to ant hell. The three of them pulled the desk back onto its side then slid it in front of the door.
"Is there a gap?" asked Moni, breathlessly. "Can they get through?"
"Looks pretty tight," said Jack. "I think we're good for now, at least."
"Is Mr. Kamerman on his way?" asked Abigail.
"Yeah. He sounded pissed, but I'm sure he'll get over it when he sees what happened down here."
"We need to head back upstairs, get a good vantage point to see how far out this ant problem stretches. Then we need to find a way to get past them."
"We could try to make a run for one of our cars," said Jack.
"I'm on the third floor of the parking garage," said Abigail. "What about you?"
"Third floor, too."
"I'm on the second floor, but at the far end."
"Well, we know that Mr. Get Here At Nine-Thirty didn't get a good parking spot, either. So it's too dangerous."
"Maybe they aren't in the parking garage," said Jack. "Maybe the only reason they're around the building is because they know we're in here."
"That's giving ants a lot of credit, don't you think?" asked Abigail.
"Ants that big deserve a little credit."
"Either way, let's at least take a couple of minutes and see what we're up against."
The elevator doors opened, and Mr. Kamerman stepped out. "What's the problem?" he asked. "What happened to Trevor?"
"I'll tell you on the way back up," said Abigail, moving past him into the elevator. Moni and Jack followed. Mr. Kamerman put a hand over his mouth as he saw the ants, and hurriedly stepped back into the elevator. Abigail pressed the button for the second floor.
"Trevor's dead," Abigail said. "The ants killed him. They got Cindy from marketing, too, and who knows how many others. And they're all over the outside of the building."
"He's _dead_? Are you kidding me?"
The doors to the second floor opened. "We need to see if anybody else is in the building," said Abigail, stepping out of the elevator.
The four of them called out loudly for about thirty seconds, but there was no response. They returned to the elevator and headed up for the third floor.
Jack looked up at the ceiling. "Do you think they can chew through elevator cables?"
"Jesus, Jack, don't even say something like that," said Moni, looking nervously at the ceiling herself. It probably wasn't out of the question. They should have taken the stairs.
The third floor was equally vacant, or at least nobody responded to their calls.
"Are you positive he's dead?" asked Mr. Kamerman, as they returned to the elevator.
"He's dead, trust me," said Abigail, pressing the fourth floor button. "We wouldn't have left him behind otherwise."
"Oh, that poor boy. Didn't he have children?"
"No."
"Still, this is horrible. What are we going to do?"
The elevator doors opened, much to Moni's relief. "First," said Abigail, "we're going to see how bad the situation really is. Then we'll take it from there."
She swiped her ID card in the reader, and then opened the wooden door. The four of them walked through the doorway, hurrying toward the large window that took up much of the wall on the west side.
"Oh, we are _so_ dead," whispered Jack.
Actually, Moni had been relieved. It was bad out there, no question about it, but if they padded themselves up, found something to keep the ants at bay, and ran like maniacs, they'd be able to make it from the building to the second or third floor of the parking garage. Yes, there were probably tens of thousands of ants out there, but while they were all over the lawn, their numbers didn't seem to be stretching out much further than that. Maybe they _were_ going where the food was.
"Here's a question," said Jack. "Why aren't they crawling on the side of the building?"
"They must be too big," said Abigail. "At least that's something we have in our favor."
As if to prove her wrong, a single ant crawled onto the window from above.
This one was the size of a large rat.
*-CHAPTER SIXTEEN-*
Another gunshot.
Gary Youngman cried out as the bullet tore through his left thigh. Slash released his grip on the teenager and Gary dropped to the floor of the convenience store, clutching his bleeding leg.
Dustin wanted to make a move to escape from these psychos, but it was still too dangerous. At the very least, though, they all had to get away from the ants _and_ the panicked police gunfire.
"We have to go out the back way," he said, as ants rapidly poured in through the broken glass door. "There may be fewer cops there!"
Dustin half-expected to hear some sort of enraged comment about how he wasn't the one in charge here, but Hack immediately turned and dragged Louise toward the back of the store, as she desperately stretched her arms out toward her fallen son. Slash looked at the boy, at the broken door, and at the boy again. "What about the kid?"
"Leave him!" Hack said.
"_No_!" Louise wailed.
Slash pointed his revolver at Dustin. "You're mine, now," he said. "Get moving."
That wasn't something Dustin needed to be forced at gunpoint into doing. He followed Hack and Louise toward the back of the store. Though he felt absolutely sick to his stomach with guilt over leaving the boy wounded and bait for the ants, there wasn't anything he could do with a gun at his back, and he definitely didn't have time to try to convince Hack and Slash that it would be in their best interest to drag along a crippled hostage.
"What about the walk-in cooler?" asked Hack.
"Forget that," said Slash. "I'm not trapping myself anywhere."
Hack opened a door that said "Employees Only," then smacked Louise in the side of the head with the hand holding the gun as she made an attempt to break free and return to her son. "You wanna die with him?" he asked.
"Let me go, you -- " Another smack, this one quite a bit harder, silenced her.
The back area of the convenience store was a complete mess, filled with randomly strewn boxes and a desk that must have contained every piece of paperwork generated by the business for the past ten years. One door was clearly the walk-in cooler, the other said "Restroom" with a smaller sign that read "Please conserve toilet paper," and the third had a red "Exit" sign over it.
"_Yes_!" said Hack. "We're outta here."
Dustin cringed as he heard Gary howl in agony. He tried to make himself believe that it was just pain from the bullet in his leg. He didn't do a very good job.
Hack pushed open the exit door. Dustin briefly wondered why no police officers had come in this way to try to sneak up on the hostage situation, but then figured that you could only open it from the inside.
There were three cops out in the back of the convenience store, one of whom was lying facedown on the ground and covered with ants. Dustin assumed it was a cop, anyway. He couldn't see the police uniform, or lack of one, through the blanket of insects.
One of the cops looked away from the infestation long enough to notice them coming through the back door. "Don't move!" he shouted.
Hack shot him in the chest. Louise slammed her hands over her ears; the gun was fired about three inches from her head.
The other officer was busy wiping ants off his legs, but took a shot at Hack that missed, despite their being less than fifteen feet apart. Slash fired, missing as well. Two more shots were exchanged, with the officer's bullet going completely wild and Slash's bullet pounding into the officer's stomach. The cop doubled over, fell to the ground, and was immediately overtaken by the ants.
There was a police car about twenty feet away from them, the engine still running. The robbers and their hostages moved toward it.
"Please, you don't need me any more," Louise begged. "Let me go back to my son!"
"Shut up!" Hack shouted.
"_Please_!"
"You want a bullet in your mouth?"
Then Louise began to shriek. "_They're on me_!" A couple of ants ran up her leg and under her skirt. Dustin kicked away a few that were getting too close to him.
"Move!" Hack shouted, giving Louise a violent shove. She lost her balance and fell forward, throwing out her hands to break her fall. Several ants were on her in no time.
Hack started to reach for her, but pulled back as the ant swarm thickened. Louise began rolling around, trying in vain to get the ants off her body.
"Just leave her!" Slash said, jabbing Dustin in the back with the barrel of his gun to spur him on. They both ran for the police car.
"We need her for a hostage!" Hack insisted.
"Forget the hostages! We need to get the hell out of here!" Slash threw open the front passenger door of the squad car and poked Dustin with the gun barrel again. "Get in!"
Dustin got in the car, and Slash closely followed him, hurriedly slamming the door shut. Hack made a move as if he were going to kick Louise in the head, but then decided against it and rushed over to the car as well.
Hack got in the driver's side, pulled the door closed, and smashed his open palm against an ant that was crawling up his leg. "Any other ones in here?"
Slash used the heel of his shoe to crush an ant on the toe of his other shoe. "I don't think so."
"Well _look_!"
"Don't yell at me, you ignorant little moron. I'm not the one who shot the cashier and started this whole problem."
"Oh, yeah, that's right, I shot the kid at the register and so these ants were sent to punish humanity for my sins."
"That's not what I meant," snapped Slash. "I meant that if you hadn't shot the kid, we'd have been out of the store before any of this ant crap started!"
"Robbing the store was your idea in the first place!"
"But we weren't supposed to kill anybody!"
"If you hadn't..." Hack trailed off. "We just need to get out of here."
"Well, no shit."
During the fight, Dustin kept watching for one of them to relax their grip on their weapons, but it didn't happen. He looked through the back window at Louise. She was still fighting the ants, but they had her completely covered.
"Listen to me," said Dustin. "There's no reason to keep me around. Do you think anybody is interested in a couple of bank robbers right now? Come on. That woman doesn't deserve to die like that. Let me out of her so I can help her."
"How about ... no?" said Slash.
"You don't need a hostage anymore! Nobody cares. I'm just going to get in your way. Let me go so maybe I can help out!"
Slash shook his head. "Nope. Maybe the cops won't be looking for us for a while, but I'd have to be crazy not to stick with the ant expert. Hell, for all I know you had something to do with this whole mess. Seems like a pretty big coincidence that you just happen to be in town when the ants come out to play."
"That's right," said Hack. "Man, we couldn't have picked a better hostage, could we? So what do you know about all this, Bug Boy?"
"I don't know anything," said Dustin. "But I might know where to find somebody who does. Do you know where Trexler Road is?"
"Yeah."
"Then take me there."
Hack let out a snort of laughter. "What do you think, I'm your chauffeur all of a sudden?"
"We have no idea how far this ant thing has spread," said Dustin. "Even a couple of psychos like you two have _somebody_ in this city you care about, right?"
"No, not really," said Hack.
"And maybe it's not just this city. But I think it's a little unusual that an expert on _Solenopsis Invicta_ shows up in town the same day we have a mass swarm of them, almost ten times their usual size."
"_Sole_-what?"
"Red fire ants. And if you don't take me where I need to go, it won't be long before you find out how they got that name."
Hack and Slash exchanged a look.
"I think we can manage that," Hack said.
*-CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-*
Roberta froze.
There were ants crawling over her entire body. In her hair, on her arms, down the back of her shirt. At least two of them were on her face. She stood there, arms outstretched, not moving a muscle.
"Don't move," said Dr. Ruiz in a whisper. "Nobody make any noise. We'll get them off you, I promise."
Roberta let out an involuntary whimper as an ant crawled across her neck.
Dr. Ruiz began to unbutton his white shirt, revealing a comical yellow undershirt with a smiley face underneath. Keeping his eyes focused on Roberta, Zachary stripped off his own tee shirt. With Dr. Ruiz one step ahead, the two men very cautiously moved toward her.
"Just stay calm," Dr. Ruiz whispered.
Mentally, Roberta was as far from staying calm as she could possibly be. But paralyzing fear did occasionally have its advantages.
Dr. Ruiz carefully began to use his shirt to wipe the ants off of her face, while Zachary went to work on her shoulders.
"It's going to be fine, yes? No problems here."
Several ants fell to the floor, but Roberta could feel them crawling right back up onto her legs. She wanted to let Dr. Ruiz know this, but didn't dare move her lips to speak.
"Very good, very good," whispered Dr. Ruiz. "This will all be over before you know it. Not even as bad as a filling."
Zachary stepped back. "This isn't workin'. We have to kill 'em or they're just gonna keep comin' back."
Dr. Ruiz shook his head. "They'll sting her." He carefully brushed off the ant that was on Roberta's throat.
"Do you have anything we can spray?" Zachary asked. "Somethin' that'll hit them all at once?"
"No, nothing," said Dr. Ruiz. He looked down. "You're right, this isn't working."
The weight of the ants on Roberta's arms suddenly became almost overbearing, as if each one weighed ten pounds. She wanted to whisper for Dr. Ruiz and Zachary to just go, get themselves someplace safe, but she still couldn't force herself to move her lips.
Zachary turned around and hurried back toward the waiting room.
"It will be okay, I promise you, yes?" said Dr. Ruiz, continuing to gently brush off the ants. "I'll get most of them off, then we can make a run for it."
Roberta felt a tight pinch on her back. Was that a sting? She wasn't sure how much pain to expect, but this seemed milder than she would have anticipated.
Dr. Ruiz briefly bent down and wiped some ants off his own legs. Roberta felt something else drop onto her head, and wondered how many more ants were up in the ceiling, waiting to leap down upon her.
Zachary returned to the hallway, holding the can of root beer Agnes had been drinking. When he reached Roberta, he turned the can upside down and splashed the soda all over the floor. Several of the ants that hadn't yet crawled back onto Roberta scurried toward it.
Dr. Ruiz and Zachary went back to work at brushing the ants off Roberta. Her arms felt like they were going to break off, but she did everything she could to keep them up, even after Dr. Ruiz brushed the last one off her wrist. Lowering them would still move the muscles in her back, and possibly cause the ants to sting.
A couple of ants were crawling back onto her legs, but the majority that fell to the floor seemed distracted by the spilled soda. Dr. Ruiz and Zachary continued brushing off the ants for about a minute, pausing two or three times to brush ants off their own bodies, until Roberta was ant-free.
Almost.
"They're still down the back of my shirt," she whispered, finally daring to speak.
Dr. Ruiz frowned. "How many?"
"At least three. Maybe more."
"Okay, I want you to very slowly walk backwards, yes? Very slowly. No rush."
As slowly as she possibly could, Roberta took a long step backwards.
"Don't slip on the root beer," Zachary warned.
"One more step," said Dr. Ruiz. "You're doing good."
Roberta took another long step, tensing as she felt another pinch. She thanked heaven that her shirt was tightly tucked into her pants so they couldn't crawl any lower.
Dr. Ruiz stepped in front of her, and then very gently placed a hand on each of her shoulders. "Are they all on your back?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Close your eyes."
Roberta did so.
A second later she was suddenly pushed against the wall, firmly but not so violently as to break her back.
Dr. Ruiz pulled her forward again. "Did we get them?"
Roberta felt a slimy moistness as the squished bodies of the ants stuck to her. She stood motionless for a moment, waiting for the creepy sensation of an ant crawling along her skin. "Yes, we got them."
"Then let's go."
Dr. Ruiz turned, quickly stepped forward, then yelped in pain as his foot slipped on a small patch of root beer and twisted. Roberta and Zachary each grabbed one of his arms and hurriedly rushed him into the waiting room.
They set Dr. Ruiz into Agnes' chair. "Are you okay?" Roberta asked.
Dr. Ruiz nodded, though his face was contorted with pain. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"What did you do?" asked Zachary. "You think it's broken?"
"No, not broken. Maybe sprained."
Zachary cursed. "We can't stick around here. We could try boardin' up that hole in the ceiling, but they'll just break through some other way. That root beer's not gonna distract them forever."
Roberta looked through the glass door. The swarm of ants was even thicker than before. "He's right. We have to get out of here."
"Can you run?" Zachary asked Dr. Ruiz.
Dr. Ruiz nodded. "I'm fine."
Roberta touched his ankle, and Dr. Ruiz winced loudly. "I don't think so," she said. "I'll go grab the first aid kit."
"I can run," Dr. Ruiz insisted. "We can't stay here with those things."
"I've got a better idea," said Zachary. "I'll run out there, get my jeep, and drive it right up to the door. No sense in all three of us dealin' with those bugs, especially with his foot all messed up."
"Are you sure?" asked Roberta.
"No, not really," Zachary admitted, putting his tee shirt back on. "But you probably deserve a break after bein' covered with them."
Roberta shuddered. "A break would be nice."
"Do you have anything else I can wear?" Zachary asked. "This shirt's kinda thin."
Dr. Ruiz held up his own shirt. "Probably not your size."
"No, probably not. But I can smack 'em away with it." Zachary took the shirt from him. "I don't suppose you've got a really huge tooth drill that I can use as a weapon back there, do you?"
Dr. Ruiz smiled. "Sorry."
"Didn't think so." He dug his keys out of his pocket as he walked over to the door. "Now, I'm not bein' a martyr for you two. If you see me get into more trouble than I can handle, you get your butts out here and keep me from sacrificin' myself, got it?"
"Got it," said Roberta.
"And don't keep me waitin' when I get back." Zachary grabbed the door handle, took a moment to prepare himself, and then threw the door open and rushed outside.
* * * *
There had to be thousands of them out here. Zachary ran as fast as he could, crunching the little suckers under his foot with each step. If he just kept moving, they wouldn't have time to get on him, so the only real trick was going to be getting into the jeep.
The government had a lot to answer for on this one. But at least he'd probably be getting a free root canal out of it, which would be nice, considering how little his crappy dental insurance plan covered.
He turned toward the sound of a gunshot from the street. Was somebody actually _shooting_ at the ants? Great. One down, a few million to go. What an idiot.
He sped across the parking lot, nearly tripping as his foot came down upon an uneven rock, but maintaining his balance and making it to the grocery store parking lot and his twelve year-old silver four-door jeep. 237,000 miles and still going strong, mostly because he'd never taken it to some crooked auto repair shop.
Another gunshot from the street. Maybe somebody wasn't able to cope with the idea of being stung to death and took the easy way out.
There were ants all over the door handle. He wiped them off with Dr. Ruiz's shirt, while stomping on the ants that were close to his feet. But there were just too many of them out here. With each sweep of the shirt, more ants immediately appeared to replace those that fell to the ground.
Zachary touched the key to the lock, and then flinched as an ant scurried over the back of his hand.
The keys fell.
Zachary caught them in his other hand.
Then he noticed two men running across the grocery store parking lot towards him. Both of them were bleeding, one from the shoulder, one from the arm. The one with the bleeding shoulder also had a bloody nose.
Had they been shot?
Either way, Zachary quickly returned his attention to unlocking the car door. These guys looked like bad news.
*-CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-*
Moni, Abigail, Jack, and Mr. Kamerman backed away from the window as the rat-sized ant crawled down the length of the glass and disappeared from sight.
Jack collapsed into a chair. "Whoa."
"Let's not panic," said Abigail. "It's just one ant. We don't know that there are more of them that size out there."
"You're right," Jack agreed. "Let's focus on the thousands of not quite so abnormally large ants waiting outside to kill us."
"I vote we get out of here," said Moni. "Make a run for the parking garage. I have to get back to my husband and find out if he's okay."
"That sounds good to me," said Jack.
Abigail shook her head. "There are too many of them out there. We're much better off here. It's not like the ants downstairs are going to make it up to the fourth floor."
"How can you be sure?" asked Jack.
"Because, Jack, I'm guessing they can't chew through the doors to the stairways or operate an elevator."
"You don't have to get sarcastic," Jack said. "How do we know the entire top of the building isn't crawling with millions of ants like the one on the window? Christ, maybe they can chew through the glass!"
"Ants can't chew through glass," said Abigail.
"Why do you insist on applying the standard rules of ant logic to these things? No, ants don't chew through glass, but they also typically aren't the size of a small dog!"
"It wasn't the size of a small dog."
"You know what I mean."
Mr. Kamerman cleared his throat. "Listen, I appreciate your suggestions, but let's not forget that I'm still the boss here. And I say we go with Abigail's suggestion."
"And just wait for more of those things?" asked Moni.
"There are already more of them than we can handle," said Abigail. "Going outside is suicide. The guard didn't make it out there and neither did Cindy. Why should we be any different?"
"Because we'd be prepared," Moni said.
"How many stings did it take to kill Trevor?" Abigail asked. "One. Just one sting. Do you honestly think you can make it outside and through the parking garage without getting stung even once?"
"It wasn't just one sting," Moni said. "Some ants got on him while we were taking care of Cindy."
"All right, fine. So it wasn't one sting that killed him. It was, however, one sting that left him barely conscious. And when we've got thousands of those things coming at us and we're doing everything we can to keep from being swarmed, being barely conscious is pretty much the same as being dead, don't you agree?"
Moni sighed. "I just don't like the idea of being trapped in here."
"Neither do I," said Abigail. "And I'm not saying that running for the parking garage is out of the question. We're not eliminating any options at this point, and we'll definitely start making preparations to protect ourselves if we _do_ have to run outside. What I'm saying is that at this point, we're safe enough where we are that it's not worth taking the risk of going outside."
"But it's going to keep getting worse."
"Maybe. But there's also a chance that help might arrive. And right now I'd rather hold out on the chance that we'll finally get through to somebody who can rescue us than try to get four people up to the third floor of the parking garage without any of them receiving a single sting. It can't be done."
"You're absolutely right," said Mr. Kamerman. "And again, we don't have a democracy here. So everybody stays."
"With all due respect, sir," said Jack, "I don't think that being head of the Corporate Accounting department means shit right now. If we want to leave, we're going to leave."
"Then leave. More power to you."
"No, we shouldn't split up," said Abigail. "Listen, we don't have to make a decision right this second. At the very least, we know we can't run outside the way we are. We need to gather up jackets, sweaters, anything to protect us from their stingers. And we need duct tape to put around our sleeves, pant legs, and collars to keep those things from getting inside our clothes. And then we need to find anything that we can use to fight them off. We can't go outside until that's done anyway, so we might as well hold off on the decision until then."
"I can live with that," said Jack.
Moni nodded her agreement.
"Good. Moni, you start looking for jackets or anything we can use to cover ourselves. Jack, gather up anything we can use as repellent. Winston, find us some duct tape."
Mr. Kamerman opened his mouth as if to protest being given orders, but then nodded instead.
"Nobody leave this floor," said Abigail. "And watch yourselves."
The four of them went off in opposite directions. Under other circumstances Moni was sure that Jack would have shouted "Break!" as if they were exiting a sports team huddle, but their extreme peril seemed to have dulled his smart-ass nature.
She walked up and down the rows of cubicles, glancing in each one as she passed. Not a lot of people in Florida wore jackets or sweaters in July, but some of her co-workers had a tendency to leave jackets draped over their chairs in case of rain. By the time she checked the last cubicle, she'd gathered up three of them. None of them were particularly heavy, but any extra layers they had shielding them from the stings of those ants could only help.
Jack was shaking his head in frustration and looking out the window as she returned to the Corporate Accounting area. "There's not much here. I guess Lavin devoted so much attention to hurricane safety that they forgot to cover for onslaughts of ants." He held four yardsticks. "These aren't going to do much if the small ants swarm you, but if any of those bigger ones get in our way we can use them for golf balls." He mimed swinging the yardstick like a golf club.
"I couldn't find any duct tape," said Mr. Kamerman, coming around the corner with two rolls of masking tape. "This'll have to do." He tossed one of the rolls to Moni, who handed out the jackets.
"I'm glad I didn't wear a pair of my good pants today," Moni remarked, putting on the light pink jacket.
"I did," said Jack. "Lavin is gonna reimburse us for the cost of our clothes, right?"
"Actually, the cost of the tape is probably coming out of our salary," said Moni.
"I wouldn't be surprised."
Moni unspooled a few inches of tape, and then wrapped it tightly around her sleeve and the bare skin next to it. That was going to hurt coming off, but not as badly as getting stung. She taped the other sleeve and then began wrapping tape around her legs to better protect against ant stings as Abigail walked into the area, holding a crossbow.
"Where did you get _that_?" asked Jack.
"Tom Drevin keeps it in his office, hidden under the whiskey bottle in the bottom drawer of his desk."
"That is _sweet_! How'd you know it was there?"
"I'm an administrative assistant. I know everything."
"Very nice," said Moni. "Do you have a couple hundred thousand arrows for it?"
Abigail counted the arrows in her hand. "I've got about ten."
"So that takes care of about .005 percent of our problem."
"How did you calculate that so fast?" asked Jack.
"It's not supposed to get all of the ants out of our way," Abigail explained. "But if any of those big ones come at us, it might be useful."
"Just like my golf clubs," said Jack.
"A crossbow is all well and good, but you don't know how to shoot it, do you?" asked Mr. Kamerman.
"Would you like a demonstration?"
"Sure," said Jack. "Moni, put an apple on your head."
Moni realized that she'd been premature in her assessment regarding Jack's smart-ass status. "I don't think we should be carrying around a crossbow if nobody knows how to use it. The last thing we need is for somebody to get an arrow in the back."
Abigail lifted the crossbow and pointed it at Moni. "Step out of the way."
Moni did so. Quickly.
Abigail pulled the trigger. The arrow flew over the cubicle wall, across the room, and struck a black-and-white inspirational photograph of CEO and founder Dominick Lavin right between the eyes.
Moni nodded her approval. "I stand corrected. The crossbow could very well be an asset."
Then she caught a glimpse of movement, and before she could call out a warning another rat-sized ant had leapt off the cubicle wall and latched onto Abigail's face.
Abigail dropped the crossbow and staggered backwards, shrieking as she tried to pry the ant away from her face. Before anybody else could react, it had already curled up its body and slammed the stinger into the underside of Abigail's chin.
Moni, Jack, and Mr. Kamerman all simultaneously rushed forward to help her.
Abigail slammed into the window. The glass shattered behind her.
Moni dove at her, trying to grasp Abigail's hand in time.
She missed, and watched in what seemed like horrific slow motion as Abigail plummeted four stories, still grappling with the giant ant until the moment she struck the ground.
By the time Jack and Mr. Kamerman reached the window, ants were already starting to swarm her body.
*-CHAPTER NINETEEN-*
"Again, we don't have any new information," said the newscaster over the radio. "But for those of you just joining us, the confirmed situation is that, yes, there has been a massive infestation of the city by fire ants, some up to three inches long. We have not been able to verify which areas of the city are affected, but they seem to cover a radius of up to a mile in at least twenty separate locations in the city. Right now we can tell you that the Citrus Park area is heavily affected, as is the University of Florida campus, Dale Mabry at Kennedy, and Hillsborough at Hanley. City officials have not yet spoken to the press, and it is unclear at this point whether they will use pesticides or attempt some other form of insect control. We'll bring more updates as new information becomes available."
"Goddamn traffic," Hack muttered.
It wasn't exactly a traffic jam, but progress was ridiculously slow. Dustin figured they'd been in the car for about ten minutes, moving south on Kennedy, and they were less than two blocks from the convenience store. They'd tried using the police car's lights and siren, but traffic was so congested that other drivers couldn't move out of the way even if they wanted to.
"What do you expect?" asked Slash.
"I'm not saying I don't expect the traffic to suck, I'm just complaining about it, you prick."
"Well quit complaining. Nobody wants to listen to you complain. When you end up with ants all over your body like that lady you shoved to the ground, then you can complain."
"I didn't mean for her to fall! It's not my fault the bitch can't run. What, am I supposed to give all potential hostages a motor skills test from now on?"
"We wouldn't have needed hostages if you hadn't shot the cashier."
Hack pounded his fist against the dashboard. "I'm getting really sick of you harping on the cashier."
"Well that's just too bad. Why did you shoot the cashier? Tell me, what idiotic, brain-dead, mentally deficient, dipshit thoughts were going through your mind when you shot the kid? Because I want to know. I'm curious. Share your brilliant motivations and then I'll let the subject drop. How about that?"
"You're pissing me off. I'm warning you."
"I'll put a reminder in my daytime planner to tremble."
Dustin closed his eyes and tried to shield his brain from the unbearable conversation. He would never have believed that when put into a situation with millions of oversized red imported fire ants infesting a major U.S. city, he'd be expending most of his mental energy just hoping that two humans would shut up.
"I need to concentrate," said Dustin. "Would it be too much to ask for you to argue in a softer tone of voice?"
Slash smacked him on the side of the head. "Don't forget who has the gun here. Just because we've got ants all around us doesn't mean I won't shoot you."
"What do you need to concentrate about anyway?" asked Hack. "Gonna cook up some master plan to make them all go away?"
"Maybe," Dustin said. "But there's no way we'll ever find out if you two don't stop your bickering."
"So tell me, Bug Boy," said Slash, flicking the barrel of his revolver against Dustin's shoulder. "What clever little scheme have you got to get rid of these things?"
"I don't have one," Dustin admitted. "There are chemicals we can spray, but I don't know how effective they'll be against ants this size. What we need to do is get to the source of the problem and figure things out from there."
"That's what we're trying to do," said Hack, honking the horn. "That's why I was complaining about the traffic."
"You guys could just let me out," Dustin suggested. "There's no reason to involve yourselves in this."
"I suspect that maybe we're just a wee bit involved already," said Hack.
"Still, without me you can just drive out of town. Never look back."
"We can do that anyway."
"Fine, then," said Dustin. "Whatever. Just drive."
"How many of those things do you think are out there?" asked Slash.
Dustin shrugged. "If we can believe the radio, we've got, what, twenty square miles affected in various parts of the city? About twenty-seven million square feet in a mile, that gives us..." he did some mental calculations, "...about five hundred and forty million square feet affected. But the ants seem to be somewhat grouped together, so there's no real way to determine how many ants there are on average per square foot."
"So basically, you don't know squat," said Hack.
"As far as making an estimate of how many ants are out there, no, I can't say for sure. But a polygyne colony has about five hundred thousand workers on average, so if we're talking about twenty separate colonies, we could be dealing with about ten million of them. But they couldn't be this thick over a square mile if there are only five hundred thousand of them. So either the news is wrong or we're dealing with multiple colonies."
"Polygyne?" asked Hack. "Is that like my messed-up sister and her two live-in boyfriends?"
"It's a colony with multiple queens, so, yes, the basic principle is similar to that of your messed-up sister."
"You never told me that about your sister," said Slash.
"It's not something I go blabbing around."
"You just did!"
Dustin was starting to think that it might be worth it to just open the car door and let the ants inside. After a few minutes of screaming and dying, he'd get some peace.
Then he noticed that there _was_ an ant inside the vehicle. It was on the floor mat behind Hack's right foot, barely moving but still alive.
"Don't shoot me," Dustin requested. "I'm about to save your life."
He leaned down and carefully picked up the ant by the thorax, pinching its stinger between his index finger and thumb. Its abdomen had been partially crushed, probably by Hack's foot, and it made a weak effort to dig its mandibles into his hand.
Definitely _Solenopsis invicta_. The size was wrong, but the body proportions and color were right.
"That thing is major-league freaky," said Hack. "Who would want to grow bugs that big?"
"It's beautiful," Dustin whispered.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Absolutely not. This insect is a work of art." Hack and Slash were staring at him as if he'd completely lost his mind. "You'd probably have to be an entomologist to appreciate the perfection that I'm holding in my hand, but trust me, this is one of the most astonishing sights you will ever behold in your life."
"You can't be serious," said Hack, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"I'm dead serious," said Dustin. "Here, look for yourself," he offered, flicking the insect into Hack's face.
As Hack cried out in shock and batted the insect away, Dustin twisted in his seat and punched Slash in the face as hard as he could. Slash's head rocketed back and struck the passenger window as a gout of blood sprayed from his nostrils.
Dustin grabbed Slash's gun, then twisted back around to face Hack. But Hack already had his own gun ready and pointed at Dustin's forehead. Without a word, Hack pulled the trigger.
* * * *
Slash quickly ducked down as he saw that stupid idiot point the gun at Bug Boy's face. At this range, the bullet could very well burst through Bug Boy's head and get him as well.
But there was only a click as Hack pulled the trigger. The incompetent moron hadn't even bothered to check how many bullets he had left.
Flecks of blood hit the windshield as a real gunshot went off.
Hack screamed as Dustin followed the bullet to his upper left arm with a vicious punch to the same area. Dustin twisted around yet again and pointed the gun at Slash, who was starting to reach into his pocket.
"Open the door and get the hell out," Dustin ordered.
"In your dreams, Bug Boy!"
Dustin squeezed the trigger again, and a bullet pounded into Slash's shoulder. "I said get out!" He spun around and smashed the gun barrel against Hack's bullet wound. "You too! In two seconds the next shot goes through your brain!"
This was not good. Going outside with all those ants was almost certain death, but there was no reason for Bug Boy not to make good on his threat. Between "certain death" and "almost certain death," Slash knew what to pick. He opened the passenger door.
"We'll get you," he said, pressing his hand tightly to his bleeding shoulder. "You are incredibly, amazingly dead."
"Get out _now_!" Dustin screamed.
Slash got out of the car. Hack opened the driver's side door and did the same.
* * * *
It took every ounce of Dustin's self-control to keep the gun from flopping around in his hands like a fish. He'd intended for both bullets to be fatal. The thought of murdering another human being sickened him, but he had to get away from these lunatics, and without knowing how many bullets were in the gun, he knew he had to go for the kill.
As Hack and Slash exited the car on their respective sides, Dustin knew that he should shoot again, put them out of commission for good. What if they went after somebody else? But if he pulled the trigger and found that he was out of bullets, they'd come right back after him.
If nobody was stupid enough to open their car doors and let them in, maybe the ants would take care of the problem.
Dustin leaned forward, grabbed the driver's side door handle, and pulled it shut. Then he did the same with the passenger door, keeping the gun pointed at Slash.
The lunatics stood there for a moment, as if trying to figure out some way to get the gun away from him, but then took off running. Dustin watched in the rear-view mirror as they ran for the parking lot of a grocery store, hoping for one of them to fall to the ground and be overrun by ants, but both of them managed to stay on their feet.
Nothing he could do about it now.
But he also couldn't stay in the car. If he was going to get to his destination, he needed faster travel than just sitting here in barely-moving traffic. He didn't much like the idea of going outside with the ants, but it couldn't be avoided. Well, it _could_ be avoided ... he could always just stay here where it was safe and let other people handle the situation, but that wasn't really an option, was it?
He flipped open the cylinder of the revolver.
Empty.
He pocketed the gun anyway, then opened the door, got out of the car, and ran in the opposite direction that Hack and Slash had gone.
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-*
Zachary threw open the car door as the two men approached him. They were both in black leather jackets, neither of them looked like they'd shaved in a couple of days, and they were probably on drugs. Punks.
"Hold the door for us!" shouted one of them, the skinny one, waving his non-bleeding arm in the air as they ran toward the car.
Zachary got in the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, but reached back and unlocked the door to the back seat. He sure as hell wasn't going to stand there with the door open with all those ants outside. He did a quick check around the car to see if any had gotten in, and smashed the three that had.
The red-haired punk with the bleeding shoulder opened the back door and slid in, followed by the man with the bleeding arm and nose. They shut the door behind them, and then just sat there for a moment, breathing heavily.
"Thanks, man," said the one with the injured shoulder, holding his hand tightly against his nose. "Those things are everywhere."
"No kiddin'," said Zachary, starting the engine. "I'm gonna be pickin' up two other people, then we'll get out of here."
"Sounds good to me," said the skinny one with the hurt arm.
"How'd you get shot?" Zachary asked, putting the car into reverse and backing out of his parking spot, hoping he was crushing a shitload of ants in the process.
"Some guy went insane. Started shooting at the ants, if you can believe that. Son of a bitch hit both of us."
"What about your nose?" Zachary asked the other one.
"I tripped while I was running."
For some reason Zachary wasn't convinced by this explanation, but he shrugged it off. He had more important things to worry about than a couple of injured punks. "The people we're pickin' up are a dentist and a dental assistant. It probably would've been better if you got shot in the teeth, but I'm sure they can do somethin' for you."
"Thanks. We appreciate it."
Zachary drove into the parking lot of the strip mall, and pulled up next to the door to Dr. Ruiz's office. Roberta and Dr. Ruiz were standing right there.
"Get ready to open your door," Zachary said to the punks in the backseat. Then he gave the thumbs-up sign to Roberta.
* * * *
"Are you ready?" Roberta asked.
"If my leg was chopped off, maybe there'd be a problem," said Dr. Ruiz. "A little bump I can handle, yes?"
They rushed outside as Zachary leaned over and opened the passenger door and one of the guys he'd picked up opened the back door. She quickly slid in the back seat as Dr. Ruiz took the front, and they pulled the doors shut simultaneously.
"Ant count?" asked Zachary.
"None up here," Dr. Ruiz reported.
"None back here either," said Roberta. She looked at the two men seated next to her. "My God, you're really bleeding," she said, opening the first aid kit. "Are those gunshot wounds?"
The red-haired man with the bloody nose nodded. "It's been a lousy day."
"I don't know how much I can do for you," said Roberta, taking out a roll of gauze. "I can patch you guys up, at least, until we can get you some real medical help."
"Thanks. I'm Dave, by the way. My friend here is Stanley."
"But you can call me Hack."
"Is that short for Hacker?" asked Zachary, driving away from the strip mall.
"Yeah, he's one of those computer geeks," said Dave. "Hey, traffic is barely moving, so I wouldn't drive onto the street, not that you'll be able to get in anyway. I don't know how bad the side streets are, but you're going to want to get out of this mess or we could be stuck all night."
"Thanks," said Zachary. "How bad _are_ things out there?"
"A lot of ants. You probably should have stayed inside."
"They got in."
Roberta handed Dave a wad of the gauze. "Here, tilt your head back and hold this against it. It doesn't look broken."
"Doesn't feel broken. Just hurts." Dave took the gauze from her and did as instructed. "So you're a dentist, huh?"
"Dental assistant," Roberta corrected. She pointed at Dr. Ruiz in the front. "He's the dentist."
"I'm the guy who doesn't take good care of his teeth," said Zachary.
"Dentist, huh?" asked Hack. "So are you a nice dentist or a sadistic one?"
"A nice dentist," said Dr. Ruiz. "Unless it's a full moon."
Hack chuckled. "Funny. I haven't been to a dentist in a few years. Maybe if the ants don't kill me I'll throw a little business your way. Did you bring any laughing gas?"
"Left it in my other suit," Dr. Ruiz told him.
Zachary was next to the main highway, driving parallel to it through the grocery store parking lot, as were a couple of other cars. "I guess we need a destination," he said.
"Hospital," said Roberta.
"The closest one is St. Joseph's," said Zachary. "But we're not gonna make it there through this traffic."
"We don't need a hospital," Dave assured him. "As long as you don't mind a little blood in your jeep, we'll be okay. We just need to get out of town as quickly as possible."
"You've both been shot!" Roberta protested.
"Yeah, but we'd bleed to death just sitting in the emergency room, if we could even make it there. I'm guessing we've got a lot of ant sting victims crowding the place. We'll be fine."
"You will _not_ be fine. You've been shot."
"You've already made that point. No hospitals, okay?" Dave apparently realized how much he'd raised his voice and cleared his throat. "There's no reason to put the rest of you in danger. Let's just get out of town."
"Well, apparently the ants haven't infested the entire city, so we may be fine once we get out of this area," said Roberta.
"Haven't infested the entire city _yet_," said Zachary. "Everyone hold on, I'm goin' over a curb."
There was a heavy jolt. Though she wasn't about to criticize their rescue vehicle, Roberta noted that Zachary really needed a better set of shocks.
"Well, how many ants can there possibly be?" she asked.
"I dunno. An hour ago my answer would have been 'not enough to fill up an entire parkin' lot,' so I'm tryin' not to rule anything out."
"Okay, you've got a point," Roberta admitted. "Let's just get out of Tampa. Maybe head east. I'm sure Disney World has a state-of-the-art ant defense system."
Hack chuckled again and gently patted Roberta's leg. "Don't worry. We won't let anything bad happen to you."
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE-*
Moni knew that she should be doing something, anything, but the most she could do was stand there in shock, gaping at Abigail's no-longer-visible body. Trevor and Abigail. Two people she saw every weekday, dead.
Abigail had a husband and two children.
Were they still alive?
The three of them just stood there, unable to speak or react, until the silence was broken by the fire alarm.
"What the hell...?" Jack glanced over his shoulder. "Did we miss somebody else in the building?"
"Why didn't we think of that?" Moni wondered aloud, raising her voice to be heard over the alarm. "Even if we can't get through with the telephone, the fire alarm will bring help, right?"
"What if the entire fire department is out on ant patrol?" asked Jack.
"They've got to be out helping _someone_. Might as well be us."
One of the rat-sized ants crawled onto a remaining shard of the broken window from below. Moni took a step back, and then noticed another ant crawling over the same filing cabinet that the one responsible for Abigail's death had come from.
"We are _so_ dead," said Jack.
Moni shook her head. "No way. Our plan doesn't change. We get out of here."
"We need to find someplace in the building to hide," said Mr. Kamerman. "A broom closet or something."
"We're not staying here," Jack told him, as they all moved away from the window.
"I'm still the boss," Mr. Kamerman insisted.
Jack shrugged. "Like I said, that doesn't mean -- "
"Stop arguing," said Moni. "It's like _Night of the Living Dead_, where that idiot kept telling them they needed to lock themselves down in the cellar."
"He was right, though," Mr. Kamerman pointed out. "And in the end the hero had to lock himself in the cellar to make it through the night."
"Fine, whatever. Let's argue about it somewhere that doesn't have ants crawling in through the window. We need to get down to the second floor, at least."
The three of them hurried down the aisle toward the exit door. Moni swiped her card, but the display light stayed red. She swiped it again with the same result. "Oh, crap."
"Here, let me try," said Jack, swiping his own card. Nothing happened. "Wow, and everything else was going so nicely this evening."
Mr. Kamerman half-heartedly swiped his own card, which didn't work either. "I can't believe this."
"Ants are attracted to electrical wires," said Moni. "If there really is a fire that's probably what started it. They must've shorted out the electronic reader system, too."
"Nice," Jack remarked. "So we're trapped in the top floor of a burning building with Godzilla ants coming in after us. Mr. Kamerman, if I'm not already fired for telling you that being head of the Corporate Accounting department doesn't mean shit, I quit."
"Resignation accepted."
"We need to quit joking around and figure out a way to get out of here," said Moni, tugging on the door on the off chance that it might not really be locked. It was, of course.
"Joking around is my defense mechanism," said Jack. "You either get jokes or you get me screaming at the top of my lungs like a girl. Pick one."
Moni ignored his comment. "We have an emergency exit, don't we? We have to have one. They wouldn't be allowed to close in this area without putting in an emergency exit, would they?"
"There's no other way out," said Mr. Kamerman. "We need to find a closet or a secure office and hide out. We'll be safe."
"We _won't_ be safe," said Moni. "The building could be on fire."
"And the fire department should be on its way."
"You really think the fire department is going to take the time to search every floor? We're not the only group of people in peril here. They'll be sending in emergency vehicles from everywhere they can, sure, but who knows where we'll rank on their list? We need to get out of this place, and every second we spend arguing about this gives more of those ants a chance to get in."
"And how on earth do you plan to get out of here?" Mr. Kamerman demanded.
"The window."
"Oh, you are completely insane! Do whatever you want. I'm finding a place to hide. Best of luck to you." Mr. Kamerman turned and stormed off.
"The window?" asked Jack. "You can't be serious."
"I'm very serious. I think there's an extension cord on the desk where that temp was working last week." Moni headed back in the direction of the window Abigail had broken through.
"Maybe he's right," Jack suggested. "Maybe we should just hide out."
"What if the fire's on the floor underneath us?" Moni asked. "What if there are a million ants pouring into the building? We can't just hide out; we've got to empower ourselves. Nothing is going to stop me from getting back to my husband, and let me tell you something, if I'm going to die anywhere, it's _not_ going to be at work."
"Amen," said Jack.
They reached the broken window. There was no sign of the other two ants, and a quick glimpse outside didn't show any more of the large ants crawling on the side of the building.
It did, however, show some white smoke billowing from a first-floor window.
"Kick out the rest of the glass while I grab the cord," said Moni.
As Jack went to work, Moni ran past the next two aisles until she reached the shoddy workstation where they'd put the unfortunate temporary employee. The orange extension cord was wound in a nice neat circle, so she wouldn't have to contend with any knots, but as Moni picked it up she realized that it wasn't going to be nearly long enough.
She returned to the window just as Jack finished kicking out the entire frame of glass. "Is that going to get us to the ground?" he asked, eyeing the wound cord.
"No. We'll have to grab more cords and tie them together. Were you ever a Boy Scout?"
"For a couple weeks. I was dishonorably discharged. But we won't be able to get extension cords tied into a good enough knot to hold our weight, will we?"
"I'm not sure," Moni admitted. "It would've been nice if Winnie had been able to find some duct tape."
"Maybe I should look. He's not exactly the most perceptive person in the world."
"We'll split up and look for two minutes," said Moni. "If we haven't found anything by then, we'll come back and start tying these cords together. We've wasted too much time already."
Jack walked around the corner of the aisle, but wasn't gone for more than ten seconds before he called out to Moni. "Come here! Quick!"
She hurried down the aisle to where Jack stood, and then saw what he was looking at. Mr. Kamerman was standing against the far wall, frozen, with one of the rat-sized ants on his shoulder.
"Did it sting you?" Moni asked.
Mr. Kamerman gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
"Well, brush it off!" Jack said.
Moni stepped forward, but Mr. Kamerman's eyes widened and he spoke in a soft but forceful voice. "Stay back!"
"What do we do?" asked Jack.
The ant crawled onto Mr. Kamerman's face.
Moni thought for a moment. "Wait here. I'll go get the crossbow."
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO-*
Dustin ran down the center of the highway. Since so many ants had been crushed under tires, he wasn't in nearly as much danger of being stung as he had been behind Seth's Quik-Stop. If they could get a few steamrollers out here, they might be in pretty good shape.
"Hey!" a voice behind him called out, though he could barely hear her over the ruckus the stopped cars were making with their horns. Dustin turned and saw a middle-aged woman in her rusty Volkswagen, the window rolled down a fraction of an inch. "Need a ride?"
An ant scurried over Dustin's foot. "No thanks!" he said, continuing his run. Locking himself in a car would keep him alive, probably, but it wouldn't take care of the ant problem. Of course, there was no guarantee that he'd be able to do anything even if he made it to the address on the note, but he at least had to try.
He ran alongside a semi truck and then saw the reason for the traffic standstill. There had been a six-car accident in the middle of the intersection. A body dangled out of the open door of one of the vehicles, ants crawling over every square inch of flesh, and a second driver lay slumped against the steering wheel, a splatter of blood on the inside of the cracked but not broken windshield. The other two cars were abandoned.
There were a hell of a lot of ants in the intersection.
Dustin hesitated. He'd have to find another way around. Running across that intersection wasn't certain death, but it looked pretty damn dangerous. He'd just have to take a detour down one of the side streets. If he could get a car, he could just circle around the block and that would put him ahead of the accident, and then he could --
He heard a baby cry.
The sound was coming from the intersection. Dustin couldn't be certain, but the car with the driver slumped against the steering wheel looked like it _might_ have a child safety seat in the backseat.
Dustin knew that running over there to save it was a bad idea. Somebody else would eventually get the baby out of there, right? There were children in danger all over the city. Risking his life to save this one baby could cost the lives of countless others.
A bad idea.
Unfortunately, while Dustin was far from the most courageous person he knew, he just wasn't the kind of guy who could leave a crying baby alone in a car to be devoured by ants. Call it a personality quirk.
He ran toward the car, reminding himself out loud that it was a really bad idea.
He took long strides, trying to keep his feet in the air as much as possible. The less time he spent touching the ground, the fewer opportunities there were for ants to get on him. This would've been the perfect time to be Michael Jordan.
Instead of running to the door, Dustin leapt up onto the rear of the vehicle. There were ants up there, but not as many as there were on the pavement. Maybe climbing was difficult for them. Though it would only take a few seconds to get the door open, that was a few seconds too long to be standing still. He could see through the rear windshield that there was in fact a real live baby in the backseat.
He did an impressive kick that sent an ant flying off the trunk of this car and onto the trunk of the car next to it. Then he crawled up onto the top of the car, reached down, and opened the back door on the driver's side, which was the opposite side from where the baby sat.
Without hesitation he leapt off the vehicle, ducked his head down, and leapt into the backseat. He slammed the door shut.
Not a single ant had gotten inside. Not bad for somebody who'd never gotten higher than a "C" in physical education.
Of course, he still had to get _out_ of the car.
He made various soothing noises at the crying baby, not that he really expected any of them to work. His only real experience with babies was cursing the people who brought screaming ones to movies, but he didn't have to be a good surrogate daddy here, he just had to get this one out of the car safely.
As he unfastened the seatbelt, he saw that the driver of the semi was frantically batting at something in his vehicle.
Not good.
Dustin took the baby out of the seat and held it against his chest. It was wearing a light blue Cookie Monster nightgown. A boy? He felt a pang of sadness knowing that the baby no longer had a mother, but forced that thought out of his mind. Get the baby safe, and then worry about its future.
He'd made it to the car without getting stung, but he couldn't count on that again. He needed something to distract the ants.
Such as a dead body.
He reached down and pulled the seat release lever, then brought the passenger seat down as far as it would go. Making sure not to the jostle the baby any more than absolutely necessary, he climbed over the seat into the front of the car. The passenger side door was blocked by one of the abandoned cars, but there was just enough room on the driver's side for Dustin to open the door and push the dead woman outside.
Dustin prayed that the baby would never remember what he did to its mother.
He leaned over, arm accidentally sliding across the woman's wet forehead, and reached for the door handle.
Then he noticed in the rear-view mirror that the semi was moving. A red Saturn in front of it was being pushed forward as the panicked passengers tried to escape from their vehicle. Dustin turned around to get a better look, and saw that the driver of the semi looked crazed, terrified, as if he'd decided that he was getting out of there, no matter what.
Dustin pulled his hand away from the door handle. No time for a distraction.
The front corner of the Saturn crashed into the car next to it, pushing the car up on its side as it struck the curb and the semi continued moving forward.
Dustin put his hand over the baby's face, then raised his legs and slammed them against the cracked windshield. The glass held. He could see the semi headed straight for him in the rear-view mirror, the Saturn in front of it now turned sideways, slowing the semi's progress but not stopping it. Sparks flew as the Saturn scraped against the side of a truck in the intersection.
The windshield shattered as Dustin slammed it a second time. The sight of the semi and the helpless car it was pushing now filled the entire rear-view mirror.
Pressing the squirming and screaming baby to his chest with one hand, Dustin climbed out through the broken windshield, wincing as his leg tore against a chunk of glass still attached to the frame. A superficial wound, but painful. He crawled out onto the hood of the car as the semi barreled down upon them.
He jumped.
The Saturn smashed into the car just as Dustin leapt from the hood. The semi kept moving, partially crushing the Saturn between the two vehicles. Dustin landed, lost his balance, and stumbled forward.
Then he fell.
He twisted his body just in time, keeping himself from landing on the baby. He landed on his back, squishing several ants beneath him, and then realized that the semi was starting to tip.
Before he could even sit up, twenty or thirty ants crawled onto his body.
The driver, obviously too far gone to realize that he was going to topple his vehicle, didn't let up on the gas, and the semi continued to tilt toward Dustin.
At least having the semi come down on him would be a more merciful fate than being stung to death by the ants. He held the baby tightly against him.
Then a huge rush of cold water washed over him.
The semi was now at a forty-five degree angle, and began its downward descent.
As the ants were carried away by the water, Dustin frantically scooted back as the shadow of the falling semi covered him.
The side of the semi read "Hansen Pillow Factory."
Dustin's spine struck the curb.
He tightly pulled in his knees as the semi crashed onto its side, coming less than three inches from crushing his feet. The sound was almost deafening.
He just sat there for a moment, unable to believe he was actually alive. Then the baby was snatched out of his hands and he looked behind him to see a guy and a girl, both about eighteen or nineteen, standing by an open fire hydrant. A pair of motorcycles was parked on the sidewalk next to them.
"You can't hold a baby like that!" said the girl, cradling it. "But you did good saving it."
"Thanks."
"We need to _flood_ these things, man!" said the guy. "Open every fire hydrant in the city!"
Dustin got to his feet. That sure would have made getting the baby out of the car easier. He gave himself a mental kick in the rear for not thinking of that.
"Listen to me," he said. "I need to borrow one of your motorcycles."
"No way!"
"It's urgent! I think I know who caused this, and I need to find him as soon as possible."
"Yeah, right," said the guy. "We're not giving up our transportation. Get your own motorcycle."
Dustin considered offering them money, but he only had a few dollars in his wallet, and it was unlikely that they'd give up their motorcycles for any price. Wonderful. The kids had saved his life, and now he was going to have to turn into a mugger.
He took out Slash's gun and pointed it at them. "I need your motorcycle."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"
"I'm sorry, I just have to take it," Dustin said. "You can still share the other one. And I'll make it up to you." He looked at the girl. "You'll take the baby someplace safe, right?"
She nodded as she glared at him.
Keeping the gun pointed at them, Dustin mounted one of the motorcycles. He hadn't driven one of these things in years, but they were like a bicycle, right? A bicycle with the potential to smear your face across two blocks of pavement if you weren't careful.
"Try not to split your head open," said the guy in a bitter voice.
"I'm really sorry about this," said Dustin, starting up the engine. "Be careful out here."
"Kiss my ass."
Dustin drove down the sidewalk, wobbling a bit for the first few seconds and accidentally dropping the gun. He could hear the guy running toward the unloaded weapon so he sped off, wishing he'd been cruel enough to steal one of their helmets.
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE-*
"Just what in the world is that guy doin'?" asked Zachary. Roberta leaned forward and watched as the semi smashed into the car in front of it. "This ain't a demolition derby!"
"Wish I was in one of those things," said Dave. The gauze he'd been holding to his nose was completely soaked with blood, so Roberta took it from him and gave him a new wad. "Plowing through this traffic might not be such a bad idea."
Hack nudged Dave in the side and pointed excitedly. "Look! It's him!"
"Who?" Roberta asked.
"Some guy we were with," said Dave. "He's an ant expert."
"We need to go pick him up!" Hack insisted.
"What for?" asked Zachary. "What's his expertise gonna tell us? Ants are bad?"
"Listen," Dave began, "if anybody knows how to get out of here without getting killed, it's that guy. He even knew the scientific name of these things. _Solenap Vicar_ or something. My friend is right, we need to go get him."
"Well, I hate to disappoint you, but there's no way we're gettin' through this traffic to pick him up. You're welcome to run out there and invite him to join us, if you'd like."
Roberta noticed that Dr. Ruiz wasn't moving. She reached over the seat and patted him on the shoulder. "Dr. Ruiz? Are you okay?"
Dr. Ruiz nodded and continued staring out the window.
"Are you sure?"
He didn't respond.
"Oh my God. Zachary, make sure he's okay."
"I'm kind of tryin' to drive."
"Zachary, _please_!"
Zachary stopped the car and tapped Dr. Ruiz on the cheek. "Hey, you still with us?"
"I'm fine," said Dr. Ruiz in a weak voice. "My leg."
"What about your leg?"
"Hurts."
"Which one?"
Dr. Ruiz lifted his right leg a bit. As Zachary leaned over to examine it, Roberta saw the semi start to topple.
"Hey, Zach, you may want to see this," said Hack.
Zachary looked over the dashboard just as the semi fell onto its side. "Sweet Jesus!"
"Did it get him?" asked Hack. "Did the ant expert get crushed?"
"I don't know!" said Dave. "Looks like it got his legs!"
"Jesus!" Zachary repeated, and then he leaned back down. Roberta watched as he pulled up Dr. Ruiz's pant leg, revealing a red welt. "Oh, cripes, one of them got him."
Roberta felt a sudden influx of tears, but remained calm. "Are there any more stings?"
Zachary lifted his pant leg higher. "I don't see any." He looked at Dr. Ruiz. "Does it hurt anyplace else?"
Dr. Ruiz shook his head.
Outside, the guy Dave and Hack were concerned about got up and started talking to a couple of people on the sidewalk. Zachary sat back up. "I have no idea how bad the venom from just one ant is, but I think we should get him to a hospital. He's not looking good."
"Forget the hospital," said Dave. "We -- "
Zachary cut him off. "Did anybody ask for your opinion?"
"Let me finish. The insect expert, he's got some kind of antidote. I got stung myself and he just pricked me with some little thing and said it would take care of the poison."
"Where's the sting?" asked Zachary.
Dave pointed to his bloody shoulder. "Not a good day for this part of my body, is it? We need to follow that guy. Look, he's getting on a motorcycle, we've got to hurry!"
"What do you think?" Zachary asked Roberta.
"Follow him."
Zachary nodded and resumed driving across the parking lot, weaving around the other cars that were doing the same thing.
"You're going to be fine," said Roberta, gently rubbing the back of Dr. Ruiz's neck. "One little ant sting isn't going to hurt anybody. We'll find the ant expert, and he'll fix you right up, okay?"
"Maybe I'll ... trade him a..." Dr. Ruiz trailed off, apparently unable to think of a punch line for what was certainly going to be one of his usual jokes.
"Hey, you need to stay awake," said Roberta, shaking him just a bit. "You don't want to miss any of the excitement, do you? What about your grandchildren? You want to see your grandchildren again, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Then you need to stay alert, try to fight off whatever's in your system. Your grandkids could do it. Didn't you tell me that one of them could climb any tree you put in front of her?"
"Maria," Dr. Ruiz said.
"Maria, right. Maria wouldn't let some little ant sting keeping her from climbing trees, would she? Not a chance. You don't want her to think her grandfather is just some big sissy, do you? You still want to take her on the roller coasters, don't you? You need to stay awake so you can listen to her scream as you go down that first hill."
"Is staying awake really going to change anything?" asked Hack.
Roberta shot him an incredibly dirty look. "Shut up."
"No problem."
Ahead, the guy on the motorcycle turned right onto one of the side streets. Hack pointed at the turn. "Don't lose him!"
"I'm not gonna lose him," said Zachary.
"Dr. Ruiz?" Roberta asked. "Dr. Ruiz? Talk to me!"
There was no answer.
"Check his pulse," said Zachary, bouncing everyone in the jeep as he drove over a concrete divider.
Roberta grabbed Dr. Ruiz's arm and pressed her thumb to his wrist. "I can't tell ... wait, it's there but it's weak."
"He'll die if we don't catch up to the ant expert," Dave pointed out.
"Do you think you could drive any better?" Zachary asked. "I could've just left you two to bleed to death by the dentist's office, or to get devoured by those ants."
"I was just making an observation!"
"Well keep your observations to yourself in my jeep."
"I'll do that. But if he dies, I think everybody will know whose fault it is."
"Shut up, both of you!" Roberta snapped. "It doesn't do any good to argue! But Zachary, _please_ catch up to him. I'm not sure how much time Dr. Ruiz has left."
Hack snorted. "Way to keep up the doc's morale."
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR-*
April Malloe sat petrified in the center of her waterbed as more and more ants poured in through her doorway. They were crawling up the walls and on the ceiling, and though her hands were covered with a thick layer of ant guts she knew there were only so many more she could kill before they finally got her.
If only her older brother hadn't walked in on her and Norman last week, she wouldn't be dying a virgin.
* * * *
Franklin Haight knew that both of his legs had been broken when the bookshelf came down on them. Even if he could get his legs out from under the shelf, there was no way he could get away from the ants before they killed him like they had his roommate. As they swarmed him, he softly sang his favorite Beatles' tune, "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band," at least until the ants found their way into his mouth.
* * * *
The employees at Andrew's Steak House were miserably cold in the walk-in freezer, but they were playing Truth or Dare to distract themselves from the horror outside. The last thing Sonya Robinson wanted to do in this cold was take off her shirt, but she had chosen "dare" knowing what kind of filth her co-workers always had on their minds, so it was nobody's fault but her own.
* * * *
Eugene Pendelton had moved to Tampa exactly eight hours and fifty-six minutes ago, and couldn't help but think that it had been a poorly timed move. But at least he didn't have to sit through any more earthquakes.
* * * *
He'd left her. She couldn't believe he'd left her.
Mike had screamed for her to get back on the bicycle, but it wasn't her fault she hadn't been able to hold on. And he hadn't given her more than a few seconds to get up before he rode off without her.
As the ants covered her, she derived no small amount of pleasure from the sight of Mike falling off his bike before he even reached the end of the block, and screaming as the ants got him.
* * * *
Cheryl Stokes threw the chair through the window of the bakery and ducked inside.
Screw the diet.
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE-*
"Have you ever shot one of those things before?" asked Jack as Moni returned moments later with the loaded crossbow.
"Never."
"So what makes you think you aren't going to hit him in the face?"
"Nothing."
"Uh, okay."
"Do you want to do it?" Moni asked.
"No, no, I'd hit him for sure."
The ant was still crawling on Mr. Kamerman's face. Winnie was completely pale, sweating profusely, and hadn't moved a muscle. Keeping her distance, about ten feet away, Moni walked around so that she could get a better angle, then lifted the crossbow and took careful aim.
Her hands were wobbling, so she tensed the muscles as much as she could. Even then, they continued to wobble a bit, but she'd just have to do the best she could.
Mr. Kamerman didn't even turn his head, although she could see his eyes darting in her direction.
She thought the ant had turned its own head toward her, but she couldn't be sure. She wondered if it knew what she was trying to do.
If it did, Mr. Kamerman would probably be dead already.
She closed one eye and lined the tip of the arrow up to the ant's abdomen. This would be just like shooting mice with a BB gun back on her cousin's farm, except that she hadn't visited her cousin in about fifteen years, and she hadn't actually shot any mice herself, and she'd run inside crying after her cousin fired the first BB.
She wished that the fire alarm would shut off. The noise was making it difficult to concentrate.
Jack watched, mouth open, one of his eyebrows twitching.
She pulled the trigger.
The arrow struck the ant in the thorax and slammed into the wall, taking the ant with it.
Jack began to applaud wildly, as Mr. Kamerman released all of his pent-up tension in the form of a girlish shriek.
"I can't _believe_ you hit that thing!" Jack shouted. "You could never make that shot again in a million years! I thought he was gonna end up looking like something out of an old Steve Martin act!"
Moni let the crossbow drop to the floor, ran for the nearest cubicle, and promptly threw up in the recycling bin.
* * * *
Moni tugged on the extension cord around her waist. It seemed secure enough, and the rest of the rope seemed like it would hold together, but extension cords didn't tie together very well, and they'd done it in a hurry. The other end of the cord was tied to a large desk, which seemed like it would support her weight if it came down to that. She had to admit, she much preferred the exact science of corporate accounting.
She thought she could smell smoke, but wasn't sure if it was just her imagination.
Mr. Kamerman still wasn't willing to try to escape with them, but he was willing to help out with their attempt. Shooting a giant ant off somebody's face with a crossbow was apparently a good way to secure manual labor.
For a moment she considered that trying to climb out of the building might perhaps be the stupidest idea she'd conceived in her entire life. It was a definite possibility, but taking the risk was better than dooming themselves inside Lavin, Inc. And she was getting back to Phil, no matter what.
"Are you guys ready?" she asked.
"We're not the ones about to scale out of a fourth-floor window, so yeah, we're set," said Jack. He looked at her with genuine concern. "You be careful."
"I will be."
"I mean it. Because if you fall to your death, I'm stuck here to die with Mr. Kamerman."
"A truly horrible fate," said Mr. Kamerman, winking at Moni.
"Well, let's do this," said Moni, sitting on the edge of the window and letting her legs dangle over the side.
"Don't look down," Jack warned. While he didn't elaborate on the thought, Moni had a pretty good idea of what he was thinking: _Because you know who's down there, probably half-eaten by ants already_.
The wall seemed free of ants, so she gave the cord one last tug to make sure it wouldn't break in half, then twisted herself around to face the building. "Remember, lower me quickly," she said.
Jack and Mr. Kamerman nodded, and then began to spool out the cord. She lost her footing immediately, but regained it and managed to keep her balance as she moved down toward the third floor. Still no ants on the wall. Things were looking good.
She looked in the third floor window as she passed. No smoke, no ants. She'd never spent much time on the second or third floors, but they all had that stupid electronic card reader system. Her card wouldn't work on those floors even if the system were functional.
Moni wasn't the litigious type, but if she were, she'd probably have a good case. If people could sue because they started a fire by leaving a Pop-Tart in their toaster for too long, she could darn well sue Lavin Inc. for making her dangle outside of their building from a bunch of tied-together extension cords.
She continued to scale down the wall. Jack and Mr. Kamerman both looked terribly concerned, so she gave them a thumbs-up sign.
Right before she reached the top of the second floor window, she noticed that the cord tied to the one around her waist, which was just out of her reach, was starting to come undone.
"Stop!" she cried out. "Stop lowering me!"
They did so. She reached up as high as she could, but the cord was still at least two inches from the tips of her fingers.
It was definitely too far to fall without breaking important bones necessary for fleeing from ants. And by the time they pulled her all the way back up, it might be too late.
Even if the knot didn't untie itself, Moni's heart was pounding so rapidly that she was _sure_ the shockwaves would snap the extension cord.
"What's wrong?" Jack asked.
"The cord is coming apart!"
She cursed. Every rope in every movie she'd ever seen had done something like this when the hero was hanging from it, so why should real life be any different?
She took a deep breath, then took the cord with both hands and began to pull herself up. Her muscles felt like they were going to rip right off of her bones from the effort. She either needed to build some upper body strength or lose some weight.
The cord was coming undone quickly. In about two seconds she was going to be on her way down.
Two seconds passed.
The knot came completely undone.
Moni's hand shot out and grabbed the other cord while the one tied around her waist dropped and dangled uselessly. She hung there by one hand for a moment, feeling her grip already start to weaken, then got a hold of the cord with her other hand. She twisted the end of the cord around her right hand to keep from slipping any further.
"Hold on!" shouted Jack.
She wanted to shout back a sarcastic reply, but her lungs burned and she needed every bit of energy to keep from falling and becoming ant chow. The fingers on her right hand were already turning red, and the pressure was extremely painful.
"Lower me!" she called up to Jack and Mr. Kamerman.
They began to lower her, but her hands were soaked with perspiration and even with the cord twisted around her hand she wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. She slammed her foot against the top of the second floor window, gasping for breath and gritting her teeth against the pain in her right hand.
She kicked again, in the center of the window this time. The glass held.
The pressure on her hand was becoming unbearable.
A third kick produced a spider web pattern in the center of the glass.
She heard a hideous _crack_ as the fingers in her right hand were crushed together by the cord. Her index finger, now a dark purple color, protruded grotesquely between her ring finger and middle finger.
But she didn't let go. She kicked again, and the window finally shattered. Two more kicks cleared out most of the glass. She braced her feet against the bottom of the frame, then reached through the window with her good hand and tightly gripped the inside wall.
Moni took a moment to catch her breath, and then pulled herself inside. Her ears were ringing and the pain in her broken hand was absolutely brutal. She jumped to the floor and collapsed into a chair.
"Moni!" shouted Jack from outside. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, just dandy," she mumbled to herself.
She forced herself to get up out of the chair, leaned out the window, and peered up at Jack and Mr. Kamerman, who were reeling in the extension cord.
"You're next," she called up to Jack.
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX-*
Dustin passed the Westshore Mall, then stopped the motorcycle at the ramp to Veteran's Expressway and took the instructions the convenience store cashier had given him out of his breast pocket. Thank God he hadn't lost them in all the chaos, or he'd never find the place.
Yep, he was headed the right direction. Traffic wasn't nearly as bad this far down Kennedy, since the ants were concentrated by Dale Mabry, so if he didn't run into any major infestations along the way, he'd make good time.
A plane was flying overhead. Not a pest-spraying one. Dustin wondered when they'd start spraying the area, and if traditional sprays would even have any effect on ants this size. Maybe they'd just drop a bomb on the whole city and cut their losses.
He frowned. That wasn't such an outrageous notion. Fire ants had spread over most of the southern United States from an infestation that started in one city. They weren't exactly talking world domination here, but if these ants continued to expand their territory and made themselves into permanent guests, this country had some big-time problems to worry about. Everybody would have to pack up and move north where it was too cold for the ants to survive.
He resumed driving the motorcycle, picking up his speed.
* * * *
"Hello," said Dr. Ruiz.
This was the fourth time he'd said "hello" in the past couple of minutes, as well as various other things that were completely incoherent. He was obviously delirious, and Roberta was terrified that he wasn't going to make it much longer. Zachary was doing his best to keep track of the motorcycle driver, but even though the traffic was better here, the jeep still had to weave around cars, while the motorcycle had a more or less straight shot at its destination.
Maybe Hack had been right, though. Maybe keeping Dr. Ruiz awake wasn't doing any good, and she should just let him sleep it off.
No, this wasn't a hangover; it was a poisonous ant sting. She needed to keep him conscious and as lucid as possible or risk losing him altogether.
They drove on the ramp to Veteran's Expressway. The motorcycle was out of sight, but Zachary drove as fast as he possibly could without getting them in an accident.
She continued to talk to Dr. Ruiz about his family. She couldn't even tell if Dr. Ruiz had any idea what she was saying, but she wasn't going to give up. She thought she saw Hack roll his eyes at Dave, but resisted the temptation to punch the son of a bitch in the face.
She really didn't like either of these guys. It wasn't just their sleazy appearance; it was something in their attitude. They seemed like the kind of guys who'd torture puppies and get a good laugh out of it. She hoped that she'd part ways with them as soon as possible.
* * * *
Dustin had never been on Veteran's Expressway before, so he couldn't say for sure whether the heavy traffic was unusual, but it seemed pretty much normal. No ants in sight.
He passed the Tampa International Airport exit. About a minute later, he came upon the exit for Independence Parkway; a sharp left turn underneath a bridge.
As he made the turn, he noticed several smears on the highway. It was likely that they'd previously been oversized ants. A couple of minutes later, he turned left onto Trexler Road.
The ants grew more numerous as he drove down the road. An ant-covered body lay on the sidewalk, curled in the fetal position.
After about three blocks, he brought the motorcycle to a screeching halt. He squinted to see if he was really seeing what he thought he was.
"What on earth...?" he whispered.
* * * *
"You may not want to keep touching him like that," Hack told Roberta as she continued to rub the back of Dr. Ruiz's neck.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, the ant venom might be contagious. You wouldn't want to poison yourself just because you're trying to make him feel a little better."
"Are you kidding me?" she asked.
"Hey, I'm just giving you a friendly little warning. Man, there are a lot of uptight people in this jeep."
"Do you wanna get out and walk?" asked Zachary.
"No, not particularly."
"Well, you're gettin' pretty close." Zachary sighed. "Anyway, I think we lost him. I don't see that motorcycle anywhere."
"Smooth move," said Hack.
"Hey, he's on a motorcycle, he's got a little more maneuverability in heavy traffic than I do!"
"Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses."
Dave slapped Hack on the side of the head. "I'm pretty sure he said he was going to Trexler Road. Let's head that way."
"Maybe you should encourage your buddy to show a little respect," said Zachary.
"I will," he said, smacking Hack once again.
* * * *
Dustin parked the motorcycle and walked toward the warehouse, a concrete structure that was the size of a large house. It had a sliding metal door that was most of the way up, revealing what was inside.
An anthill.
An _enormous_ anthill.
An anthill that almost filled the entire warehouse. It had to be at least fifteen feet tall and thirty feet wide.
It was made of dirt, but the dirt was too smooth. The anthill was too symmetrical. This wasn't something the ants had built. This thing was man-made.
* * * *
Hack touched the gauze on his arm. "I think I need a change," he said.
Roberta thrust the first aid kit toward him. "Help yourself."
"This gauze isn't working very well. Don't you have anything better?"
"No."
"Sure you do. C'mon, hand over your shirt."
"Go to hell."
Hack grinned broadly, and then smacked her across the face. Hard. Roberta's head flew back and tears blurred her vision from the sting.
Zachary slammed on the brakes. "That's it! You are _out_ of here, you piece of -- "
Suddenly Roberta felt the warm metal of a gun against her side. "Maybe not," said Hack. "I'll make you a sweet deal. You get out of the jeep, and she gets to keep her kidneys. Sound fair?"
"I'll kill you," said Zachary, his eyes flaring with fury. "I swear, I'll kill you."
"Sucks to be me then, doesn't it? You have five seconds to get out of the jeep. Then you have ten seconds to come around and get your drunken friend out of here, too. Understand?"
Roberta glanced to the side. There weren't as many ants outside as there were in the parking lot at work, but there were still more than enough to make it extremely dangerous to be running around out there.
Dave rubbed his forehead in frustration, looking as though he wanted to give Hack another smack in the head, but then looked up at Zachary. "He asked you if you understood."
"I swear -- "
"Stop swearing. Just get out. The dumb-ass _will_ shoot her."
Zachary opened the door and started to ease his way out.
"Do it quick," said Hack. "And don't forget your friend."
Zachary got out of the car and then hurried around the front, while Dave climbed through to the front seat. "It'll be okay," Hack assured Roberta. "Just think of this as a surprise party. We're going to have ourselves more fun than you can imagine."
"Please," she said, "leave Dr. Ruiz where he is."
"Nah."
Zachary opened the door. "Yeah, yeah, I know," said Hack. "You swear you're going to kill me. It's old news."
"Zachary, take care of him," Roberta pleaded.
"I will, I promise," said Zachary, putting his arms under Dr. Ruiz's shoulders and pulling the dentist out of the jeep. He scooped him up into his arms like a bride being carried across the threshold, and backed off as he started kicking away the ants that were coming toward his feet.
Dave leaned over and shut the door, and then they drove off, leaving Zachary running for cover.
"Don't feel bad for them," said Hack with a chuckle. "They're only going to get killed by ants. Your death isn't going to be quite as gentle."
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN-*
Moni couldn't believe what she was seeing.
A glass door.
There were no glass doors on the first or fourth floors, so she'd assumed that the same was true on the second. But here it was.
This was perfect. Now Jack wouldn't have to scale all the way down to the ground. He could come in this way, and they'd be able to better plan out their escape. Of course, the plan at this point was basically "run like hell," but a little bit of extra strategy couldn't hurt.
* * * *
Jack tugged on the cord for the sixth time. He had triple knotted the cord tied to the one around his waist, and it was not going to come apart while he was dangling outside the building.
He'd wanted to take the crossbow along. If Moni and Abigail could shoot it, so could he. But he also wanted to have both hands free in case of trouble involving, oh, say, the cords coming apart at an inopportune time, so he settled for Winnie covering him.
"Ready?" asked Winnie, pulling the arrow back until it caught.
"Yeah," said Jack. "Here's the deal, though. If one of those things comes anywhere near my face, I do _not_ want you to attempt to shoot it off. We've already more than used up our luck in that department. Okay?"
"You're the boss," Winnie said.
Moments later, Jack found himself scaling down the wall. It was approximately one hundred and fifty times scarier than he'd anticipated, but Moni had survived the ordeal, and so would he.
He glanced down at Moni as she watched him. "Stop looking at my butt," he said.
"I can't help myself."
"I mean it. This is a highly stressful situation and I don't need you compounding it with your sexual harassment. Is my butt as nice as your husband's?"
"Not even close."
"I bet Phil has never climbed down a wall like this, though," Jack said, as he scaled down past the third floor window.
"I believe you're right."
"See? So he's not all the man you claim he is." His stomach suddenly took a plunge as he saw one of the rat-sized ants crawl over the top of the building and head towards him. "Mr. Kamerman! Ant at twelve o'clock!"
Winnie leaned out the window and looked up. "I have to brace the cord with something!"
"Well do it quick!"
Winnie vanished for about ten seconds, as the ant continued to crawl toward Jack, but then reappeared with the crossbow. He took aim quickly and fired.
The arrow missed the ant and struck the drainpipe.
Then the arrow fell back towards Jack.
"Crap!" he shouted.
Winnie made a grab for it but missed. A second later the arrow sailed past Jack's ear.
Jack glared at him. "Put. The. Crossbow. Away."
"Sorry," said Winnie.
The ant crawled around the edge of the window, and then continued scurrying towards Jack. One more appeared over the top of the roof, followed by another two.
"Lower me! Lower me!" Jack shouted. "But watch yourself!"
Winnie ducked back inside the window. The second ant ran into the open window and disappeared from sight.
Jack kicked at the ant that was coming after him. It crawled onto his foot and began to make its way up his leg while he vigorously tried to shake it off.
Then the extension cord went completely slack, and he plummeted toward the ground.
* * * *
Mr. Kamerman smashed into a cubicle wall as the ant stung his face over and over. It was even worse than when his wife had mistaken him for a burglar and blasted him with pepper spray.
This pain was not nearly as long lasting, however. He was dead before the other two ants even sunk their mandibles into his flesh.
* * * *
Jack stopped with a jolt, a few feet above Moni's head, feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. The ant fell to the ground.
"Mr. Kamerman!" he shouted. "Hey, Mr. Kamerman, are you all right up there?"
There was no answer. What was he supposed to do now?
He looked down at Moni. "Is there a table down there, or anything you can stick out the window as a platform? I may be able to untie myself and land on it."
"I don't know, but I'll find something." She disappeared from sight.
Jack dropped down just a bit. The corner of the desk they'd tied the extension cord to protruded over the edge of the window.
This was somewhat worse than an arrow coming down at him.
"Moni! We've got a time element here!"
He should've had enough line to get to the ground before the desk made its appearance. The extension cords must've gotten tangled in the desk's legs, or tangled with each other. It was probably like the way Christmas lights could tie themselves into Gordian Knots simply by being stored in an attic.
Jack dropped some more, so that his toes were just above the second floor window, and the legs of the desk appeared over the side of the window.
This was it. This was how Jack Lacefield was going to meet his demise. And he'd always thought his death would come from a bar room brawl.
"Moni! Now!"
The desk made a cringe-inducing screech as it slid over the window frame. The back legs caught on the edge, and for an instant Jack thought it was going to stay in place, but then it continued to slide.
Suddenly Moni was at the window. Using one hand, she hoisted a small circular table with the legs folded down and balanced it on the edge of the window, bracing herself against the other side to keep it sturdy. Jack quickly began to untie the cord around his waist. But as he struggled with it, he realized that he'd tied the knot way too tight and wouldn't be getting this thing off his waist anytime soon.
Then the back legs of the desk slid all the way off the frame and it dropped over the edge.
Jack landed on the table, which began to tilt dangerously toward the ground as Moni struggled to keep it straight.
But even if the desk missed him, the jolt on the extension cord around his waist when it reached the end of the line would probably snap him in two.
So he jumped.
* * * *
Moni gasped and let go of the table as Jack deliberately jumped backwards off of it.
Suddenly the desk smashed into the circular table. The end closest to Moni shot up, striking her good hand with such force that for an instant she thought it had come right off.
* * * *
As Jack struck the ground, he heard a pop that immediately let him know that he wouldn't be doing any running in the near future. His knee crumpled beneath him and he dropped onto his side, landing close to Abigail's body.
The desk struck the ground next to him, flipped as it bounced back into the air, then came down right-side-up directly over him, two of its legs landing on each side of his head.
He couldn't believe it. He was still alive. In pretty bad shape, yeah, but still alive.
Then the ants swarmed him.
* * * *
Moni stumbled backwards, her left hand now hurting even worse than her right, which was already purple and swollen. It was still attached, but she knew for a fact that her left hand had been broken. Possibly shattered. And she'd be lucky if her wrist wasn't broken as well.
This would have been a wonderful time to just lie on the floor and have herself a nice long cry.
But she had to find out what happened to Jack. She hurried over to the window, wondering how in the world she was going to make it out of this situation alive when she had two broken hands.
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT-*
Zachary was so angry that it took several moments for him to realize that he should be frightened as well. With Dr. Ruiz in his arms, he ran past the house closest to where he stood to a small one-story home with a heavily rusted brown truck in the driveway. The back of the truck was piled high with garbage bags and all sorts of other junk.
Good thing the dentist was a small guy, or he'd never be able to run like this while avoiding the ants.
He swung Dr. Ruiz's feet around, using them to brush off a few of the ants, and then opened the passenger door of the truck and set Dr. Ruiz inside. Zachary shut the door, looked through the window to ensure that no ants were in there with him, and took off toward the front porch, hoping somebody would be home to let him borrow the keys to the truck. If he made it through this alive, the first thing he was going to do was learn how to hotwire a car.
He knocked loudly and then promptly opened the front door and stepped inside the living room. A few scattered ants were crawling on the walls, but most of them were swarming the body of a woman lying spread-eagle on the floor. There was absolutely no question that she was dead.
Zachary shut the door behind him and grimaced at the sight of the ants digging deep into the woman's eye sockets.
The keys. Where did people usually keep their keys? He kept his own keys on a hook in the kitchen, so that was as good a place as any to start looking.
He entered the kitchen. There was sugar all over the floor, most of it covered with ants. A balding man in a bathrobe sat against the refrigerator, a huge gash across his forehead, his face almost completely stained with blood, and a gun in his hand.
The man opened his eyes and looked at Zachary. "They like sugar," he said, pleasantly.
"What happened to you?"
"Oh, not much," said the man, gazing thoughtfully at the gun. "They got my wife. By the time I got out of the tub and ran out there, it was already too late. She was going to get us some ice cream. Those little suckers are quick, have you noticed?"
"Yeah, I've noticed," said Zachary, pushing some of the sugar out of the way with his foot to make a path toward the man. "What happened to your forehead?"
"Oh, you know. When your wife of thirty-one years gets eaten alive by ants, suddenly life doesn't seem worth living quite as much." He held up the gun like a child showing his mother a card he'd made for her. "It wasn't like I could shoot all of them, right?"
"You're right." For some reason, this guy's calm attitude was creeping Zachary out much more than any of the screaming and panicking he'd seen so far.
"So I figured, bang, it's all over. But I wimped out. Still pulled the trigger, but I moved the gun at the last instant. Does my face look bad to you?"
Zachary shook his head. "You'll be fine."
"I don't feel like I'll be fine. What about my wife? Does she have any skin left?"
Zachary ignored the question. "I need you to do me a favor. If you tell me where the keys to your truck are, I can get you and my friend someplace safe."
"Oh, I don't need to be someplace safe. I'm just going to sit here and work up a little more courage, and then give this suicide thing another chance. They say that people who kill themselves go to hell, but I think there has to be some sort of rule about extenuating circumstances. What do you think?"
"I really don't know. But you don't need to do this. Just tell me where the keys are and I'll take you out of here."
The man seemed to consider that. "Nah. I have everything I need here. Would you like to borrow some sugar?"
"If you're not concerned about yourself, at least let me borrow your truck to save my friend. He's not doin' well, and he's got a family that depends on him. I promised I'd take him someplace safe."
The man picked up a handful of the sugar and let it trickle through his fingers. "Promises are meant to be broken."
"Not this one."
"I think I'm ready now," said the man, putting the revolver to his head. "What do you think? Against the head or in the mouth?"
"That's the coward's way out. I'm tellin' you, I can get you out of here."
"You're a good man. But, no, I think I'm going to have to stick with Plan A." He removed the gun from his head and looked it over. "The mouth. That's the best way."
He placed the gun in his mouth, looked cross-eyed at the barrel, and pulled the trigger.
Zachary turned away from the gory sight and vomited onto the sugar. He left the kitchen, coughing and gagging.
Perhaps he should just try another house.
Then he remembered what the man had said. His wife was going to get ice cream. He might have meant that she was going to get ice cream from the kitchen, but that seemed unlikely if he was in the middle of taking a bath.
The keys were probably in her purse.
But as he looked at the ant-covered corpse, he didn't see a purse. Nor was there a purse anywhere else in the living room, at least that he could see right away.
Maybe she didn't carry a purse.
Maybe the keys were in her pocket.
If so, that was it. He'd have to find a new vehicle. No way was he going to be able to get the keys out of her pocket without getting stung.
He continued to look around for a purse, peering through the dining room, until he noticed what lay beyond the sliding glass door of the dining room.
A screened-in porch with a barbecue grill.
The ants were busy with the corpse and the sugar, so there were only a few in the dining room. He opened the sliding door, stepped out into the porch, and saw what he was looking for, next to the jumbo-sized bag of charcoal: a can of lighter fluid and a box of matches.
Zachary took them, as well as a large plastic bowl from the dirty dishes on the table, and returned to the living room. He then began squirting lighter fluid on the woman. Defiling a dead body in this manner was probably going to earn him a seat in hell right next to the man in the kitchen, but at least his motives were honorable.
He lit the match and dropped it onto the woman.
The corpse burst into flames, and Zachary took no small amount of pleasure in watching the ants freak out as the fire got them. Some of them ran from the body, but their burning forms only lasted for a few seconds before the flames finished them off.
"That'll teach ya," he muttered.
As the body burned, he hurried into the bathroom and filled the plastic bowl with water from the tub. He returned to the corpse and poured the water over its waist, extinguishing the flames. The fabric of her jeans had mostly burned away, revealing the top of the key ring. He picked it up, wincing because it was still hot, and then headed back outside to the truck, taking the matches and can of lighter fluid with him.
He got in the truck. Dr. Ruiz was leaning against the passenger door, eyes half-open. "How're you feelin', buddy?" Zachary asked.
"My tooth hurts."
"Really?"
Dr. Ruiz gave him a faint smile and shook his head. "Joke."
Zachary returned the smile. "Let's just see how funny those sons of bitches think it is when I catch up to them."
*-CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE-*
As Dustin continued staring at the giant anthill, he wondered if the tunnels inside stretched beneath the floor of the warehouse. How well hidden was the queen?
If ants were infesting twenty different parts of the city, there were probably twenty of these anthills, possibly in warehouses similar to this one. This information wouldn't help eliminate the rampaging ants already out there, but they could certainly destroy the queens and keep further infestation from occurring.
Of course, there might be more than twenty of these anthills out there. A lot more.
And who was to say they were only in Tampa?
Maybe his friends back in Texas were under attack at this very moment.
Well, he'd worry about that later. For right now, it was good enough to know that this was definitely a man-made situation. Whoever started it might know how to stop it.
And now it was time to find that person.
He walked away from the warehouse and back toward the stolen motorcycle, happily stepping on an ant along the way. Another ant came at him, and Dustin nearly lost his balance as he moved back to get away from it.
This one was six or seven inches long.
That was impossible. Ants just didn't get to be six or seven inches long.
Then again, they didn't get to be _two_ inches long, either.
This was just too bizarre for words. Dustin kicked the ant as hard as he could, sending it flying up into the air and onto its back, then rushed over to the motorcycle, wondering what other entomological impossibilities were in store.
* * * *
"You married?" Hack asked Roberta.
"None of your business."
Hack smacked her across the face again. "Now that was extremely impolite. I don't think there's any need for that kind of behavior, do you? We're going to be having a lot of fun pretty soon, so I think we should at least be on civil terms."
Roberta wanted to spit in his face, but it would probably amuse him more than it would piss him off. Though she was absolutely terrified, she knew that an opportunity to escape would present itself. Hack was too confident. He'd make a mistake.
"You ever have a white guy?" Hack asked. "I understand that my race isn't quite as well-endowed as your own, but Slash and I together might be able to compensate for that."
"That's what you guys call yourselves? Hack and Slash?"
"Yeah. You like?"
"It's retarded."
Hack shrugged. "Then you have our permission to scream out whatever names you want. Or you can just scream. Your choice."
"I'll feed myself to those ants before I let either of you touch me."
"Well, that would be a viable option if the decision was yours to make. But, alas, it isn't. Hey, Slash, why don't you pull over now so we can start the party?"
"We have other stuff to worry about right now," Slash told him.
"Oh, come on, don't be such a workaholic. Let's see if this dental assistant knows how to perform proper oral care."
Roberta's stomach tightened, but she maintained her outward composure. "That's right, I'm a dental assistant," she said. "That means I'm an expert on biting."
Hack laughed. "Then maybe you'd better teach us about extractions, so that doesn't become a problem. Pull over, Slash."
"Not now."
"Be a sport!"
Slash stopped the car and turned around in his seat. "Listen to me, you psychopathic dipshit, it's time you started to take this problem seriously."
"Aw, what's the big deal? Either the ants get us or they don't. If it's the end of humanity, we should at least get in a nice gangbang before the ants take over the world."
"No. We're only using her for a bargaining chip when we deal with Bug Boy. She may not be a cute innocent little baby to rescue, but she'll do."
"Yeah, she'll do whatever we tell her to," said Hack. He waggled his tongue in an obscene manner. Slash turned away from him and resumed driving.
"Why don't you grow up?" Roberta asked. "You know what they say about guys like you, don't they?"
"No, what?"
Instead of answering, Roberta slammed her elbow into Hack's injured arm. As he let out a howl, she grabbed for his gun.
Missed.
Hack punched her in the jaw.
Slash slammed on the brakes.
Hack punched her again, this time in the stomach, and then pressed the barrel of the gun between her eyes. "You gonna behave? Huh?"
She didn't respond, so he pushed the barrel harder against her skin. "Answer me, you bitch!"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I'll behave."
He removed the gun, then grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the door of the jeep. The handle dug painfully into her back.
"Good. See that you do."
"There he is!" said Slash, excitedly.
Hack and Roberta both looked outside. A couple of blocks ahead, the ant expert was on the sidewalk, just about to climb on his motorcycle.
"Let's teach Bug Boy a lesson," said Slash. "He won't recognize the jeep. As soon as he drives off, we'll run his ass down."
"Sounds like a plan," Hack agreed.
The ant expert got on his motorcycle and started driving down the street. Slash gunned the engine and went after him.
* * * *
Dustin couldn't believe it. Six-inch ants.
How many of them were out there?
How powerful was their venom?
Suddenly, the ants in the area started running off in the direction from which Dustin had come, almost as if something was chasing them.
What was up with that?
His thoughts were interrupted as something ran out onto the street at the next intersection. He stopped the motorcycle and just gaped.
* * * *
Slash stepped on the brakes again and all three of the passengers in the jeep stared silently at the ant.
This one was the size of a wolf.
A really big wolf.
"Uhhh..." said Hack.
"So, what do we do?" asked Roberta.
Slash thought for a moment, clenched the steering wheel tightly, and slammed his foot on the gas pedal.
"We run it down!"
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-*
Jack sat up and quickly brushed off the pair of ants that had crawled on his face. There were more of them on his shirt and pants, but before he could worry about those he had to get someplace safe.
The safest place right now was on top of the desk.
Horrible pain shot through his leg as he stood up, but he managed to climb up onto the desk. As he wiped the ants off his legs, he saw that one on his chest had dug its mandibles into the jacket and was trying to sting him, but the extra padding was doing its job. He knocked them off, lay down to crush any that were on his back, and then sat up again.
There was nothing stopping the ants from climbing up the desk legs, but that really only left him with the four desk corners to defend. He should be able to handle that.
"Are you okay?" Moni called out, leaning out of the window.
"I messed up my knee."
"Oh, Lord. How bad?"
"I don't know. It hurts like hell. I'll be amazed if I can run on it."
"Shit."
"Yeah. How's your hand?"
"You mean hands. Plural. The table smacked into the other one. Half of the bones are probably broken."
"You mean, you smacked it into the table."
"No, I mean ... don't worry about it. Either way, I can't use my hands and you can't use your leg. Kind of a pathetic lot, aren't we?"
Jack kicked off an ant that tried to crawl up the lower right corner of the desk. "Pathetic is a pretty good word for us. So if I can't run to the car and you can't climb down here, what are our options?"
"I can get out. This department has a glass door. I'll just run down the stairs and out the main entrance."
"What about the fire?"
"It's got to be safer than jumping out a window."
"All right. I'll meet you down here. Be careful." He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted. "Mr. Kamerman! Yo! Mr. Kamerman!"
"Do you think they got him?"
"I'm sure they got him. The question is, how bad? But you'd better go now. The fire is only going to get worse."
As Moni left, he continued calling out his boss's name, not really expecting a reply.
* * * *
Moni pushed the mail cart with her elbows, building up as much speed as she could, then released it. It crashed into the glass door, but didn't break it. A second attempt cracked the glass, and a third attempt shattered it.
She made her way through the door, and then used her foot to push open the door to the stairwell. A thin layer of smoke billowed out, but downstairs she could see more smoke pouring in underneath the door to the first floor hallway.
The question was, would the smoke keep the ants away, or just make it impossible for her to see them?
Her eyes were already watering as she reached the bottom of the stairs. The employee entrance was only a short way down the hallway and around the corner, so even if she had to hold her breath the whole time she should be able to make it.
Of course, using her hands to feel her way around was going to be a problem.
She inhaled deeply, and then pushed open the door.
Smoke poured out into her face, making her eyes burn. The entire hallway was completely filled with smoke, and she could see tall flames up ahead.
Too many flames. The smoke was too thick to tell exactly where the fire ended, but the entire area around the employee entrance was burning.
She'd have to take the long way.
She hoped the desk was still holding back the ants in the delivery area.
She began to walk at a brisk pace down the hallway, holding her breath and unable to see a thing through the smoke. It didn't seem to be thinning out any, but she didn't think there were any flames this way.
Her eyes were burning so badly that she had to close them.
Moni desperately wanted to cough, but refused to let herself. She put her hands out in front of her and picked up her pace.
This _had_ to be too hot for ants, right? Didn't ants usually only come out of their nests when it was cooler?
Regular ants, yeah.
Pain shot through her right hand as she ran into a wall. She couldn't be at the end of the hallway already, and only one hand had struck anything, so she must not have been walking straight. She corrected her direction, hopefully, and continued moving.
Her lungs were aching. She couldn't hold her breath much longer.
She opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. The smoke wasn't clearing.
She didn't know which was worse, the pain in her eyes, lungs, or hands.
Something was crawling on her ankle.
Or was she imagining it?
No, there was _definitely_ something there.
She broke into a run. It was really, really going to hurt when her hands finally bashed into the wall, but that was better than getting stung by one of those things.
There were at least two of them crawling on her legs.
When Moni struck the wall, the pain was every bit as devastating as she'd expected, shooting all the way through her arms to her shoulders.
What she hadn't expected was that her reaction to this pain would be to lose consciousness.
* * * *
Jack felt like a complete loser. Mr. Kamerman might be dying up there, Moni might be burning to death, and there wasn't anything he could do except sit here on a desk out on the lawn.
Then his concern changed from his boss and co-worker to himself. Mr. Kamerman would have stayed up there anyway, but if Moni didn't make it through the first floor, he'd have to get off the desk at some point and try to get to his car.
Or would he? Unless the lawn caught fire as well, there was no reason he couldn't just sit here and keep defending the four corners of the desk. Somebody had to come by eventually, even if it wasn't until tomorrow morning. It wasn't like he'd have trouble staying awake out here. He wasn't going to get any sleep tonight no matter where he ended up.
Yeah, sitting on a desk all night was an option, but a real man would go in the building to find Moni.
Jack wasn't sure he was a real man, though.
This really sucked.
All right, if she didn't come out of there in two minutes, he was going in after her.
Probably.
* * * *
Moni opened her eyes. How long had she been out?
Considering that she wasn't dead, it couldn't have been long. But there were at least two more ants crawling on her legs.
Though the air was better here this close to the floor, it was still plenty smoky and burned as she took a breath. She ran her arm across her legs, knocking off what were indeed ants, and then stood up.
Crawling would have been a wiser idea, but her broken hands eliminated that possibility.
Now, which way had she been going...?
* * * *
This really, really sucked.
The two minutes was up. Jack knew he was going to have to go in there after her. Yeah, he only had one good leg, but ... well, he could hop.
Hop on one foot into a burning, possibly ant-filled building to save his lovely co-worker.
If he didn't start getting dates after this story leaked out, he was going to be pissed beyond belief.
* * * *
Tears were streaming down Moni's face and her violent coughing spasms were making it difficult to keep moving. She ran her elbow along the wall as she walked to keep her direction straight. It was getting scraped up pretty badly, but a boo-boo on her elbow wasn't exactly a major concern at this point.
She ran into something.
A door?
* * * *
Jack hopped across the grass, jostling his bad leg but squishing ants with each hop.
"This is stupid," he said. "So very stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid."
* * * *
It was a door. It had to be the one Trevor always used when he went out for a smoke break. The one where he'd found the first ant.
You didn't need a pass card to get out through this door, only to get in.
She pushed the door open, releasing a thick cloud of smoke outside of the building, held her breath for a few more seconds as she ran out of the smoke's range, then took a wonderful breath of fresh, clean air.
* * * *
"Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid," Jack repeated, as he hopped over to the employee entrance.
* * * *
Jack was gone.
Had he gone to the parking garage himself? Surely not with his leg so badly hurt.
Had the ants gotten him?
She could see Abigail's body, but not Jack's.
She ran across the lawn toward the desk, coughing violently. At the very least, she needed someplace to sit for a few minutes, while she recovered from the smoke and gave the pain in her hands time to subside a bit.
She got up onto the desk, kicked some ants away, and sat there for a moment, rubbing her eyes with her right wrist as she continued to cough.
Jack wouldn't have gone in the building after her, would he?
No. Not a chance.
But then again, she never would have thought she'd see him climbing down the side of Lavin Inc. with an extension cord around his waist.
This was becoming a comedy of errors.
Then Jack hopped into view. He looked a bit sheepish as he saw her, then quickly hopped over to the desk and got on it. "I was just coming to get you," he said, brushing the ants off his legs.
"Why'd you change your mind?"
"I couldn't get in the door, and I didn't have anything to break the glass with."
"Ah."
"I think we've broken enough glass for one day, anyway."
"You're probably right. Were you really going to come in after me?"
"Yeah. It was just some dumb chivalry thing. It'll never happen again."
"Well, you're still my hero."
"Cool."
"Of course," said Moni, "now we have to figure out how to get out of here when you can't run and I can't drive a car."
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE-*
Hack let out a whooping battle cry as the jeep shot forward. "Yeah! Splat that ant!"
Roberta really wished she were wearing a seat belt. These guys were absolutely insane. When you encountered an ant the size of a large wolf, the traditionally accepted reaction was to _drive the other way_.
They sped past the ant expert, who was too busy staring at the behemoth to notice them.
The ant turned its head toward the jeep. Its giant mandibles, which looked like they could decapitate a human being with minimal effort, clicked together menacingly. If that thing stung any of them, the venom would be much less of a concern than the stinger jabbing all the way through their body and popping out the other side.
Though she'd always imagined herself to be more eloquent in dire situations, Roberta shouted the first thing that came to mind: _"Shit!"_
The jeep struck the ant.
* * * *
As the jeep sped past Dustin, it took him a moment to realize that it was actually driving toward the ant. Nobody could be that foolhardy, could they?
As he caught a glimpse of Hack in the backseat, he realized that yes, they most certainly could.
He fully expected the jeep to veer away at the last second, since Hack and Slash seemed like the kind of idiots who'd get their kicks from playing chicken with a giant ant, but the jeep didn't swerve.
It smashed into the ant, and the creature disappeared beneath the vehicle. For a second, Dustin thought that the jeep was going to run completely over it, but it stalled halfway over the ant and came to a stop.
There was a black woman in the backseat. Dustin had a strange feeling that she wasn't there of her own accord.
He gunned the motorcycle's engine and sped forward.
* * * *
The impact threw Hack and Roberta against the seats in front of them. The tires squealed for a moment, and then the jeep stopped.
"Did we kill it?" Hack asked, excitedly.
"It's under the jeep's tires," said Slash. "What do you think?"
"Yeah, baby! Score one for the humans!"
Slash pushed down on the gas pedal, but the jeep didn't move. He put the jeep in reverse and applied the gas again. No effect. It wasn't going anywhere.
"Well," said Roberta, "you two geniuses have certainly improved our situation."
Hack chuckled. "You can't tell me that wasn't cool. Let's find another ant and do it again."
"Whoopsie," said Slash, glancing up at the rear-view mirror. "Looks like Bug Boy's coming to pay us a visit."
"Want me to get out and kill him?" asked Hack.
"Nah, I'll do it," said Slash. "Make sure she doesn't go anywhere."
As the motorcycle pulled up alongside the jeep, Slash opened the door and got out.
* * * *
"Hiya, Bug Boy," said Slash. "Long time no see."
"Let her go," Dustin told him.
"Who? The ant? She's already dead. How can you tell it's a she?"
"I'm not playing around." Dustin got off the motorcycle, propping it up with the kickstand.
"You should play around once in a while. You're far too serious. You should embrace the pleasures that life provides you with, take joy in the little things. I bet you haven't smelled a flower all day, have you?"
"I mean it."
"Have you? A rose? A tulip? A daffodil?"
Hack and the woman were both watching them from inside the jeep. Dustin was a little annoyed to see that Hack's arm had been patched up. As the woman shifted, Dustin caught a glimpse of the gun Hack was pointing at her side.
The unloaded gun.
Or had it been reloaded?
What were the odds that somebody going in to rob a convenience store would bring extra ammunition?
Not very likely.
Hell, they didn't even have the guns fully loaded when they got there.
With his good arm, Slash reached into his pocket and took out a switchblade knife, grinning as he snapped open the blade and held it up for Dustin to admire. "Nice, huh? I won it at a fair."
Dustin figured that he could get back on his motorcycle and zoom past the dumb bastard without getting stabbed, but it would mean leaving the woman behind.
"The gun's unloaded!" he shouted at her, as he ran toward Slash.
* * * *
A brief flicker of unease across Hack's face was all Roberta needed to convince herself that the ant expert was telling the truth.
She punched Hack in the side of the head with as much force as she could muster. It hurt her hand so badly that she wouldn't have been surprised to see it burst apart in a shower of blood, flesh, and bone fragments, but Hack fell onto his side on the seat. He twisted around, pointed the gun at her, and pulled the trigger. He pulled the trigger several more times, the gun clicking uselessly, as if a spare bullet might still have been wedged in there.
Roberta opened the door and scooted out of the jeep just in time to see Slash take a swing at the ant expert with his knife.
* * * *
Dustin suddenly pulled back, the knife swishing in the air inches from his chest. He'd never had somebody come at him with a knife before, and while there had to be some effective moves to get out of this predicament, he didn't know any of them.
A second swing tore across his upper chest. Dustin knew right away that it was a superficial wound, but it hurt like crazy.
Slash winked at him. "See why they call me Slash?"
"Nobody calls you Slash but your imbecile of a partner," said Dustin, hoping to anger him into making a mistake. Slash didn't exactly seem like the type to fly into a rage over an insult, but Dustin figured anything was worth a shot.
Much more effective than the insult, however, was the black woman running around the front of the jeep towards Slash. As Slash turned to face her, Dustin charged at him, tackling him and smashing him against the side of the jeep. Dustin grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the jeep once, twice, and a third time until the knife dropped out of his grasp.
Slash leaned at him, mouth wide open, and Dustin yanked his head back just in time to avoid having his nose bitten off. He punched Slash in the jaw, hearing the loud _clack_ as his teeth slammed together, and then Slash tumbled backward and hit the ground.
The back door of the jeep opened. Dustin kicked it closed, bashing the door into Hack's head in the process.
"Hi there," he said to the woman. "I'm Dustin."
"Roberta."
"Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet _you_."
"I guess I'd be insulting your intelligence if I said that you should get away from these psychos as fast as you can," Dustin admitted, heading back to the motorcycle.
"Wait!" said Roberta, hurrying toward him with a brief pause to kick Slash in the side. "I know this is probably ridiculous, but the men said that you had some sort of shot, one that stopped the ant's venom. Were they lying?"
"Did you get stung?" Dustin asked. She looked so desperate.
"No, a friend did. A good friend."
Dustin sighed. "I'm sorry, but yeah, they were lying. If your friend got stung, there's nothing I can do. Get him to a hospital as soon as you can, that's all I can say."
Roberta wiped a tear from her eye, but shook her head bravely. "I don't even know if he's still alive. I guess I'd better go find him."
A vehicle approached from behind them, and Roberta's eyes lit up. "It's Zachary!"
The brown truck was in such sorry shape that Dustin wondered if supernatural intervention had been required to start the engine. It stopped behind the van, and a tanned guy of about forty got out, looking more than a little pissed.
"Where are they?" he demanded.
"They aren't a problem anymore," said Roberta. She walked over to the truck as she pointed at Dustin. "This is Dustin, the ant expert."
"Great! Does he have the shots, or was that a load of crap?"
Roberta's shoulders slumped. "It was a load of crap."
"I hope you killed those bastards."
"I think we hurt them badly enough."
Dustin got on the motorcycle. "Well, good luck, you two. I wish there was more I could do, but I have to get going. I may know who's responsible for this."
"Really?" asked Zachary. "So they might have a cure, right?"
Dustin considered that for a moment. "I guess if you were working with these things, you'd want to have some sort of antidote on hand in case you accidentally got stung. So it's possible. Doesn't mean they'll let us just walk in there and take it, though."
"So what are you gonna do to stop the person responsible?"
Dustin shrugged. "Depends what I find there, I guess."
"Need some help?"
"You'd better believe it."
"Great. Ditch that motorcycle and we'll take my jeep."
"It's not running," said Roberta, peering in the truck window at the Hispanic man slumped against the door. "It hit an ant."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know those eight-inch ants?" asked Dustin. "They aren't the biggest ones, not by a long shot."
"No, I do _not_ know those eight-inch ants. When the hell did we get eight-inch ants? And what do you mean they aren't the biggest ones? How big are the biggest ones?"
Another ant the size of the one underneath the jeep emerged from around the corner, about a hundred feet away. If Dustin hadn't been so frightened, he would have admired its excellent sense of timing.
The ant stopped crawling and turned its head toward them. It seemed to be staring at them with its compound eyes.
"Holy Jesus," said Zachary, staring at the ant in amazement. "How ... how can they grow that big?"
"They can't," said Dustin. "I mean, they shouldn't be able to. An ant that size, its exoskeleton shouldn't be able to support its mass. It should collapse before it takes its first step."
Zachary nodded his understanding, then cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted at the ant. "Hey! Your exoskeleton shouldn't be able to support your mass! Get with the fuckin' program!"
The ant continued to watch as Zachary, Dustin, and Roberta quickly backed away.
Then it charged at them.
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO-*
It felt like an incredible waste to have scaled all the way down the side of a four-story building only to end up sitting outside on a table surrounded by ants, yet that seemed to be the state of affairs. If somebody had asked her yesterday, Moni would have said that the idea of being surrounded by ants was nowhere near as disturbing as the idea of being stuck with Jack Lacefield, but she had to admit that their conversation was actually rather pleasant.
It was pretty hot in their jackets, though, and the tape was making her ankles and wrists itch horribly, which was only slightly less bothersome than the pain in her hands.
And of course, she had to ignore the fact that Abigail's dead body was being devoured right underneath where she sat.
She wondered what was happening to Mr. Kamerman's body up there. And Trevor's, if it hadn't already been burnt down to the skeleton. Most importantly, she wondered about Phil. Was he at home, worried sick about her? Was he on his way to Lavin, Inc. to rescue her? Was he still alive?
Yes, he was still alive. He had to be.
She looked down at her hands, which were swollen to an almost cartoonish level. She certainly wouldn't be doing much typing for the foreseeable future. If they wanted any corporate accounting to get done for the next few weeks, they darn well were going to have to buy her some voice recognition software.
"That's weird," said Jack. "I think the ants are running away."
They were. The ants were scattering, thousands of them running behind the building, others moving further down the front lawn. They were making weird noises, sort of the sound of wet shoes squeaking along a tile floor. Moni and Jack sat on the table and watched as the ants made a mass exodus from the immediate area. Within two minutes, there was a clear path to the short road that exited out to Trexler Road.
"Okay ... so ... that's good, right?" asked Jack.
"Looks like it. You think the queen called them back or something?"
Jack shrugged. "Could be. Either way, we won't find a better time to get out of here."
They climbed off the table and began walking across the lawn, Jack holding his arm around Moni's shoulder for support. Moni almost found herself looking back to see what condition Abigail was in, but resisted the temptation. It wasn't going to be pretty.
"Maybe you should go on ahead, see if you can find help," said Jack. "Who knows, they might have cleared out all the way to the street."
"What if the ants come back?" Moni asked.
"That would be bad. But here's a more important question: What if they were running from something?"
"Insecticide?"
"I could live with insecticide. That's much more appealing than what I was think -- " He stopped in mid-sentence. "Okay, I win."
Moni screamed.
A dark red ant stepped onto the lawn. It resembled the thousands of other ants she'd encountered this evening, except that its body was the size of her living room couch.
It stood there for a long moment, as if trying to decide if they should be construed as prey.
It began to crawl toward them.
Sweat cascaded down her sides, and all of the pain in Moni's hands was forgotten.
What in the world had created this kind of beast?
There was no place to run for cover.
"Moni, step away from me, slowly," Jack whispered in a voice that started out calm and steady but cracked on the word "slowly."
"Maybe if we -- ?"
"I'm going to try to draw its attention. If and when it comes after me, run in the opposite direction. Got it?"
What was he talking about? Jack wasn't planning to sacrifice himself, was he?
He limped away from her at a brisk stride, and waved his hands in the air frantically. "Hey! Hey, ant!" he shouted. "Over here! Come and get me, you freak of nature! I'll shove some Raid up your sorry ant ass!"
Moni remained frozen, praying the ant would just crawl away and leave them alone. Tampa was a big city; there had to be other people it could hunt down and kill.
"Here, antie antie antie! C'mon, you butt-ugly picnic whore! You're not so big! I feed things like you to my pet gecko! Let's go!"
The ant stopped crawling, waved its antennae for a moment, and then broke into a run, headed straight for Jack.
Jack lowered his arms and looked at Moni. "Tell Phil I said hi."
* * * *
Okay, so this was it. This was how he was going to die.
There were plenty of other ways Jack would have liked to go. Obviously, dying in his sleep after a night of passion with six or seven bikini models ranked pretty high up there, as did dying in the process of rescuing some children, nuns, puppies, and kittens from a burning orphanage/animal shelter duplex.
As it was, though, as long as Moni made it out safely and eventually got back to her husband, getting killed by a giant ant wasn't such a bad way to perish.
Doing everything he could to ignore the pain in his leg, Jack ran forward to meet the ant.
He closed his eyes.
* * * *
Moni watched in horror as Jack and the ant ran toward each other.
She wanted to call out to him, tell him to run back to safety (_was_ there any safety?), but she couldn't find her voice.
Jack was sacrificing himself for her.
If she didn't want this decision to be for nothing, she had to figure out the exact right moment to make her move.
* * * *
Right before the collision, Jack's leg twisted.
Arms pinwheeling, he tumbled forward onto the grass, an instant before the ant would have struck him. He hit the ground hard, no longer able to mentally block out the pain in his leg.
The creature had stopped moving.
He was right underneath it.
He rolled over and slammed his fist into the underside of the ant's thorax as hard as he could.
This did nothing but hurt his fist.
The ant crawled forward and began to turn around.
Jack forced himself to stand up, crying out at the sound of a loud _snap_.
The ant's head spun toward him.
Before Jack's mind could reflect upon what his body was doing, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around its neck, or whatever it was that connected its head to its body.
It twisted its head, one of the mandibles slicing cleanly across his cheek.
And then with an incredible burst of adrenaline, Jack leapt with his good leg and pulled himself up onto the ant's back.
* * * *
Holy shit.
Jack was actually _on the ant_, riding it like a horse. Well, not quite like a horse. Jack was flat on his stomach instead of sitting upright, but ... still...
The ant flailed around, as if trying to buck him off like a rider at a rodeo, and then it took off running in the direction from which it came, taking Jack along with it.
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE-*
Everybody took off in opposite directions.
The ant went after Zachary.
He ran across the front yard of the nearest home, combining virtually every element of profanity in his vocabulary into one extended curse word. He tried to cut between that house and the house next to it, but immediately realized his mistake. There was a wooden gate between the two homes, blocking access to the backyard.
Although Zachary was in good shape, he didn't see himself climbing over that thing even if there _was_ a giant ant on his tail. But since he couldn't outrun the creature, he had to give it a shot.
He rushed over to the gate, grabbed the top with both of his hands, and tried to pull himself up. He knew right away this wasn't going to work, not without something to brace his feet against.
Zachary turned around as the ant entered the area between the two homes.
He raised his fists. It was purely a reflex action, but you never knew. Maybe if the ant was willing to tie its stinger behind its back...
Then he saw a rake leaning against the side of the house. Plastic tines, but hey, he wasn't exactly in a fussy mood.
He grabbed the rake and swung it back and forth in front of him as the ant crawled closer. The ant didn't appear overly intimidated by this gesture, but then again, Zachary didn't know how to read ant facial expressions.
As he smacked the rake against the ant's head, most of the plastic tines broke off.
* * * *
Roberta needed a weapon, and the only thing she could think of was the can of lighter fluid she'd seen on the seat of the truck next to Dr. Ruiz. He groaned as she opened the door, but there was no time to see how he was doing. She grabbed the can and left. She didn't have a lighter, but his teeth and voice were proof that Zachary was a heavy smoker.
"He's trapped!" Dustin shouted, pointing between the two houses where Zachary had fled.
As Dustin jumped back on his motorcycle and started the engine, Roberta ran toward the homes. She wasn't quite sure how she was going to help out with her measly little can of lighter fluid, but she couldn't just leave Zachary to die.
* * * *
Zachary smacked the ant again and again, putting every ounce of strength into every blow with the ... well, now it was just a wooden stick, not a rake. He didn't seem to be hurting the ant very badly, but at least he was keeping it from chewing off the bottom half of his body.
* * * *
Dustin drove toward the house, hoping to see a stick of dynamite or a machine gun lying around, anything to use against the insect.
The curtains on the front window briefly parted, and he saw a woman peek through at him. He had a pretty good idea that she wasn't going to come outside and help them. The curtains closed.
An extension cord ran from the open garage to something lying on the ground. Dustin rode over to it.
A weed-whacker.
He wasn't sure if it would be useful against a giant ant, but he was sure willing to find out.
He picked up the weed-whacker, held down the button to turn it on, and sped toward the edge of the house. Roberta was already there.
* * * *
Roberta squeezed the can tightly, squirting lighter fluid onto the back of the ant. After a few squirts, she called out to Zachary. "I need your lighter!"
"Are you crazy! I'm busy!" Zachary shouted back.
Roberta quickly stepped back out of the way as Dustin zoomed toward her on his motorcycle, holding a roaring weed trimmer out in front of him like a knight's lance.
* * * *
Dustin braced himself.
Then the extension cord caught on something, and the weed whacker popped right out of his hand.
He cursed and sped past the ant.
* * * *
The ant started to twist its body around, possibly sensing the commotion behind it. Zachary quickly dug into his pocket and took out his lighter, tossed it to Roberta, and then smacked the ant in the head yet again.
* * * *
Roberta caught the lighter, flicked it on, and thrust it against the ant.
Its back burst into flames.
The ant raised its head and began to thrash around. Roberta continued to squirt lighter fluid on the creature as it maneuvered itself around to face her. The entire top half of the ant was burning.
Dustin was speeding toward them again.
This time he was holding a shovel.
She stepped out of the way, and Dustin slammed down the shovel as he passed. The ant's burning head flew off, hit the ground, and rolled toward Roberta, mandibles snapping back and forth so quickly it looked like a movie playing in speeded-up motion.
Roberta screamed and kicked it.
* * * *
Zachary had let himself relax for a split second, and therefore wasn't expecting to see a burning ant head sailing through the air toward his face. He moved out of the way as it struck the wooden gate, bounced to the ground, and lay still.
The body of the ant collapsed.
He dropped what was left of the rake and tried to make an appropriate comment, but couldn't even start to think of one and just settled for catching his breath.
Dustin drove back up. "We've got another one coming!"
"Aw, give me a freakin' break!"
"This one's bigger," said Dustin. "And it almost looks like it's got a ... rider."
* * * *
"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God..."
Once again Jack felt himself slipping off the back of the ant, but did everything he could to maintain his grip. The damn ant was running as fast as a horse. He almost thought it might be wise to just let go and hope that the ant kept running, but if it decided to turn around and finish him off, he was dead.
He was most likely dead anyway, but no sense forcing the issue.
As the ant ran down the sidewalk, he could see some people a couple of blocks ahead. There was something burning next to their house, but he couldn't quite tell what it was from this distance.
"Help me!" he shouted. "For God's sake, help me!"
* * * *
Still holding the shovel, Dustin drove the motorcycle across the front yard and back onto the street. He could only assume that the person on the ant wasn't taking a voluntary thrill ride and needed assistance.
He knew that meeting the ant head-on wasn't going to work, at least if he wanted to avoid accidentally killing the rider. He sped down the street, passing the ant and its terrified passenger, a kid who looked to be in his early twenties, then turned the motorcycle around and came up behind the ant.
Once he was neck-and-neck with it, he lifted the shovel.
"Let go!" he shouted at the kid.
The kid released his grip and fell off the ant's back, landing hard on the pavement. Dustin swung the shovel down as hard as he could.
A perfect hit.
The ant, now missing its head, continued to run.
Dustin applied the brakes. He was normally a rather humble person, but he had to admit, two shovel-related ant decapitations in less than two minutes was pretty darn impressive.
The kid was still lying on the street as Dustin drove over to him. "You okay?"
"I'm not sure," the kid said with a groan. "Is my brain on the inside or the outside?"
Dustin propped up the motorcycle, got off, and helped the kid to his feet. "You should be fine."
"I'm sure I -- _ow_, careful, I've got a twisted knee."
"Yeah, you hit the ground pretty hard."
"No, that was from falling out of a window."
"Oh."
"Thanks for your help," the kid said. "Please tell me you got a picture of me riding that ant. If I have to go through shit like that, I should at least be able to profit from it."
Dustin grinned. "Sorry, but no."
"Well, that's the kind of day it's been."
Dustin got the kid on the back of the motorcycle and drove back to Roberta and Zachary, who were still standing by the burning ant body. "Okay, we _really_ need to get moving," he said.
"Wait, my friend, she's stuck at Lavin Inc.," said the kid. "We need to pick her up."
"We're really in a big-time hurry."
"But it's straight down the road, about eight or nine blocks. Not very far."
"Good. It's on the way. You two follow me in the truck," he said to Roberta and Zachary.
"Hey, where are those two assholes?" Zachary asked.
Dustin glanced around. There was no sign of Hack and Slash. The cowards had probably run off. He had a horrible vision of them breaking into one of these homes and taking more hostages, but he simply couldn't worry about them any more, not when the whole city was at risk.
"As long as they're out of our face, who cares? Now let's get a move on. We've wasted way too much time already."
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR-*
Moni was safe. Finally.
The other two people in the truck had introduced themselves as Zachary and Roberta. A Hispanic man of about sixty was leaning against the door, occasionally mumbling something that she couldn't understand while Roberta patted his knee. They were squeezed together pretty tightly, but it was far from uncomfortable. Jack was up ahead of her, riding on the back of a motorcycle, which had to be much smoother than riding on the back of a giant ant.
All she wanted was to go home, but they hadn't really offered that option. The guy driving the motorcycle was in an incredible hurry, and she'd been picked up and ushered into the truck with barely a word of explanation. Now they were headed to the "source of the problem," which to her sounded like the polar opposite direction from where she wanted to be traveling.
But at least there were no ants around here. Well, except for another one of the _really_ big ones, but at least it hadn't come after their vehicles.
* * * *
Dustin pulled up in front of a small, non-descript one-story building with aluminum siding. Directly behind it, possibly attached, was a tall, thin building that looked just like a six-story brick version of the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey. A simple stenciled sign over the door read "Scantion Enterprises." Three extremely nice cars were parked out front.
Jack got off the motorcycle and limped after him. "This place used to be the biggest haunted house in Florida, but it went out of business a couple of years ago. You think they converted it to an ant factory?"
"I'm not sure."
"Shouldn't we have, like, an arsenal or something?"
"Probably. Did you bring one?"
Zachary, Roberta, and the new girl, Moni, got out of the truck and joined them in front of the building. Now that he'd finally reached his destination, Dustin wasn't really sure how to proceed. Should he just knock?
No, that would be stupid. If there was ever a time to just barge right into a place, this was it. He put his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and prepared to barge.
* * * *
Roberta heard something behind them and started to turn around.
A loud blast.
A flash of red.
Warm, sticky liquid against her face.
As well as something thicker.
Dustin fell.
"Well, now," said Hack, standing amidst the garbage bags in the back of the truck, holding a shotgun that was balanced against the wrist of his injured arm, "that was kind of gross, wasn't it? Wow, who'd have ever thought we'd find a shotgun back here? God bless the rednecks."
He hopped out of the back of the truck, keeping the shotgun pointed at them. Slash stood up and joined him.
"Ooooh, look at that, Slash, we've got ourselves another girlie to join in the fun."
Roberta was in a state of absolute shock. Dustin lay at her feet, much of his head gone. She'd barely known him, but he'd already proven himself to be a stellar human being. He didn't deserve this, to come so far only to be shot dead by these lowlife psychopaths.
And he was the only one who had any idea of what was going on.
Zachary was the first person to recover. "I'll kill you. I swear to God I'll kill you."
"Yeah, well, I keep hearing you say that, and yet I'm finding myself very much alive. Give it a rest or you're next."
"Try it. You only get two shots out of that thing. You may get me, but my friends here will rip you apart."
Hack looked them over. "Oh, well, please explain to me where the fear factor comes in. Let's see, blowing you away would leave us with a dying old man, some black chick who's probably not even a very good dental assistant, a hot babe whose hands look like shit, and some banged-up guy who looks like he can barely stand up. I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more justification before I start quaking in my booties."
"Put down the shotgun and fight me one-on-one," said Zachary. "I'll show you some justification."
"Hmmmmm ... I'm thinking ... thinking ... thinking ... ah, no, sorry."
"All right, enough jabbering," said Slash. "This is the place Bug Boy was so desperate to get to, huh? Doesn't look like much."
"Definitely not a tourist spot," Hack agreed.
"Well, I have to admit, Bug Boy did get my curiosity up. What the hell? Let's go on in."
* * * *
This just couldn't be happening.
You didn't fight countless ants, climb out of fourth-story windows, break both hands, run through a burning building, and get attacked by an ant the size of a refrigerator just to end up facing some criminal with a shotgun after you were finally free.
It wasn't fair.
Although a quick glance down at Dustin's body put things in perspective. Moni wondered if he had a family.
Zachary opened the door to the building, and seemed surprised to find it unlocked. The four of them walked inside, Roberta wiping gore off her face, followed closely by the sleazeoid with the shotgun and his partner.
* * * *
They entered a small area that looked like a waiting room, with chairs against the wall and a receptionist's desk. More noteworthy was the dead man lying facedown on the tile floor. He was dressed in a gray business suit, and a trail of blood stretched about three feet behind him.
There was another splatter of blood against the wall behind the desk. Zachary went over and peeked behind the desk. Not as grisly as what happened to Dustin, but definitely not a pleasant sight. This guy was wearing a white lab coat. Well, mostly white, anyway. "There's another body here," he announced. "Looks like it was shot."
"Yeah, well, step away from there," said Hack. He gestured to the dead body on the floor. "Hey, look at that, Slash. It's your lucky day."
Slash walked over and picked up the handgun that was on the floor next to the body. "Sweet."
The only exit to the room was a metal door to the left. Hack waved the shotgun at Zachary. "Lead the way."
Zachary approached the door and tested the handle. "It's locked. Looks like it uses one of those card access systems."
"Christ, I hate those things," Jack muttered.
Slash pointed his newfound gun at him. "Did anybody ask for your opinion? I'm guessing that nobody did. So instead of being a chatterbox, why don't you do something useful and search that bloody corpse for his access card?"
Jack didn't protest. He crouched down next to the body, wincing as he did so, and then rolled it over. The whole front of its chest was soaked with blood.
Zachary hated feeling so helpless. He couldn't exactly take on a guy with a shotgun, but as soon as either one of those bastards let their guard down...
Jack patted the dead man's pockets, and slid a red plastic card out of one of them. "You want me to check his pockets for spare change, too?" he asked Slash, handing the card to Zachary as he stood up. "I might be able to find you some gum or something."
"You always this funny?" asked Hack.
"No, I guess you just caught me on a happy day."
"So how funny do you think it would be if I did a Tonya Harding on your bad knee?"
"You're kidding, right?" asked Jack. "A _Tonya Harding_? Is that the best you can come up with? Dude, we've passed the nineties, it's time to update your pop culture references."
Hack chuckled. "Let me guess. This is the part where I get so pissed off by your comical little insults that I make a mistake, right?"
"If you'd like. Actually, I was hoping that this was the part where my incisive comments opened up a new world of self awareness and made you into a better human being."
Hack turned to Slash and grinned. "You know what? I like this guy. Do we kill him or ask him to join us?"
"What we do is quit talking," said Slash. "Let's get that door open."
Zachary swiped the card, and heard a click as the door unlocked. He pulled it open and stepped through the doorway.
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE-*
Zachary hesitated after taking his first step into the hallway. There were two more dead men on the floor, both of whom had been shot. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any extra guns lying around.
On each side of the hallway was a series of four Plexiglas-sealed cages, about the size of prison cells. From this angle, Zachary could only see what was in the cages directly to his left and to his right.
The cage to his left was filled with butterflies. Hundreds of them, flying all around. They were beautifully colored, a glorious mix of yellows, reds, blues, greens, and countless other colors, some even iridescent. Each was the size of a piece of notebook paper. Zachary wasn't normally the type to be impressed by such things, but he had to admit that the butterflies were a striking, gorgeous sight.
The cage to his right held an old man in a white lab coat. He rushed to the closed entrance and pounded vigorously on the door. He was shouting something, and while his voice couldn't be heard from outside the cell, the message was clear: "Let me out of here!"
As the others entered, Zachary looked to Hack for approval. "Can I let him go?"
"Sure. I'd love to hear what he has to say."
Zachary swiped the card through the reader, and the Plexiglas door popped open. The man burst out of the cell, only to find himself with Hack's shotgun barrel pointed at his chest.
"My name is Tyler Enzian," the man said, speaking breathlessly fast. He looked to be in his seventies, with long white hair that was tied into a ponytail. "I don't wish to be rude, but I need to stop my employer before it's too late."
"Your employer wouldn't happen to be responsible for the dead guys in the other room, would he?" Hack asked.
"Dead guys? Plural? Two of them?"
"Yeah."
"That's promising. They must have shot each other. Still, that doesn't take care of the ultimate problem. Perhaps all of you are willing to help me?"
Hack snorted. "Does this shotgun look like I'm out to help anybody?"
Tyler looked confused for a moment, and then noticed Slash in the back, holding the others at gunpoint. "Are you trying to tell me that the rest of these people are hostages?"
"These people and you, yeah."
"You do realize that there's a major crisis in Tampa, don't you? Why else would you be here?"
"This major crisis wouldn't have anything to do with, I dunno, say, giant ants, would it?" asked Zachary.
"Yes it would, and it's only going to get worse, much worse. Please, you have to let me pass." When Hack didn't budge, Tyler's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I see. You have no interest in averting the crisis. You're only here for the money. Typical."
"What money?" asked Hack.
"The eight million dollars that my employer delivered today, before things got out of control."
"Cash?"
"Of course cash. But money is of no consequence if you aren't alive to spend it!"
"I don't know, I'll have to get back to you on that. Where's the money?"
"Sir, you just don't understand -- "
Hack jabbed him in the stomach with the barrel of the shotgun. "Shut up and tell me where the money is."
Tyler pointed to the butterfly cage. "We hid it in there, where they wouldn't find it. But you can't go in there without proper protection; you'll contaminate the specimens."
"Is that so?" asked Hack. He extended his hand toward Zachary. "Give me the card."
"Sir, please! If you so much as cough in there you'll kill the butterflies and waste immeasurable hours of research, not to mention a significant financial -- "
"Quiet!"
"I don't even know the combination to the lock on the briefcase," Tyler insisted. "It will be useless to you."
"I'll take that risk," Hack informed him, swiping the card through the reader. "You know, I used to pull the wings off butterflies when I was a kid. This might be kind of fun."
"I've only just met you, and yet that barbaric revelation still doesn't surprise me."
"Keep 'em covered," Hack said to Slash as the door popped open. He stepped inside, and Tyler immediately kicked the door shut behind him. Hack turned around, surprised.
"It's a safety precaution," Tyler insisted, as Slash pushed past the others and approached the scientist. "Our specimens are too precious to just let them fly around free. I hope you realize that your friend is destroying a scientific breakthrough that may never be duplicated."
Slash shrugged. "These things happen."
* * * *
Hack swatted butterflies out of his face as he walked toward the back of the cage. Eight million dollars. Whoever would have thought that it would turn out to be such a great day? Well worth getting shot, especially since Slash got shot up worse.
There were so damn many butterflies that he couldn't even see how far back the cage went. He had to admit, they _were_ pretty cool. But he figured they'd be almost as cool dead as they were alive, so he coughed on purpose. Maybe he'd take one back as a souvenir.
A butterfly landed on his arm. He shook it away, but another one took its place. He set down the shotgun and brushed it off.
Yeah, they were just butterflies, but it was still kind of creepy.
He reached the stone wall at the far end of the cage. It was hard to see the floor through the mass of butterflies, but it couldn't be that difficult to locate a briefcase, could it? With his luck, he'd probably trip over it and break his neck.
Another butterfly landed on his arm. He raised his arm to his face and wondered how much this beautiful specimen would enjoy having its head crushed between his thumb and index finger.
He moved his other hand to do just that, when the butterfly dipped its head down to his arm and bit him.
Bit him? It felt like a chunk of flesh had been torn off. A thin trickle of blood ran down his arm as Hack grabbed the butterfly's body and crushed it in his hand.
What the hell were they doing creating biting butterflies? Giant ants were one thing ... nobody liked them anyway ... but this was just plain _twisted_.
He wiped the dead butterfly's mangled body off on the wall. Its mostly intact wings left a colorful streak on the stone. And suddenly it was as if one of the other butterflies had shouted "Attack!"
They swarmed him.
Within seconds Hack was covered by butterflies from head to toe. Completely blind, he staggered around, frantically trying to brush the butterflies off his body. As fast as he could brush them off, more replaced them.
Then they started biting.
And ripping.
* * * *
"What the hell is going on in there?" asked Slash.
"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," said Tyler. "They're only butterflies."
Moni watched in shock as the butterflies stopped flying all over the cage and converged into one spot. Though she knew it was Hack under there, all she could see was a vaguely humanoid figure that looked like it had been constructed out of giant butterflies.
Moni almost let out a giggle.
Her urge to giggle stopped, though, when the figure reached out its arm as if pointing directly at her. A few drops of blood fell from the arm, followed by a small geyser of blood from the shoulder.
"Get him out of there!" Slash demanded, his voice panicked.
"I'm guessing you don't want those specimens out here where we are," Tyler said.
And then blood started spraying in all directions. Hack started spinning in circles, arms beating at his head and chest, but the blood-drenched butterflies remained attached to him. As he spun, blood flew off his body like water from a rotating sprinkler system.
Even though the psycho had murdered Dustin only a few minutes ago, Moni couldn't help but wish there was some way she could get him out of there.
She was also relieved that the Plexiglas blocked out the sound of his screams.
* * * *
Hack fell to his knees. He was still blind, although now it wasn't just from the butterflies on his face but also his lack of eyes. He felt like the top few layers of skin had been ripped from his body, and had a good idea that the feeling was more literal than metaphorical.
Hack had never outgrown the standard teenage feelings of invincibility, but he knew now that he was a dead man. Even if the butterflies were to suddenly fly away, which wasn't likely, he wouldn't want to live. Not like this.
It was time to make peace.
He'd never set foot in a church in his entire life, but now it was time to speak to the Lord for the first time.
_Dear God_, he prayed, _if there really is eight million dollars around here, please don't let Slash get it_.
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX-*
"Ten dollars says that hurt," said Tyler.
"You sick freak!" Slash screamed. "I should blow your goddamn head off!"
"Yes, you should," Tyler agreed. "You should also have been watching me more closely instead of fixating on the shredding of your friend."
The gun dropped out of Slash's hand.
"Feeling sleepy?" asked Tyler, holding up a hypodermic needle.
Slash took a halfhearted swing at Tyler, and then collapsed. Tyler picked up his gun and dropped it into the pocket of his lab coat. "What a cretin."
"Is he dead?" asked Moni.
"No, merely dreaming. Let's put him someplace safe, shall we? He won't be out long." Tyler crouched down next to one of the dead men and pulled one of the red cards out of his pocket, then crossed over to the cage they'd found him in and waved the card over the reader. "He's not a very pleasant person, is he? Where did you pick him up?"
"It's a long story," said Roberta.
"Well, I'm pressed for time. If you'll be so kind as to take care of him, I have some urgent business that I must attend to."
Tyler walked back into the waiting room. "I'll handle Slash," said Zachary. "The rest of you try to get some answers."
Roberta, Moni, and Jack followed Tyler into the waiting room. Tyler glanced at the dead body, shook his head disapprovingly, and then went around behind the desk. He looked at the floor and frowned. "I'd hoped you were wrong about Saul. He's much better with the computer system than I am." Tyler sat down and began typing on the keyboard.
"Listen," said Roberta, "my friend is outside. He got stung by one of the ants. Do you have anything that can counteract the venom?"
"Yes, of course, but it's not convenient at the moment," said Tyler, his eyes never leaving the monitor.
"But he's dying."
"As are many people, I'm certain. And as will many, many more if I waste valuable time right now."
"So how did the ants get loose?" asked Moni.
"They were always supposed to get loose, they just weren't supposed to get loose _yet_. But it went wrong. An old student of mine was supposed to show up today to be talked into joining the project, and we were all gathered here to make him an offer he couldn't refuse."
"Was his name Dustin?" asked Roberta.
"Dustin Abbott, yes. You know him?"
"He's right outside," Roberta said, wiping some more blood from her face. "The guy who got eaten by the butterflies shot him."
Tyler closed his eyes for a moment. "A pity. Anyway, things were said, blows were exchanged, shots were fired, and the first wave was released prematurely. Sloppy. Let me offer you a piece of advice: Never agree to work for madmen."
"What do you mean, they were supposed to get loose?" asked Jack.
"Sir, I'm much too busy to assist you with rudimentary English skills."
"All right, jerk-off, I meant _why_ were they supposed to get loose?"
"Saul, my employer, was very much into ... how shall I phrase this ... the complete destruction of humanity. He was not a people person. Obviously, the complete destruction of humanity was a trifle out of his reach, so he decided to attempt it on a smaller scale. I went along with it for the remarkably generous paycheck and the tremendous research budget, but my intent was always to put a stop to his plan before it could be enacted."
"You're quite a guy," said Zachary, sourly.
"We experimented with various insects, but _Solenopsis Wagneri_, or _Solenopsis Invicta_, was always the top priority. 'The Unconquered One.' What could be a more appropriate metaphor to end the corruption of humanity than fire ants? As Saul always said, 'Burn, baby, burn.'"
Zachary entered the waiting room, letting the door close behind him. "He's sealed up nice and tight. I hope nobody minds that I kicked him a few times by accident."
Tyler continued typing. "I hope I'm doing this right."
"Doing what right?" Roberta asked.
"Wave one is, as you've probably guessed, the release of millions of red fire ants into various parts of Tampa, ants that are approximately eight hundred percent larger than their non-enhanced relatives. Their creation involved both genetic experimentation and the development of an extremely interesting substance that we like to refer to as Hell, which a queen passes on to its offspring.
"We constructed twenty-one nests, each capable of holding four or five times the number of ants produced by a standard colony. Running a few fairly complex set of sequences on this computer opens the storage facilities by remote control, and _voila_, wave one commences. Wave two, appropriately enough, involves much larger ants."
"Ants the size of a rat," said Moni.
Tyler turned away from the computer. "You saw them?"
"A few of them, yeah. As well as the _really_ big ones."
"Were you impressed?"
"What, are you kidding me?"
"Wave three was abandoned because we couldn't keep a queen alive, so we only ended up with a few of the largest size of ants. Most of those were released, along with numerous wave two specimens, from the twenty-first warehouse, which was located next to those bastards at Lavin, Incorporated. My sister was one of their best employees. Mandatory staff reductions my ass."
Tyler blinked, and then returned his attention to the computer. "Now, the first wave can be stopped. There's a chemical that reacts with the Hell in the ant's bodies and kills them. Quite dramatically, actually. We call it Heaven, naturally, even though to me the name seems a bit heavy-handed."
"Well then let's get this stuff and go!" said Zachary.
"We could do that, or you could kindly keep your mouth closed and listen to me. The Heaven we have on hand can easily be mixed with any common insecticide and sprayed over the city. Obviously there would have to be a more thorough house-to-house treatment afterward, but still, the problem is solvable. The dilemma is that the second wave of ants aren't receptive to Heaven in that form, and if they get out, the only solution will be to hunt them down individually. Considering that the six-story building attached to this structure is currently serving as the world's largest ant farm, that's quite a few ants to exterminate, don't you think?"
"But you can keep them from getting out, right?" asked Moni.
"That's what I'm trying to find out. Saul could have stopped the sequence in about ten seconds, but then again, he's the fool who started it in the first place." He cracked his knuckles. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the second wave is scheduled to begin in less than fifteen minutes, so this is the moment of truth. If I've done everything correctly, the second wave will be averted, and I'll let you fine people deliver the Heaven to the necessary authorities to eliminate the first. If I haven't, the rest of our evening will take a rather substantial downward trajectory."
He hit the "enter" key, and then stared at the screen for a long moment.
Roberta stared at the screen as well, even though she had no idea what all of those numbers meant.
"So did it work?" asked Moni.
Tyler pushed back his chair and stood up. "Actually, no. I've made things a bit worse. Sorry about that."
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN-*
"We need to make some calls!" Zachary demanded. "We'll let somebody know what's going on, have them drop a bomb on it!"
"Don't be ignorant," said Tyler. "You won't get a bomb anywhere close to this area in under fifteen minutes. You'd be lucky to be taken off hold in that amount of time."
"Bullshit!" said Zachary. "They've got satellites up there that can read your license plate number, so they damn well have somethin' that can bomb a building!"
"Then call the President. Be my guest."
"No, he's right, that isn't a feasible option even if the phone lines weren't jammed," said Roberta. "What else can we do? Can't we just seal off the building?"
Tyler shook his head. "Four sliding doors are going to open, two on the first level, two on the second. You couldn't possibly barricade it in time. And unless it were brick or metal, the ants would quickly get through anyway."
"They won't all try to get out at once, though, will they?"
"Actually, they will. A transmitter will be sending out signals as soon as the doors lift, sort of a call to battle. Have you heard about the recent attacks on humans by normal-sized ants? Those were tests."
"Then what about that chemical, the Heaven?"
"Like I said, it won't affect the second wave of ants except in its raw form, and we've only synthesized one canister of it. It would work like a smoke grenade, but it couldn't possibly cover more than one floor of the building. That leaves five-sixths of the ants. Barely an improvement."
"Barely an improvement to you, but that's a lot of possible lives we could save," said Zachary. "And do you know for sure that it won't cover the whole building, or are you just guessin'?"
"There's absolutely no way it will cover the entire building," said Tyler. "You'll be lucky if it covers one floor."
"Still, that's a whole floor. Is there a way in the building?"
Tyler nodded. "Yes, but you'd have to set off the canister immediately or the ants will be all over you."
"I can deal with that," said Zachary. "Where's the canister?"
"It's back in the lab where we keep our ... mistakes. But when I said that I'd made things worse, what I mean is that I accidentally unlocked all of the cages."
"So the vampire butterflies are loose?"
"Possibly."
"You've got to be kiddin' me!" said Zachary. "What kind of idiotic setup is this? What's wrong with controllin' all this stuff with a simple button?"
"The intent was to be able to control everything from anywhere in the world. Obviously my employer and his associates had no plans to be anywhere near Tampa when the ants were released, and as I've said, I'm not the computer expert here."
"Fine. I'll get the chemicals. Where's the lab?"
"After you go through the door at the end of the first hallway, you'll enter another hallway. It will be the second door on your left. On a shelf in the lab you'll find two silver canisters. If you really are intending to enter the building, you'll need the smaller one. The larger one will be effective against the first wave."
"Fine. Who's coming with me?"
"I am," said Roberta.
Zachary looked like he wanted to protest, but then nodded. "What about you?" he asked Tyler.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I think you're wrong."
Tyler took the gun out of his lab coat pocket and pointed it at Zachary. "I think I'm right."
Though clearly enraged, Zachary let it drop and turned to Jack and Moni. "You two wait for us. We'll be back."
"Here," said Tyler, handing Roberta his red pass card. "The other doors are open, but you'll still need this to get into the building. Better that each of you have one in case there's a death, don't you think?"
"What about the venom antidote?" she asked.
"You'll find some test tubes with a blue liquid in each of the rooms with specimens."
Zachary opened the door, and then he and Roberta ran into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind them.
"Do they stand a chance?" asked Jack.
Tyler shrugged. "I'm certainly not sticking around to find out."
* * * *
Most of the butterflies were still focused on Hack's body and hadn't left the cage. Roberta couldn't see his arm very well, but she thought she caught a glimpse of bone. Slash was lying on the floor of his cage, still unconscious.
These two minor sources of relief were far outweighed by the sight of what was pouring out of the cage at the end of the hall by the dozens.
Spiders.
Ones that were as big as her hand.
Roberta hated ants as much as anybody, but she was absolutely _terrified_ of spiders. Even though she had no clue what made them so much scarier (the extra two legs?), the fact was that if she had to face a hundred ants and one spider, she'd pick the ants.
Zachary shoved her forward. "Don't even look at them! Just run!"
Caterpillars were starting to emerge from one of the other cages, but she barely noticed them.
_They aren't real_, she told herself. _They're just very sophisticated animatronic arachnids on loan from Disney. If Mickey Mouse can handle being around these things without completely losing his mind, then there's no reason you can't, too. They aren't real_.
The things being crushed under her feet certainly _felt_ real.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed something in another one of the cages. It looked like a spider leg that was the size of a human leg.
She reached the end of the hallway, threw open the door, and continued down the connecting corridor. _This is ridiculous! Calm yourself! You've had your entire body covered with ants; you can handle some fake spiders_!
At least she wasn't screaming hysterically, although she didn't think that such a thing was too far off.
She forced herself to stop running. Zachary caught up with her and took her hand in his. "Are you all right?"
"I'm not ... I think ... yes, I'm fine." She took three deep breaths. "I don't do spiders well."
"They can't hurt you. Come on, you passed the door."
They turned around, opened an unmarked wooden door, and stepped into a laboratory.
Mistakes.
Roberta could think of several words for the things that were crawling out of the ten or twelve cages that lined each side wall of the room, but "mistakes" was far too tame.
A scorpion, two feet long, moved along the floor. Its giant pincers were frightening enough, but it also had a human-shaped mouth filled with sharp, metallic teeth.
A cucumber-sized maggot crawled along on eight spider-like legs.
A foot-long bee flew around in wild circles, red blood dripping from its head.
And ants. Ants of various sizes, some with extra body parts, some with absurdly oversized stingers, some with bodies so deformed that they merely wriggled inside their open cages.
The shelf was against the far wall. Only twenty feet away.
The scorpion rushed toward Roberta, pincers snapping.
* * * *
Moni followed Tyler out of the building. "How can you just run away from this?" she asked.
"Simple," said Tyler, quickly looking away from Dustin's body. "I'm intelligent. You're more than welcome to join me."
The old Hispanic dentist had opened the door of the truck and was trying to climb out, though it was obvious he wasn't up to the task. Moni went over to him.
"You should wait in the truck. We'll be getting out of here soon."
The dentist looked around. "The ants ... they're gone, yes?"
"No. They just aren't around here," Moni said. She felt like she should help him back into the truck, but there wasn't much she could do with her broken hands.
The dentist leaned his head back and said something unintelligible. Moni leaned in closer to him. "What was that?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I just hoped they went away. Sorry."
"I wish they'd go away, too. Maybe we'll get lucky and..."
She stopped as she remembered that they _had_ gone away at one point.
Maybe that was it!
* * * *
Roberta kicked the scorpion as hard as she could, expecting it to fly across the room like a soccer ball. Instead, her foot broke through its side and became imbedded, so she ended up with her foot in the air, a huge scorpion stuck on the end of it.
She screamed as it pinched her ankle.
Zachary grabbed the scorpion with both hands and ripped it off her foot. It pinched his arm, drawing blood, as he threw it across the room. It struck one of the cages, white chunks splattering out of its body.
As if simultaneously realizing that there just wasn't time to be scared, Roberta and Zachary both rushed toward the shelf. The spider-maggot scurried toward her at an alarming speed. Zachary ducked out of the way of the bee, which then bounced against the ceiling.
An ant fell out of its cage and practically exploded upon impact, as if it were filled with nitroglycerine.
Another second wave-sized ant ran toward her, its stinger almost as long as the rest of its body combined. She stomped on that one, and then stomped on a second with two heads.
Zachary cried out as the bee suddenly flew in a circle around his head, and then slammed itself stinger-first into his chest.
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT-*
Zachary doubled over momentarily, then stood back up, grabbed the bee with both hands, and ripped it away from his chest, leaving the stinger behind.
Roberta pulled the stinger out, but there wasn't even time to ask him if he was okay. Two more scorpions were crawling out of their cages, as was a millipede with bright red streaks across its back, and a spider.
A spider with twice as many legs as normal, but still unquestionably a spider.
Zachary looked dazed, but grabbed the larger of the two silver canisters, which was about the size of a beer keg. Roberta saw a wooden holder with two tiny test tubes in it, took both of them, and slipped them into her pocket. Then she took the smaller canister, the size of a gallon jug, and they made a run for the exit.
* * * *
Moni rushed over to Tyler, who was about to get in his car. "When one of the biggest ants came to Lavin, Inc., the other ants ran away. I mean, all of them. Is that supposed to happen?"
"It wasn't planned, no, but it had something to do with the signals the ants send out. I'd actually hoped that Dustin would be able to shed some light on it."
"But will that always happen?"
"Apparently so, yes."
"Do you have any of the giant ants inside?"
"One, but it's not exactly tame. What exactly are you planning to do?"
"Tell me where it is."
* * * *
Roberta kicked the maggot out of the way. It landed on its back, legs twitching helplessly in the air as it tried to right itself.
They emerged from the lab and Roberta slammed the door shut, pinching the millipede in half. Zachary nearly lost his grip on the canister and leaned against the wall.
"Are you allergic to bee stings?" Roberta asked.
Zachary shook his head. "Not normal ones. Oh, crap, I screwed up bad. I should've been watchin' more closely."
"It's okay," said Roberta, reaching into her pocket. She took out the test tubes and slipped them into Zachary's pocket. "You take that canister out to Jack and Moni, and then take care of Dr. Ruiz. I'll handle the ones in the building."
"Hell no."
"I'm not arguing this. Get out of here."
* * * *
Moni entered the hallway, which was filled with insects. Slash was still in the cage, and though he was now conscious, he looked groggy and unthreatening. She ran down the hallway, no longer cringing at the sound of bugs being squished under her feet. Hard to believe she could get used to that sort of thing.
She pushed down on the door handle with her elbow, then wedged her other hand into the handle and pulled it open, ignoring the pain.
Roberta and Zachary were in the hallway, holding silver canisters, as she entered.
"I've got it!" she shouted. "I know what to do!"
"What's that?" asked Roberta.
"The giant ants, I mean, the really big ones! The other ants run from them! If we bring one of the giant ants with us, maybe we can herd all the other ants into the top floor, and _then_ set off the chemical!"
"So, what, we put it on a leash?"
"Basically, yeah."
Roberta patted Zachary on the shoulder and then kissed him on the cheek. "Get that stuff to the right folks. We're counting on you to be our hero."
"Yeah, well, let me tell you somethin'. You damn well better be around for my follow-up appointment, understand?"
"I promise."
* * * *
Zachary wished he could let go of the canister long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow, but it was all he could do just to free his hand enough to open the door. He felt dizzy, sick to his stomach, and almost wanted to cry. Jack would definitely be doing the driving.
As he entered the hallway, Slash stepped out of his cage. He took a moment to steady himself against the glass, and then nodded at Zachary.
"Hey, buddy. Whatcha got there?"
Zachary would've thrown the canister at him, but he didn't have anywhere near enough strength. The way he felt now, he probably couldn't take him in a fight. Hell, he probably couldn't take _Moni_ in a fight even in her current condition. He could feel the hand-sized spiders crawling up his legs.
Slash began to walk down the hallway, not even looking down at the insects and spiders that crawled around his feet. "You don't look so well. Golly, I hope an ant didn't sting you."
Zachary knew this tactic wouldn't work, but decided to try anyway. "Thousands, hundreds of thousands of people might die if I don't get out of here with this canister. You can't possibly be evil enough to let that happen."
"I don't know, buddy, I'm pretty evil. Actually, it seems to me that a canister that can save hundreds of thousands of people has a pretty good market value, don't you think?"
The gap between the two men narrowed to six feet. Slash had never proven himself to be an outrageous brainiac, so if only he were dumb enough to get close enough that Zachary could simply drop the canister on his foot...
Slash turned his head to the left, let out a high-pitched shriek, and then was knocked to the ground as a six-foot-long tarantula burst out of its cage and pounced upon him.
"_Help me_!" Slash wailed. "_Please help me_!"
Slash struggled to push the hairy spider off of himself, but it was far too heavy. It buried its immense fangs into Slash's face, muffling his screams. Slash's legs shook violently, but within seconds the shaking had diminished to a mild twitching.
The tarantula crawled most of the way off his body. Slash lay on the floor, still clearly alive but paralyzed, his mouth wide open. A centipede crawled into it and vanished from sight.
The tarantula dug its fangs into Slash's leg, and began to slowly drag him into its cage. Slash looked over at Zachary, eyes wide with terror, mouth moving as if trying to beg for help.
Zachary just watched, his entire body suddenly numb.
Slash disappeared into the spider's cage.
_Come into my parlor..._
* * * *
Jack breathed a sigh of relief as Zachary emerged from the building, although the spiders and other insects crawling all over his legs didn't look good. He limped over to him and took the canister, while Zachary started brushing off the bugs.
"Where's Tyler?" Zachary asked.
"He took off. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll crash into a telephone pole."
"We can only hope." Zachary finished getting the bugs off his legs and headed for the truck. "You're driving."
They wasted no time getting in the truck and speeding off. It was a little awkward using his left foot to work the gas pedal, but Jack figured that Moni and Roberta were undergoing a far greater challenge than simply using the wrong foot to drive.
"Aw, crap!" shouted Zachary, patting his pocket, which had a wet splotch on it. He reached inside, then breathed a sigh of relief as he took out a few shards of broken glass and a second intact test tube filled with blue liquid. He popped off the cork top and waved it in front of the dentist's mouth.
"Dr. Ruiz? Got something for you."
Dr. Ruiz opened his eyes weakly. Zachary put the test tube to his mouth and tilted it. The dentist drank the liquid and grimaced.
"That will save my life, yes?" he asked.
"Yes," said Zachary.
"With taste like that, better to be dead." Dr. Ruiz smiled and closed his eyes again.
"So, we're off to save the day," said Jack. "Do you think the ladies stand a chance?"
"They'd better, or there won't be a day to save."
They drove in silence for a moment.
"That comment really doesn't make any sense," Jack pointed out.
"I'm still numb from my root canal this evening and I got stung in the chest by a giant bee. Give me a break."
Then Zachary smiled. Up ahead was not one but two ambulances.
"Gentlemen, I think we've just had a stroke of luck. Let's hope the same thing happens to Roberta and Moni."
*-CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE-*
Roberta and Moni entered the room across from the "mistakes" lab. This one held two large Plexiglas cages.
Inside the first cage was a fire ant, not quite the size of the couch-sized ones. Its body was bloated, and it was surrounded by what looked like thousands of slimy white eggs. Definitely a queen. Some dead rat-sized ants lay in the cage as well.
The second cage contained one of the largest sized ants. It was facing away from the cage door, but started to turn around as they entered the room. Roberta sped over and pushed the cage door closed seconds before the ant reached it. Good. This process would be much easier if the ant weren't running around loose.
Moni looked around the lab. "Do you see anything we could use as a leash?"
"What about that extension cord?"
Moni didn't respond.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, I'm fine. Bad extension cord experience."
It wasn't difficult for Roberta to fashion the extension cord into a makeshift lasso. She was sure the people who actually worked with these creatures (or used to) had a much more efficient and less dangerous system, but this was the best they could come up with.
A metal rod hung on a small shelf bolted to the wall. A handwritten sign next to it read _AntProd 3000_. "This should control them a little bit better than a broken rake," said Roberta, taking it. "How much time do we have?"
Moni checked her watch. "Oh, shit. Not even seven minutes."
"Okay, okay, we can do this." She tied the other end of the extension cord tightly around Moni's arm. As she did so, she noticed a miner's hat, the type with the flashlight attached to the front, resting on one of the tables. Obviously the ant building didn't have standard lighting.
"Is there any way you can hold the ant prod?" Roberta asked.
"I can't even move my hands. The only way I could hold that thing is if you put it in my mouth."
"You know what? You were joking but that's what we're going to do. Open up." Moni opened her mouth and closed it over the end of the metal rod. "If the ant tries to get out of the cage, poke it."
Moni nodded.
"By the way, your husband is a lucky man." Roberta put on the miner's hat and flipped on the light just in case she wouldn't have a hand free to do so later, and then got ready to open the cage, wishing she'd spent less time in dental school and more time in rodeos.
She threw open the door and tossed the extension cord loop at the ant's head.
And missed.
She quickly yanked the cord out of the cage and closed the door as the ant rushed at it. The ant's head struck the door before she could get it shut all the way and it began to push the door back open. Moni braced her side against the door and helped push, and after a few seconds of strain they managed to get the door closed again.
The ant prod fell out of Moni's mouth. Roberta picked it up and replaced it, then stepped to the side of the door. "I'll try to get this around its neck as it comes out of the cage," Roberta explained. "If I miss, you be ready to zap it."
Moni nodded.
Roberta increased the size of the loop, pulled the door open, and then held her arm out over the doorway, dangling the loop like a snare.
The ant rushed out of the cage.
Its head went through the loop.
Roberta gave the cord a tug, and it tightened around the ant's neck. The cord popped out of her hand as the ant rushed forward, trying to find a way out of the lab, yanking Moni behind it. The other ants started slamming their heads against their cages.
Suddenly Roberta wanted to slam her own head against something. "I can't _believe_ this! We should have opened the door to the building _before_ we got the ant! We won't be able to get it open if the ant's in front of us!" She headed for the door. "Don't get killed. I'll be back."
She ran out of the lab, closing the door behind her, and then sprinted down the hallway. She reached the door at the end, swiped the card, and pulled it open. This led to a smaller corridor, maybe ten feet long, which ended at another door.
She swiped the card and threw the door open.
Dozens of ants scurried out into the hallway.
She turned and ran.
* * * *
The ant was going berserk, and Moni was scared that it was going to rip her arm off.
Too bad Jack wasn't here. He could ride it.
The door flew open and Roberta entered. She grabbed the ant prod out of Moni's mouth, then picked up the canister and tucked it under her left arm. "Try to get it out the door!" Roberta shouted, moving back into the hallway.
The ant didn't need any convincing. It ran for the doorway, and Moni realized with horror that it was turning in the wrong direction.
Roberta jabbed it in the side with the prod. The ant's head flew back, and it turned the other way.
Moni was jerked out of the lab, and the two women struggled to keep up with the stampeding ant.
It was working!
The smaller ants were running back toward the building. If they could keep the ant moving forward through the bottom five levels of the building, they might actually be able to destroy them all!
No, wait.
The ant was moving too fast. The smaller ones couldn't possibly outrun it, no matter how strong the signals were.
Moni stopped running and tried to brace her feet against the floor. Instead, she slid for a couple of seconds, and then was pulled off her feet and onto her stomach. The ant dragged her down the hallway, her chin scraping painfully along the tile before she could get her head up.
It was definitely not the most comfortable she'd ever been in her life, but it seemed to be slowing the ant down.
* * * *
They entered the building.
There was a layer of dirt on the floor, but it didn't seem to be thick enough for the ants to tunnel through. Instead, the building itself, with its eight-foot-high ceiling and ten-feet-apart walls, seemed to be a tunnel. Roberta was sure that this was nothing like the nests normal ants built for themselves, but then again, these were far from normal ants.
As she ran, Roberta shone the light from her miner's helmet around the area. The ants _were_ moving. Thousands of them, scurrying away from the giant ant that was dragging Moni through the dirt.
The ant started to run up the slope that curved around to the second floor. Roberta was thankful that there weren't stairs, for Moni's sake, but then realized that Moni was still going to be slammed against the wall.
* * * *
Moni couldn't see much of anything, and decided that was for the best. She'd just let it drag her along and be the navigator and hope that she didn't hit anything.
"Watch out!" Roberta shouted.
Moni looked ahead and the light beam, and saw that even though the ant had turned left, she was headed straight toward the wall.
She contorted her body, doing her best to keep the point of impact away from her head.
The side of her body smashed into the wall, and then continued being dragged up the slope to the next floor.
Moni was sure she'd broken a rib or two.
Oh well. She only had to go through that five more times.
*-CHAPTER FORTY-*
Moni spent most of her time on the second floor working her body into a seated position. So when she slammed against the next wall, she hit it feet first and the pain wasn't nearly so great.
* * * *
Roberta realized that she was falling behind, and forced herself to pick up the pace. The canister felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Mid-way through the third floor, the ant stopped.
It began to turn around.
"Prod it!" Moni shouted. "Prod it quick!"
Roberta dropped the canister and ran at the ant, ducking out of the way of its mandibles and poking the rod into its side. The ant jolted forward and continued its run. Roberta hurried back to retrieve the canister and followed, legs aching so badly that she thought a few more steps might cause them to shatter like glass.
On the fourth floor, she dropped the metal rod. She knew that if she stopped running long enough to pick it up, she'd never get going again, so she left it.
On the fifth floor, Roberta lost her balance and fell. Moni, already far ahead, slid up the next slope and out of sight.
* * * *
Moni slid more and more slowly until she stopped.
She was on the top floor, but it was completely dark.
She could hear the sounds of things scurrying around. Thousands of things. Millions of things.
They were also making the wet-shoes-on-tile sound she'd heard when they ran away from the Lavin, Inc. lawn. It wasn't quite fingernails-on-a-chalkboard painful to hear, but it was close.
The ants were probably packed so tightly onto the sixth floor that there was no place left for the giant ant to go.
Where was Roberta with the canister?
* * * *
Roberta got up but fell again. The dirt kept the canister from rolling away, but Roberta didn't think she could pick it up again.
She had to. She was so close.
Moni was up there with all of those ants.
Maybe dead.
Roberta picked up the canister and ran.
* * * *
Some ants began to crawl over Moni's legs.
She hoped that Jack and Zachary were doing better, not that it mattered much once these things got loose.
She couldn't see her watch, but figured that the door was probably rising at this very moment. And the fact that ants were crawling over her body right now proved that the giant ant could only hold them back for so long.
Then she saw a beam of light.
* * * *
Roberta nearly dropped the canister as she entered the sixth floor. It was as if they'd taken a snowplow and just pushed the ants all the way to the top. The creatures were piled almost all the way to the ceiling.
Even if the Heaven didn't work, she figured at least a floor's worth of ants at the bottom of the pile had to have been crushed anyway.
She set down the canister, and then slammed her foot against the nozzle.
A white mist jettisoned from the canister with such force that it shot backwards, striking the wall.
The ants closest to the mist died instantly.
Actually, they did a hell of a lot more than just die.
They burst.
Exploded in a splatter of disgusting slime, as if their bodies just suddenly liquefied.
The mist continued to fill the room, and the ants continued to burst. The giant ant exploded, showering Moni with its black, pulpy insides.
Ants were exploding by the hundreds.
Then by the thousands.
"Moni," said Roberta, "we really, really, really need to get out of here."
They ran down the slope to the fifth floor, but the flood of ant goo caught them before they made it halfway across. Both women screamed as they were swept up and carried away in the current.
Roberta held out her arms and struggled to keep from being pulled under the surface. The smell was more putrid than anything she had ever encountered, making the patient's breath this afternoon seem like sugar-coated roses in comparison.
She slammed painfully into the wall and then was carried down to the fourth floor.
What kind of stroke was best for swimming in ant guts?
Moni went under, and despite her terror couldn't help but think that it was a pretty ridiculous way to drown.
* * * *
Roberta lost track of which floor she was on, until she saw a light ahead.
The second wave had officially started, but instead of an ant invasion, the city of Tampa was getting an ant river.
As she was carried toward the light, Roberta suddenly remembered that the doors were supposed to open on both the first and second floors.
She jettisoned out of the second story opening and screamed as she flew through the air, finally smashing into the grass below. She lay there, hurting all over, as thousands of gallons of ant gunk poured down upon her.
The ant slime waterfall quickly subsided to a shower, and then to a dripping.
She sat up.
Moni was lying facedown, about ten feet ahead of her.
"Moni? You okay?"
Moni rolled on her side and spat out a mouthful of goo. "Not really."
"You alive, though?"
"If you can call it that."
"Lot of dead ants, huh?"
"Yeah."
"You know, if the Heaven for the first wave has the same effect, I think Florida's tourism industry is pretty much screwed."
*-EPILOGUE-*
Moni, wrapped in more bandages than she could count, snuggled against Phil as they sat in the Orlando waiting room. Jack walked around the room, practicing with his crutches while Zachary watched television.
"I'll be damned," said Zachary. "Our friend Tyler turned himself in to the police. You think maybe he had somethin' to feel guilty about?"
"Yeah, but now he gets to be a celebrity," said Jack. "I'd be a celebrity, too, if somebody had taken a picture of me riding that ant. From now on I'm not going anywhere without a digital camera."
Roberta walked into the room. "Did Dr. Ruiz's family show yet?"
"Not yet," said Zachary.
Roberta grinned. "Well, it's good news. He's going to be just fine."
"Of course he is," said Moni. "He's not the one who got washed down the river of ant splat."
Planes were spraying the Heaven all over Tampa, and Moni couldn't imagine what the cleanup budget was going to be like. The city had been evacuated, and since they were going to have to treat each individual structure, it didn't appear that anybody was going to get to go home any time soon.
But that was okay. She'd been wanting to visit her mother in Arizona anyway.
She tried not to think about Trevor, Abigail, and Mr. Kamerman. There'd be plenty of tears for them, but for right now she was just glad to be alive.
* * * *
"Good Lord, look at those things!"
"We're not here to look at them, we're here to burn them."
"You better believe it. Whoa, baby! Feel my heat!"
"Will you quit playing around? Be careful with that thing."
"Aw, don't be such a ... whoa, look at _that_! You think he's still alive?"
"Of course he's not still alive. Just torch it."
"I don't know, man, maybe we should just make sure it can't get out. They may want to study it or something."
"Those aren't our orders."
"Aw, come on. This could be our big shot at fame. We'll leave it in there, and we'll do something with it after we've finished up everything else."
"That's gonna be days."
"So?"
"Fine. Do whatever you want."
_I'm not dead_! Slash tried to scream through the webs as the men left, but he couldn't move.
He could see, though.
He could see the spider crawling slowly over what was left of his leg.
And while he couldn't scream with his mouth, he could scream in his mind.
He screamed and screamed as the spider continued its leisurely meal.
-The End-
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