by Zubin Mathai
The worker and soldier fled from the plains, plains made lush with the moisture and sun flooding, and made black with the bodies of fallen sisters. The soldier was limping, helped along by her only friend, and even though the poison was winning against her body, her resolve was not yet broken. With each step she fought, soon able to walk on her own, and through a grimace and pained gasp, she stopped to turn around.
She saw the last of the surviving soldiers lose against the pair of wasps relentlessly stabbing from above, and she saw one wasp, the larger one, race after the queen and her guards. The soldier wanted to run and save her queen, but she knew she was in no condition to fight. Her role’s instinct bubbled up through the poison and into her mind, whispering that her only mission left was to save her friend and find her a true home.
When she saw the smaller wasp peel off towards them, the one with the scarred wing that had been dogging her for days, the soldier was fully taken over by that bubbling instinct. The pain rescinded to a stabbing ache through each of her steps, and she yelled at the worker to flee.
The worker’s shock at losing her home began to crumble. At first, all the scenes of killing, of the wasps stabbing stingers into sisters, made her numb, and she had been blurring her eyes to avoid seeing it. But upon hearing her friend’s yell she came back to the moment. All she could see now was the wasp hurtling towards them, and so she turned and ran.
The terror was so strong that she did not even know if the soldier was running beside. She only jumped over pebbles and scurried between grass, heading towards the only safe spot she could see: a collection of bushes along the edge of the plain. On that run to the bushes, the worker had never felt so alone in her life. The ground didn’t care that she was homeless, and even the sun shining down seemed to be no friend.
When she got to the first bush she spun to a vision of relief, for the soldier was only a few steps behind her. She grabbed the soldier and led her through the first bush, then to a second and third, stepping through tangles of branches and fallen leaves. She eventually stopped at a bush further inside and threw the soldier to the ground. Picking up the largest leaf she could find, she lay beside her friend and covered them both. Now, they held their breath and waited.
A buzzing stepped out of the silence, like a shark looking for prey, and the ants could feel its vibrations passing back and forth above them. It would get louder, and then they would feel it get fainter before the whole thing repeated. Finally, it got loud enough for them to know the wasp was close, then the buzzing stopped with a little clack, as wings slapped into a body and legs hit the ground.
The ants heard leaves being turned over close by.
“Foolish little worker,” said the wasp, and to the ants its voice was muffled through the darkened space protecting them, “why do you spend all your time with this injured soldier? She cannot protect you. I’ve seen her state on the battlefield back there. She doesn’t have long to live.”
The sound of footsteps and leaves being turned was getting closer.
“If you want to live, worker, why don’t you give her over. I can let you leave, and I won’t even make you watch when I kill her.”
A crack of light fell across the ants as the ground nearby was disturbed. The worker looked over and could see something on her friend’s face she had never seen before. Beneath the pain of the soldier’s racked and spent body, in her lone eye wide and her mouth trembling, the worker saw fear. If her friend, her big friend who always looked out for her, was afraid, what hope did the worker have?
The worker reached out with one leg to hold her friend’s leg, and all she felt was cold and shaking.
With a slap of light and explosion of dust, the leaf they were hiding under was snatched and thrown away. Towering above them was the wasp, its size so imposing, and yet all the worker could see was the sharp angles of its face holding a sinister grin. Without even a word, it thrust its stinger down, missing the soldier by less than a leg’s width.
Fear grabbed the worker by her throat and held her as still as a stone. She tried to move, but none of the muscles in her body were answering. The stinger came down again. This time, the soldier reacted like a flash of lightning, angling out of the way and grabbing a nearby leaf to shove it under the wasp’s attack. She then grabbed the worker and pushed her out of the way, and even slapped her to snap her from her frozen terror.
The leaf was impaled by the stinger and the wasp was struggling to reach down and remove it. All the worker felt, like a voice inside shouting louder than any vibration ever, was the need to run. She shot up to her feet, grabbed the soldier and took off in a flash. By the time the wasp noticed, the ants were already far away, and when it tried to fly, the leaf on its stinger made it fall straight down. It went back to kicking and tugging at the leaf, as the ants disappeared into the nearby forest of grass.
The grass was like a maze, and the worker ran through it, turning left and right, wherever there seemed to be a way, as she half-carried and half-dragged the soldier behind her. She could feel the fluid inside pumping as her heart pounded like mad, and she ran and dragged until all her energy was spent. Whenever she stopped to rest, she could hear a faint buzzing from behind, so she started again, even beyond what her body and will could normally handle.
When she heard a ruffling to her right, the worker, who normally would be so afraid of things unknown in these wilds, veered towards it. Whatever it is, she thought, it had to be better than that crazed wasp chasing them.
“I am tired of dung,” said a voice from up ahead.
“I am tired of that rotten mushroom,” said another voice.
The ants burst into a little clearing amid the grass and nearly ran into two giant worms in the midst of an argument. Both worms, the larger one with a band around its midsection and the smaller one with no band, turned as they sensed a disturbance in the light, and then went right back to their debate.
“We had mushroom yesterday, and the day before too,” said the long worm.
“So?” answered the small worm. “What is wrong with that? If I had my way, we’d feast on it every day. It will soon dry up and be gone, you know.”
“Excuse me,” gasped out the worker as she lay the soldier down. “We need your help. My friend is ill, and there is something chasing us.”
The worms turned towards the ants, and moved their eyeless heads back and forth, trying to make out the shifting light as they did.
“What are you?” asked the long worm, as it saddled up closer, secreting a slimy trail as it did.
“We are ants,” said the worker, “and a wasp is chasing us.”
“Oh my,” said the worm. “We hate wasps. We don’t mind ants though.”
By this time, the smaller worm had come up and reached out with its tail end to feel the ants, leaving a film of mucus across them both. The soldier gagged and spat at the foulness, and the worker rubbed herself along a blade of grass.
“We should probably help,” said the small worm, “but do something for us first.”
“What?” screamed out the worker, darting her head around as she began hearing the buzzing once more.
“Tell us which is better, dung or rotten mushroom.”
“Mushrooms!” said the worker.
The worms turn to each other and stared blindly for a while, not even sure if they were looking at each other. “Okay,” said the longer worm, “I will make do with mushroom for another day.”
Inching closer, the worms touched the ants again, and then slid over, curling into a pile on top. “Hide here until danger passes,” said the big worm. “But you’ll have to let us know when that is. I can’t hear or see anything, and my little friend here is the same.”
It wasn’t long before the buzzing from the wasp rolled in like a dark fog. The worms knew danger had arrived, for they could feel the bodies of the ants beneath them tense up. In a panic, the larger worm began secreting more and more mucus from its band, until the ants and ground were fully drenched.
The
wasp hovered over the worms, and the worker sensed it was right there staring down, for even if she could see nothing, her blurred vision showed everything. She saw the wasp looking carefully at the worms, trying to see if they were hiding anything. The wasp landed an inch away and stepped closer, and then the worker saw it turn its contorted face away in disgust, having stepped into a pile of mucus. The wasp took off again, shaking the slime from its legs before zooming away, and the worker’s vision went back to black.
Hiding in the long grass, the worms feasted on a rotten mushroom at the base of a big oak that wept shade. The ants were nestled against the protection of the tree, but the worker stayed tense, waiting for any vibrations that might shatter the quiet. She had gone to the mushroom to break off a piece and bring it back for her friend, and now she was delicately feeding the soldier a few bites.
When a yellowed leaf fell from the tree, the worker jumped back, thinking it was the wasp returning to fulfill its threats.
“My little friend,” said the soldier, lifting herself up against pain to stand on her own, “why are you so afraid. You are with me. I will keep you safe.”
The worker looked up at the tree, making sure the other leaves above were all green, for she didn’t like the hues of the one that had fallen. She picked up the leaf and put it aside, and it had a bitter taste to it.
The soldier continued to speak, and the worker half-listened, more interested in scanning the grass and sky. “You should learn to calm yourself in nature,” said the soldier. “We are ants, we belong in these wilds. I understand, without a colony, it must feel scary for you, but if you learn to relax out here, you will survive longer.”
Switching to a softer tone, almost a whisper, the soldier continued, “Let me tell you how to use nature, how to use the landscape to your advantage. Use rocks to gain high ground, or bushes to gain a vantage point. Not every vibration is a threat, so learn which are danger and which are helpers. But the most important thing for an ant is to know when to run and hide. If you were ever to find yourself alone and scared, find a safe space to hide and wait for danger to pass over.”
The soldier’s words slapped the worker away from her sky-staring, and the little one spun to face her friend. “Why are you telling me this,” she shouted. “I won’t be alone! You’ll be here with me always to protect me!”
The soldier smiled, then winced as the pain inside eclipsed everything else.
Having had their fill, the worms returned to the ants, almost running them over, and asked where they wanted to go now. The soldier explained their predicament with the wasp, how it had been pursuing them for days, and how it would not stop until it killed them or was itself killed.
“How about the bullfrog,” said the large worm to his friend.
“No,” replied the smaller worm, “are you mad? If I had eyes I’d roll them. We should take them to the wise owl of the rock.”
For a few seconds, the worms argued, not even realizing they weren’t facing each other, until the large worm won out. He convinced his little friend, that since he had given in to eating mushrooms, that they should now give in about the bullfrog. With the argument settled, the worms turned back to the ants.
“We know a frog next to a swamp up ahead,” said the worm. “He is a big one, fat and lazy, but he’d eat anything that gets too near, probably even a wasp.”
The worker perked up at this news. Any friend, especially a large one like a frog, would be welcomed in this frantic time. The soldier, however, was a bit more careful. “But wouldn’t the bullfrog also eat ants,” she asked.
Giggling at the question, the smaller worm piped in, “Of course he would. He even tried to eat us the first time we met. Just be careful around him. Don’t get too close.”
Through the maze of green grasses they slithered, with the soldier on the larger worm and the worker on the smaller. Atop the rippling, as she bounced up and down, the worker could not enjoy the ride, but rather she scanned the sky and kept her lone antenna primed.
When they got near the swamp, the worms dropped the ants off and then said their goodbyes, saying if they would ever like to share a meal of mushroom or dung in the future, they are free to look them up.
Through the last few blades of grass the ants stepped, with the worker helping the soldier limp forward. They emerged into a clearing, and the air here was dense and moist, for up ahead was a swamp pumping moisture into the scene. It was not large, but its presence still altered the surroundings, making the bushes and trees greener, the ground more damp, and even the birds flying by a little more joyous.
The water was stagnant and a gray film floated atop, while a collection of flies swarmed above in droning circles. These flies were huge, four times the mass of the ants, and they flew with bouncing laziness, as if they wished the air was thicker so they could just walk.
Mesmerized by the flight of one of the flies, the worker was shocked when it disappeared out of the air with a wet snap. She then heard a crunching and followed the noise to see a bullfrog further back from the edge of the swamp. The frog looked obese, even for a frog, and the depression around it suggested it has been sitting in that spot much too long.
The frog’s eyes were half closed, and it finished chewing the fly and swallowed without even a smile. Even though the air was filled with snacks, the frog didn’t move for the minute the ants stared. It just sat there unblinking, its green, mottled skin as murky as the swamp, and it rasped out its breath as it waited for another fly to come to it.
The worker was ready to run in, but the soldier grabbed her. “Remember what I told you,” the soldier said. “Be wise out here in nature. Observe and plan.”
Limping out from behind the grass, the soldier inched forward and tried to get the frog’s attention by waving her legs. The bullfrog was still staring dazed into the air, not moving at all except for wheezing, when suddenly it shot its tongue out right at the soldier. The soldier jumped back and saw exactly where the tongue slapped the ground to leave a slimy mark.
“This is the safe distance,” said the soldier to the worker. “She looks too fat and unwilling to move, and her tongue can only reach three inches.”
After seeing the strike of the tongue, as fast as a killing blink, the worker was a bit more tentative. It took more of the soldier’s soft tone to coax her out, and she finally crawled up, just as the frog shot out its tongue again. This time it hit the ground exactly where the soldier was pointing.
“I don’t want the big one,” said the frog, with a rasping croak at the start and end of its sentence. “She’s missing an eye and is all bent into shapes. The little one looks more whole. Come a little closer so I can eat you.”
“No,” said the soldier, moving the worker behind her. “This is my friend. You will not harm her.”
“Okay,” mumbled the frog as it snapped another fly out of the air that got too close. “Then I’ll take you. Step forward please.”
“Listen,” said the soldier. “We’ve not come here to be eaten by you. We’ve come to ask a favor.”
“Does it involve food?”
“Yes.”
“Then, what is it?”
“There is a wasp that is chasing us. If we wait here for it to find us, can you finish it off for us?”
“Hmm,” said the frog, and even though it sounded like it was thinking, it’s expression stayed just as vacant. “I’m not sure if I would like wasps. They are crunchy and have sharp stingers on one end.”
The soldier and frog argued. There were times the soldier had to pause, thinking the bullfrog had died or fallen asleep, for that lifeless, blink-less look never left its eyes. Their argument was soon cut short by a buzz, and the worker was the first to feel it split the air in two. It was too late for the ants to run back to the grass, and they could not run forward too close to the frog, so they just froze in place, as the soldier kicked herself for not having planned better.
In a blur of yellow and black, the wasp landed and began cackling, happ
y to have found its targets once more. It rubbed its front legs for just a second, before jumping up and shooting into the air, then diving right towards the ants.
The soldier grabbed the worker, and her limp turned to a run through poisoned-pain, as she dragged her friend around to the other side of the frog. The wasp honed in on them, but when it got close, a slimy tongue almost snatched it out of the air. It dove to the left, just in the nick of time, before crashing into the dirt.
Being a soldier of her species, as smart as the ant soldier, the wasp only needed one try to figure out this frog. She scurried along the ground, in an arc around the beast, keeping just out of reach of its tongue. The wasp chased and the ants ran, and anytime any stepped too close, the frog shot out its tongue, murmuring a rasping croak of complaint when all it got back was mud.
The soldier and worker would switch directions or speed up and slow down, always keeping the wasp exactly on the other side of the frog, but soon the soldier began tiring. She could not keep up this pace forever, and the poison inside yelled to remind her of mortality. She fell over onto her back, wriggling her legs to try and right herself, and the worker cried out at seeing her friend in such pain.
“Step aside, worker.”
The worker turned and the wasp was standing right there, towering over her, its huge black eyes betraying nothing but coldness, and its abdomen curled under to aim a stinger right at her head.
A collision of energies froze the worker in place. Emotions, buoyed by that energy of connection to her best friend, smashed right into the fear of this giant threat staring her down. The worker had never stood so close to a wasp before, had never seen its streamlined body, shimmering wings, and stinger larger than her head. In the distance, this wasp was terrifying, but up close it was beyond anything the worker could process.
“I said step aside,” the wasp repeated, and this time it moved its stinger to a leg’s width away from the worker’s eye.
In a decision she would regret for the rest of her life, the worker felt overcome with fear, with the instinct to survive, and so she backed up, stepping over her friend, until she was on the other side and the wasp had a clear line.
If the soldier was shocked or hurt by the worker’s actions, she did not show it. She only righted herself, grimaced and cried out in pain, and stood up tall before the wasp. The wasp didn’t give even a moment’s rest to this fellow soldier, it only pounced forward, leading with its glinting stinger.
The soldier grabbed the stinger and angled to the side, and she saved herself from death by less than a millimeter. She tried shoving the wasp away, but the wasp had size and wings and was pushing forward with all its strength. Using the wasp’s momentum, the soldier spun and pulled the creature through, flinging it away an inch.
Standing up with a defiant laugh, the wasp was ready for another charge, but the frog’s tongue suddenly smashed down right beside it. Now the wasp was enraged, and its wings fanned the air around to a cracking whine. It charged at the soldier, and this time it was fast and powerful enough that the soldier could not stop it.
They rolled on the ground and came to a stop, with the soldier pinned and the wasp on top, with its stinger fully out and primed, ready to push through a weak and crippled black body.
“Run!” yelled the soldier through a gasp, as she turned to the stunned worker, trying to give one last smile to her. Snapping out of her terror, the worker came back to the moment, seeing the frog to one side and the wasp and soldier to the other. Her only friend was near death, all contorted and aged from the poison inside, and with a stinger grazing her abdomen as she writhed and fought.
What drove the worker to action was when the wasp’s stinger scratched the soldier’s eye, her only eye. The soldier cried out in pain and tried to wriggle her head away, but the wasp was just too strong, and it brought it’s stinger back, ready to plunge it in fully.
The worker ran forward, gathering all her strength and momentum, and smashed into the side of the wasp, sending it flopping to the ground a few inches away.
A laugh was all that came back from the wasp, as it stood and brushed the dirt from its stinger, making it gleam once more. “When I am done with your friend,” said the wasp, pointing her sharp face and black eyes right at the worker, “then I will come for you, little useless ant.”
The wasp’s cackling was silenced as suddenly as a finger snap, as the frog’s tongue shot out, smashing into wings and body with a wet slap, then pulling the wasp into its mouth.
Grabbing her friend and dragging her to the edge of the swamp, now it was the worker’s turn to yell at the soldier to run. The soldier tried standing on her own, tried fighting through the pain, but when the worker saw her stumble in the wrong direction, she knew. Her friend had been blinded. The worker grabbed the soldier’s front legs and yelled at her to keep up, then ran around the edge of the pond and off towards the protecting grass on the other side.
To the wasp, all it felt was pressure, wet, slimy pressure from all sides, and so it thrust its stinger into the closest soft spot it could find. The frog croaked out a complaint, spat the wasp onto the ground, and then started rubbing its wound with its tongue and lips.
“Disgusting!” yelled the wasp, trying to stand up, but the mucus covering it kept legs and wings glued to its body. It dragged itself to the swamp and rinsed off the slime, and then flapped its wings to dry them. It turned to look at the frog, but it just sat there, with its fat, spread out face, with the silly lifeless expression in its eyes.
The wasp jumped up and went on a rampage. It led with its stinger, and churned its wings into a furious roar. It stabbed one fly, then another and another, watching them all tumble down dead into the pond. It continued until the air was fully clear, looking at the frog between each kill. When all the flies were gone, it did not even glance again at the frog, but just took off in chase of the ants.
It was impossible to tell from the outside if the frog was annoyed, for it just sat there in the mud with the same dull expression. It did let out a little, depressed croak, however, and wondered, since it had become too fat to move, if any new flies would show up before it died.
Everything was so dim to the soldier, and the only thought coming to her was how she’d be able to care for the worker if she were blind. She tripped over grass and pebbles, and with each stumble, the pain inside became harder to bear. She cried out to the air for mercy, wishing for it all to end, but the worker paid her no mind, just dragging her without slowing.
Some of the soldier’s vision did eventually return, and shadows became shifts in light, colors began fading in, and she could tell they were still in the grass. Finally, a yellow flooded her vision, and she tensed her eye muscle, trying to figure out what she was seeing.
“We can be safe!” yelled out the worker, and when she saw the soldier still confused, she pointed with her legs ahead. The soldier turned to her friend, could barely make her out, but still could not see into the distance.
“I have never been able to see as clearly as you, my little friend,” said the soldier. “Have I ever told you how proud I am of your sight?” she said with a grimace, trying to pat the worker on her head. “If I didn’t, then I want to say it now. I’m proud of you, of your sight, of your daydreams, of your laughter and lightness.”
The worker did not even look at the soldier, instead, she stared ahead with tears in her eyes, for she did not like this tone in her friend’s voice, a tone of weakened finality, of goodbyes.
The soldier managed a smile through her pain, and continued, “I am proud of your running in circles. Do you remember how you used to do that? But, I guess, the biggest thing I am proud of, in fact, the biggest thing in my life, bigger than honor and my silly quest for it, is that I am your friend.”
The soldier then paused, trying to stand up straighter, and failing. “Please tell me what is ahead.”
Gulping down the emotion collected in her throat, and wiping away the tears from her eyes, the worker trie
d to describe the scene to her friend. “There is a plain ahead where the grass is shorter. It is so even and flat. There is also dried grass, all amber and shining, and that grass is rolled up into giant bales. It is a beautiful sight to see, for animals are grazing, the sun is shining down its brilliance, and there are so many places to hide. We can make it to one of those bales and crawl through the curled-up grass. The wasp would never find us. We would have food and moisture and can hide for days or weeks, wait until the coast is clear, and then continue on our way.”
The soldier coughed and doubled over, before righting herself and smiling at her friend. “Wonderful,” she said. “Then help me across this scene of beauty you’ve described so wonderfully. Help me to one of those bales, and let us hide.”
Running down the little hill they stood on, the worker continued to help her friend along as she focused on the nearest bale of hay. It was twenty feet away, then ten, then five. Not a buzz was in the air, so the worker breathed easy and even grinned. Soon they would be done with the wasp, in the clear, and she could focus on getting her friend healed, she thought.
It happened so suddenly. Even the sun seemed surprised, for the blur of yellow and black didn’t seem bright when it dove in with a vengeance. The wasp went straight for the soldier and grabbed her with its legs. It shot up as high as it could, and then let go of the soldier, letting her tumble and writhe through the air, before smashing into the ground with a body-crumpling thud.
The soldier was stunned, but still alive, shouting out in pain and confusion. She didn’t even have time to right herself before the wasp landed on top and held her down, priming its stinger and bringing it close. For a while the soldier fought, grabbing the wasp and pushing its stinger away, but her sight was still blurred, and her strength was mostly gone.
She had no more strategies, no more advantage, all she had was her friend.
Turning her head, she could make out the black shape of the worker, and she called out to her. “Help,” was all she faintly said.
The worker took a few steps forward, but the wasp turned its attention to her. “Try and interfere if you wish, little stupid ant,” said the wasp. “But if you get closer, then my first stab will be for you; know it, and know that it will be the most painful thing you have ever felt.”
Freezing in her tracks, the words and tone of the wasp stabbed the worker just as if the stinger had found its mark. She could not help focusing on the size of the wasp, how strong it looked versus her friend, how it seemed to have no goodness at all in its shape and form.
The soldier saw her friend stop, and she sighed out. Memories of her friend’s timidity and uniqueness in this world brought a smile, even as she was using the last of her strength to keep the stinger away. She felt the burning in her abdomen, as the poison staked claim to more and more of her body, and she knew what she had to do.
She grabbed the wasp’s stinger and thrust it into her own abdomen, as deep as it could go. The pain was unbearable, a sharp explosion, cleaving more of her life from this world. Then she used all she had left to pull the stinger out and push the wasp’s abdomen upwards, stabbing the wasp with its own stinger.
The wasp was taken aback and now fully enraged. It was a minor wound, but it was furious that this dying soldier thought it stood a chance, and that it was stupid enough to fight back. The wasp readied its killing thrust, but when the soldier started laughing, it stopped.
“Wasps are not as hardy as us ants,” said the soldier, coughing up liquid from her insides. “You’ll soon feel a burning. You’ll soon feel the poison I have been carrying all this time.”
She then turned her head to the worker, and now her vision was getting clearer. She could see her friend still frozen, staring wide-eyed at the scene. Even in her final moments, all the soldier could think of was protecting that precious ant.
“Don’t worry, my little friend,” said the soldier. I am only sorry I could not help you find your home.”
The soldier looked up at the wasp, as it grinned and cleaned off its stinger, bringing it back into position. The soldier turned again to the worker, smiling at how still and terrified she was.
“I know,” said the soldier. “I am afraid too. I’ve never been more scared in my life.”
Then, against the life and strength oozing out from her open wound, she grabbed the wasp’s stinger and pulled it towards her with full force. “Run!” she yelled, shouting with all her conviction, all the thirst for honor that had ever been stuffed into her role and life.
Her tone was defiant enough that the worker snapped out of her staring. Even the echoes of the soldier’s shout were loud, a slap to the worker’s senses, and she turned and ran. She ran over the cut grass, past the bales, every last one of them, and even past the grazing animals, towards the safety of the taller grass far beyond.
The worker ran without even turning around, not seeing the soldier, her friend, thrust the wasp’s stinger again into her body, this time so forcefully that it went straight through and into the ground.
The wasp struggled for a bit, trying to pull its stinger from the dirt, and when it did, it still had to contend with this dead ant now impaled. As it worked to free its stinger, the gift of a life floated up into the air, the gift of an honor-filled friend to another, and it gave the worker a few more seconds to make her escape.
seventeen
Chase
