by Jeff Strand
"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 cow
ering 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?
