by Jeff Strand
"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 m
oment, 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.
