The Colony: A Novel

by A. J. Colucci

  Crrrrkkkk! The sound of crashing metal nearly shattered his eardrums as the car hit a concrete wall of the bodega. The horn blasted steadily and the man behind the wheel was still, his face pressed against the broken windshield, covered with ants and blood.

  “Li Mei!” Chen cried, running through a cloud of plaster to the back of his general store.

  “Here!” she yelled over her shoulder, frantically beating away ants with a broom as they swarmed from the cellar. Chen grabbed his trembling wife around the waist and half dragged her to the back exit.

  The alley was dark and motionless as Chen and Li Mei walked with quiet feet and shifting eyes to the far end of a six-foot fence. Behind them, a militia of ants carpeted the ground and invaded the walls of surrounding buildings.

  There was nowhere to go but over the top. Chen helped his wife up the fence and onto a dumpster, but could not scale it himself.

  “Go! You go!” he cried.

  She shook her head, clasping his hands tighter.

  “For the children. For the children,” he pleaded again.

  Li Mei nodded and clumsily pitched herself over the jagged wooden fence, falling through darkness onto the lid of another dumpster. Unable to balance, she slid inside the metal cave, and into a nest three feet deep with ants, trash and rat bones.

  CHAPTER 21

  THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING, Kendra thought, but it was happening.

  She and Paul had returned to the bunker fearing the worst, but hoping they were wrong. Finding no one around, the halls eerily quiet, Paul headed for the lab while Kendra veered off toward the control center, only to find intense panic among a crowd of people crammed into a large television lounge, staring at a screen. Kendra watched the news report and silently prayed it was some sort of horror flick, or perhaps a cable news simulation, at the very least Candid freaking Camera.

  “… What is going on in Manhattan right now is cataclysmic and unbelievable.” News anchor Michelle Scott fumbled nervously with her earpiece, anxious eyes darting between two unsteady cameras. At the bottom of the screen a ticker ran: CNN SPECIAL REPORT—DEADLY ANTS ATTACK NEW YORK CITY. “We have on the phone Ray Lowell, a noted entomologist at Florida State University,” Scott continued. “Can you tell us, Dr. Lowell, what is going on here?”

  “I’m not entirely sure myself.” The voice of authority was shaky at best. “These aren’t like any insects we’ve ever seen. These ants are organized, marching in columns by the millions, like you would see in some African species. Maybe in Tanzania, but certainly not in New York—”

  “Excuse me, Doctor,” Scott interrupted. “Right now we have a report from John Seaver who is standing in Times Square. John, what’s the story there?”

  The once dashing and confident reporter stared wide-eyed into the camera, his jacket torn at the shoulder and his silky black hair windswept as he ran backward, shouting over the furor and trying to stay in the shifting spotlight of the cameraman.

  “Well, Michelle, it is utter chaos! There are reports of attacks all over the city. We’re hearing the same thing from everyone—this is surreal. The police are telling everyone not to panic, which of course is ludicrous. If you look right down this street—Brett, get a shot of that. If you look right there, you can see bodies. Those are dead bodies and some, well, some still alive—”

  “John, maybe you should get out of that area.”

  “Yes, yes. That’s what we are planning to do.”

  “You go ahead, John. Right now we just received an appeal from the police commissioner that all residents of Manhattan should be tuning in to the Emergency Broadcast System, if they still have power—apparently these ants are destroying power lines—or they should follow the evacuation routes posted in their buildings. Most importantly, don’t panic. Leave your belongings and get out of the city as quickly as possible. Do not attempt to go to the police or fire departments because it appears they are being overrun. Fire trucks have been hosing down streets—”

  “That may not be going on, Michelle,” John Seaver cut in between wheezing breaths as he continued to flee in long backward strides. “The gridlock down here is atrocious. Everyone we’ve seen, and that includes myself and my cameraman, we’ve been walking, or I should say running—Brett! Brett!”

  The camera suddenly tumbled to the ground. It rolled a few times and stopped, still broadcasting a sideways view of the enormous Times Square intersection at night. Under billboards flickering a dazzling array of colors, bodies were scattered in heaps like packages fallen off a delivery truck. Some were still fighting for life, most were not. Shadowy figures sprinted over them in aimless directions.

  * * *

  Kendra broke from the television. She darted through the labyrinth of halls with one hand pressed against a stabbing ache in her side, past a stream of contorted faces, blurred from tears that stung her eyes.

  Just hours ago, she’d been arguing with Paul in the lab, casually talking to him on the roof, wasting so much precious time. Overcome with guilt, all she could think was, Why didn’t we do something? At the same time, she was filled with fury. This wasn’t her fault. After all, she had just arrived, while Paul, Mayor Russo and other so-called guardians of the city had known about the ants for weeks. She remembered the mayor’s callous words in the control room: Do you have any idea what such an undertaking would cost?

  Angry voices resonated from the control center, sounding like a party that wasn’t going well. Kendra reached the enormous room and found the place crammed with UN delegates in colorful costume, racing across the floor, slamming into one another, their voices exploding into a single multilingual drone.

  Overhead TV screens were broadcasting attacks all over the city or giving instructions via the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test …

  John Russo stepped to the podium with a sturdy gait. He had spent the first few shocking moments alone in his office, flipping through news channels and muttering to himself, worried about where the blame would fall. Within minutes, however, he sprang into action, barking out orders to his staff and city officials, who were quickly congregating in the bunker. Without a doubt, this was the major event he’d prepared for his entire career. Now his only job was turning himself from villain into hero.

  He cleared his throat in the microphone and feedback blasted to the ceiling. TV screens went black, phones were hung up and the room quieted. Ambassadors fumbled with their earpieces.

  “First off, I want to assure everyone you are perfectly safe down here. While I realize you’d rather be with your families or assisting coworkers on the ground, you’re here because you are not expendable. The only chance this city has is to keep you safe.” Russo felt it was best to start a doomsday speech by flattering the audience, assuring their safety and then deferring to a higher authority. “I have a message from the president of the United States that was taped just minutes ago.”

  As the president began to speak, Kendra started for the doorway, knowing for the first time since arriving where she was headed. With or without Paul, she was going to find a queen.

  CHAPTER 22

  NEWS OF THE ATTACKS blasted through the bunker PA system as Kendra rushed hastily through the maze, unable to find Paul’s laboratory in so much confusion. She stumbled into the computer room, where Jeremy and his programmers were rushing between various computer stations.

  “Kendra,” Jeremy gasped. He seemed to have lost some of his cool. “I was just about to look for you.”

  “Tell me you found something useful.”

  “Come with me.”

  He led Kendra to the back of the large room, filled with high-end computer servers that rose from the floor like an industrial garden. The chilly air smelled like fresh paper and plastic. Kendra recognized the loud humming that emanated from an ABI gene sequencer, an enormous stainless steel machine connected by satellite to the IBM Sequoia supercomputer at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory. It processed information at lightning speed, 20 petaflops, or
the equivalent of twenty thousand trillion calculations per second, meaning it would take 120 billion people armed with calculators nearly fifty years to process what Sequoia could do in a day. It was one of the few computers in the world capable of sequencing the Siafu Moto DNA within hours.

  Jeremy rolled up a chair for Kendra beside him. She flinched when a twelve-inch ant crawled over the desk. Then her heart slowed when she realized it was just a hologram; an oversized 3-D Siafu Moto image floating over a platform. It was the first time Kendra had seen one of these space-age, screenless computers up close. They were all the rage in techie circles, cutting-edge scientists like Jeremy who could spare a few hundred grand.

  Jeremy swiped a finger over the image and it froze. “We’ve been working on this all night,” he said, jittery with nervous energy. The single ant began spinning in circles, a perfect replica of the Siafu Moto, down to the heinous stinger. The hologram seemed so tangible, Kendra thought she could reach out and touch it.

  “The DNA sequencing is complete,” he told her, and the long, colorful strand of molecules spun gracefully in front of her. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It compares to no other ant on a molecular level. It’s a monster.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “They have an overabundance of pheromone-binding proteins.”

  “Yes, we know from the EAGs that they’re highly sensitive to odor.”

  “According to their gene, Gp-nine, these ants are monogynous and have only one queen to each colony.”

  “Like Siafu, not fire ants.”

  “They’re a fierce hybrid.” Jeremy was revved with excitement. “Check out these powerful legs. From video footage on the news stations, we clocked them at nine miles an hour. They have two speeds—stop and go. When they reach their prey, they attack like a single unit, like some demon from hell. Unbelievable.”

  Kendra was growing impatient. “Can you find the queens?”

  “No. They’re on the hunt. However, we did locate the nests.” A model of a park floated in the air. “We started breeding the first colony in Riverside Park. We set the computer to the exact date and place that the FBI believes the ants were released. Then we let nature take its course, watched them multiply for two years and spread across the city.” The angle pulled back and Manhattan floated like an island in space. Hundreds of blue dots lit up like a Christmas tree. “The blue lights represent nesting sites of the queens. If the program is right, we’re facing forty thousand subcolonies in Manhattan, over nine hundred billion ants.”

  “So the military was right on target.”

  “First for everything.” He brought up a series of grainy aerial images of the city, taken by satellite surveillance cameras with night-vision capabilities. “The army just released these photos and they seem to confirm my findings. Wherever you see clusters of bodies, those are likely nesting areas where the colonies emerged.”

  “Where the heck have they been hiding for two years?”

  “Check out this view of underground Manhattan.” Jeremy pulled up a map, an enormous tangled web of colored lines. “Below this city are twenty-nine million miles of subway tunnels, cables, sewer lines, gas and steam pipes—the length of which could circle the earth twelve hundred times.” Over the colored lines was a pattern of black lines connected by circles, like a constellation. “These lines represent each subcolony and the circles show where they intersect. Like any supercolony, they spread out, but they stay together.”

  “So they’re an easy target for my pheromone formula.”

  “If you can find a queen.” Jeremy tapped at the keyboard. Numbers and charts flew by. “According to my data, they’re subterranean like Solenopsis, but once they surface—they’re Siafu all the way.”

  “So much for digging up the nests. Siafu are nomads.” She sighed, knowing driver ants could leave their nests for months. They hold nightly raids and rest during the day, building living nests with their bodies. The gigantic balls, called bivouacs, are often found in hollow tree trunks. Members hold on to one another’s legs to form various passages and chambers that contain food, eggs and larvae, and of course, the coveted queen.

  “Unfortunately that’s what my program suggests,” he agreed. “The colonies will attack at night and set up camps during the day, maybe in the walls of buildings.”

  “Then that’s where I’m headed.”

  “Better bring a sledgehammer.”

  Kendra thought of Paul. “Think I’ll just bring the bait.”

  Jeremy clicked his tongue knowingly. “It is amazing the great Paul O’Keefe didn’t see this coming. He’s been studying these ants for what—two weeks? I’ve only been here a few hours and already I’ve found the nests. Too bad I wasn’t brought in sooner.”

  Kendra ignored the comment. She stood to leave. “Wish me luck.”

  “You aren’t going out there yourself?” Jeremy said, alarmed. “It’s too dangerous, Kendra. Let Paul go—it’s the least he can do.”

  “No time for that.” Kendra looked at the enormous city floating like a planet in space and rubbed her weary eyes. They felt dry and scratchy.

  Jeremy pressed a warm hand to her forehead. “Looks like you’re about to crash.”

  “I have other plans,” she said, and squared her shoulders. “Keep at it, huh?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  CHAPTER 23

  KENDRA REACHED THE LABORATORY, ready for an argument. She found Paul staring into a microscope looking panicked. His hair stuck up in odd directions and his shaky hands were clumsily turning knobs and adjusting slides. There was a chaotic mess of printouts strewn across the counters.

  Paul snapped to attention when he saw Kendra and fanned out several loose sheets of paper, stammering out his findings. “The reports are not good. Results are coming back from every institute on the planet. They all say the same thing. Indestructible.” He fired off the data. “Negative to fungus and disease. Negative to parasites. Negative to natural enemies. Strepsiptera, Orasema, nematodes, mites, phorid flies. They tried high-pressure oxygen. A hundred pesticides.” He smacked the pile of reports. “Those damn corporate suits just hightailed it out of the city, for chrissakes.”

  Kendra stormed across the room and snatched the papers from his hand. She threw them in the air and they rained down like ticker tape. “Are you insane?” she shouted. “We’re dealing with weapons. Monsters. Creatures from the deep!”

  “Oh, I see. This is my fault.” Paul said it like he wasn’t thinking the same thing.

  “Wasn’t that your job? Didn’t the mayor put you in charge? Why didn’t you demand he evacuate the city?”

  Paul was flustered under the barrage of questions. “Don’t you think I blame myself? Of course I do, but who would ever…” He was becoming angry; his cheeks reddened. “You saw them yourself. I believe the words you used were ‘preposterous’ … ‘ridiculous.’”

  “I didn’t mean…” Kendra wasn’t sure what she meant, but hurling insults wasn’t part of the plan.

  “This study of yours,” he said. “Will it work on these ants?”

  “It’s possible. But we need to find a queen if it stands a chance.”

  Paul reached across the counter to a couple of boxes marked BUG OUT. He tossed one suit to Kendra and threw a rucksack over his shoulder.

  “So let’s get the damn thing.”

  * * *

  The two moved swiftly to the mayor’s office. A new sense of urgency weighed heavily on their shoulders, along with the bundles they carried, filled with supplies.

  Paul wanted details. “So tell me about your research. How did you kill the colonies?”

  Kendra kept a steady pace. “It all goes back to your experiment on brood pheromones. Remember how you saturated grains of rice with extracts from newly hatched larvae?”

  “Of course.” Paul nodded. The well-received study was cited in every major science journal. As a college freshman, Paul had unwittingly revitalized a movement in integrat
ed pest management with his first published paper. “The workers hauled the rice back to brooding chambers and tended to the grains as if they were real offspring.”

  “Right. You showed that ants could be fooled by their own chemicals. So I started playing around with different concentrations of various queen pheromones, and injected the formula into the nest.”

  “It must have caused extreme agitation in the colony,” he commented.

  “More than that. Within hours, I had hundreds of queen corpses.”

  Paul stopped short. “Your theory?”

  “The high concentration of the sex pheromone caused the workers to kill off the queens.”

  “Quantitative pheromone effect.”

  “If you want to get technical. Then I added the queen’s alarm pheromone to the mix, and the whole colony started killing each other off.”

  “So you’re saying you found a way to synthesize pheromones into a formula that causes the workers to kill off the queens and each other?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Paul started walking again. “Impossible. Nothing like that has ever worked.”

  “Not in sixty years of trying.”

  “Do you realize the implications of your findings? Fire ants terrorize twenty-two states.”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “If you can apply this method to other insects, you could save farmers millions of dollars.”

  “Billions.”

  “You could prevent crop depletion across the nation.”

  “Across the planet.”

  “You might wipe out the insecticide industry.”

  She grinned. “I can live with that.”

  They reached the mayor’s office. “It sounds very promising. Still, Siafu Moto aren’t normal ants. They might not respond to your cocktail.”

  “Paul,” Kendra groaned.