by N. W. Harris
“What in heaven’s name are you doing out here?” his aunt asked once she came alongside him. Her eyes were red and moist, likely from crying over her mother’s death.
“Dad kicked me out,” he replied, immediately wishing he’d lied and said he just thought it was a nice day for a stroll.
“Oh Shane, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said with an unsurprised, though compassionate tone. Smiling kindly, she had the decency not to pursue the issue. “You’d better get in, looks like we’re in for some inclement weather.”
“It does, don’t it?” he said, rushing around to the passenger side.
“Where are you heading?” she asked once he’d climbed into the car and buckled his seatbelt. She didn’t have the thick, southern accent everyone else Shane knew did, having escaped hickville to go to Yale just after she’d graduated from high school. She sounded so proper and intelligent to him.
“Granny’s,” he replied, leaning closer to the air conditioning vent and peeling the saturated, button-down shirt away from his chest to dry it.
His aunt gazed thoughtfully at him for a long moment, her sad, brown eyes so much like his mother’s that it made his chest ache. “That’s where I was going too.” She shifted the car into gear. “I have to help settle her estate before I return to New York.”
It was hard not to stare at his aunt while she drove; she reminded him so much of his mom. She had the same wavy, black hair, pointed nose, and always-tan skin. But his aunt had a more sophisticated and well-traveled air about her. Shane had always been in awe of her and found it hard to talk to her because he felt ignorant and backwoods in her presence. Wisps of gray twisted through her hair now that he didn’t remember seeing when she visited last Christmas. He wondered if his mother would have some too if she were still around—though his aunt was two years older than his mom, who would’ve been forty-five this year.
She glanced over, and he looked out the window. His mother’s death still hurt like it happened yesterday. Adding the pain from losing Granny made him expect he’d never smile again. How the heck do people ever get over stuff like this? he wondered. Maybe they never did. Maybe they just acted like they did because it was what was expected.
The car weaved through the curviest part of Rural Route 2. He always felt a little carsick when he passed through here.
“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you,” she said. “You look just like your grandfather.”
It was a nice compliment; the pictures he’d seen of the wiry Green Beret soldier impressed him. Granny said he was a stern man who didn’t smile much, and Shane reckoned his grandfather must’ve seen some things in the wars he’d fought that would kill the joy in anyone.
“He was tall, with a darker complexion too. You have his brown eyes and his dimpled chin.” She retrieved a green, glass bottle from the center console and took a sip of water from it, and then offered it to him. “Good thing. Not to sound rude, but I never thought your dad was overly handsome.”
“It’s okay,” Shane replied, graciously accepting the bottle. “I’d have to agree with you. Dad’s not much of a looker.” The carbonated water tasted bitter, but he was parched. Not wanting to look unsophisticated, he tried not to grimace after taking a sip.
He wished he had met his grandfather. Granny told Shane lots of stories about him. He was a real, live war hero—had even won the Congressional Medal of Honor in Vietnam.
“It must be hard for you, losing your mom and now Granny,” his aunt said distantly.
Tears flooded Shane’s eyes again. He nodded and looked out of the window, so his aunt couldn’t see his face. He was used to being strong and stoic around everyone except his grandmother, and his aunt’s pity made him uncomfortable.
“You know I’m always here for you if you want to talk,” she said. “You can call me anytime.”
“Thanks,” Shane replied.
He wished he could talk to her, now more than ever before, but he couldn’t relax around his aunt, no matter how hard he tried. The closest they’d ever been was that night in the hospital, when his mom passed. Since then, he and his aunt hadn’t really bonded. Loneliness settled over him, a dark cloud pressing him down into his seat.
His aunt chuckled. “Remember that time when—” She cursed and slammed on the brakes, turning the wheel hard to the left.
Shane glanced up at a fat dairy cow standing in the middle of the road. The little rental car’s tires screeched, and it slid at an angle toward the animal. The car slammed into the cow with a sickening thud and a metallic crunching sound. Split seconds seemed long as minutes, and the hood pressed into the animal. Then, its soft belly rebounded as the sharp metal made an incision. Shockwaves emanated from the impact, rippling across the flesh of the cow’s hip and shoulder. Its head whipped toward the car, and then away, its dark, blue-black eye wide with shock. The hood folded as Shane’s face approached the windshield. Time made a sudden return to the normal pace, and the seatbelt punched into his chest. The airbag exploded with the sound of a shotgun going off, smashing Shane back into his seat.
“Oh my God,” his aunt gasped. She looked over at Shane. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” he replied hoarsely, having trouble getting air. “But your nose is bleeding.”
She wiped it and studied the blood on the back of her hand, stunned. Her eyes widened, and her tan skin turned whiter than he’d ever seen it.
“Here,” Shane said, handing her the handkerchief he had stuffed in his inside jacket pocket.
She held it to her nose, and they climbed out. Blood covered the car’s crumpled front end. Jagged bits of bone, burst organs, and shredded meat lay in a quivering pile entangled in the front bumper. Shane stared down at the twisted carnage, his body shivering from the shock of the accident. What was left of the cow’s legs twitched, and its mouth opened and closed like it struggled to take a breath.
His aunt had her phone out. “I’m calling 911,” she said frantically, turning her back to the wreck. The howling wind whipped her hair into a rat’s nest and made it hard for Shane to hear her.
Shane couldn’t stop looking at the dying cow. He wanted to do something to help but didn’t know where to start. Its crimson blood flowed across the hot asphalt toward him, mixing with neon-green radiator fluid trickling out of the car. He inched back so it wouldn’t get on his dusty, leather dress shoes.
“Come on, come on,” his aunt said, “why isn’t anyone answering?”
It may have been a minute or five before the cow stopped trying to live and lay still. But to Shane, watching and imagining how much suffering the poor animal was enduring, it seemed like a torturous eternity. Pacing back and forth on the other side of the car, his aunt dialed again and held the phone to her ear. Shane tore his eyes away from the dead animal. The metallic smell of blood mixed with the chemically smell of the car’s fluids started his head spinning. He stumbled to the rear of the car and put his hand on the trunk. Leaning over so he wouldn’t get any on his clothes, he waited for the vomit to come up.
“Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie?” His aunt walked around and put a trembling hand on his shoulder, the other still holding the phone to her ear. Her voice had a hysterical pitch, like she was about to lose control.
“Yeah,” Shane lied. Too dizzy to stand, he squatted down. The hot, tar smell rising from the asphalt didn’t help his nausea. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”
“911 isn’t answering,” she said worriedly. “I’ve tried three times, and it just keeps ringing and ringing.”
“Maybe we should call the police station directly,” Shane suggested, pulling out his phone.
“You have the number?” she asked, incredulous.
“Granny made me put all the emergency numbers in my phone,” he replied.
“Sounds like her,” she said with a weak grin and leaned back against the car’s trunk, putting his handkerchief up to her nose.
Shane dialed the number for the police. Aft
er twenty rings and no answer, he tried the fire department. No one there either.
“That’s so odd.” His aunt crossed her arms over her chest and hunched forward, looking ill.
“A tornado might’ve struck town,” Shane said, studying the horizon to the west. The sky was still the eerie lime color, and the wind blew even harder now.
“You may be right. We should get to Granny’s house.” His aunt surveyed the front of the car, its tires twisted out at opposite angles. “I don’t think we’ll be able to drive.”
“It’s only about a half mile from here,” Shane replied, trying to keep his eyes from drifting back down to the twisted carnage. “We can walk.”
He hooked his arm through his aunt’s. They started down the road, leaning forward and shielding their faces against the dirt and dust the wind whipped up. She looked so awkward and delicate with her fancy, black dress, high heels, and expensive purse tucked under her arm. Being a city person, she seemed as skittish and out of place here in the middle of nowhere as a horse in a henhouse.
They passed the sprawling walnut tree Granny said her father planted when she was born, and the wind died down. The electrified quiet made Shane worry a twister would strike at any second. He eyed the drainage ditch, knowing they could take refuge in it if need be, or even crawl into one of the large, concrete pipes running under the road if things got really bad.
“This is way too creepy,” his aunt said and walked faster. “This is why I’ll take New York over Georgia any day.”
“Do you hear that?” Shane asked. A deep humming caught his attention. He glanced back, but he didn’t see anything.
“Yes, weird. But at this point, I don’t care to find out what it is.” She kicked her shoes off and started jogging on her panty hose-covered feet. “We just need to get to shelter.”
Shane jogged beside her, and the humming grew into a near-deafening drone. Off to the left, he saw a dark cloud moving straight toward them, hovering a few feet above the dry, brown grass in the pasture. Horror gripping him, his skin tingled from head to toe.
“Hornets!” he shouted.
“What?” his aunt asked.
“Run!”
Shane grabbed his aunt’s hand and pulled her along as fast as he could. The dark cloud closed in, and he saw individual insects buzzing ahead of him. He noticed more than hornets in the swarm. He saw several kinds of wasps, yellow jackets, and honeybees as well—like everything with a stinger and wings joined forces to chase them.
“I’ve been stung!” His aunt screamed and slapped at her head.
“We can’t slow down,” Shane yelled over the sound of a million tiny wings beating the air.
She screamed again and flailed her free arm, swatting at the bees. Shane glanced over and saw several of the massive, shiny, black-and-yellow hornets on her chest and neck. A wall of angry bugs towered behind, a giant wave about to crash on top of them. A hot surge of fear prodding him to a sprint, he turned onto the packed, red clay of Granny’s driveway. His aunt tripped and fell, her hand jerking out of his grasp.
Spinning on his heel, Shane dove down to scoop her up, and the dark cloud of bees engulfed them. It sounded like he’d stuck his head into a jet engine’s intake, and he couldn’t see a thing. He cringed, expecting thousands of stingers to pierce him at once. He felt the heat created by the swarm and could barely hear his aunt screaming in agony as they stung her. Holding his breath to keep from sucking the bugs into his lungs, he reached down and patted the ground. Finding his aunt’s leg, he moved his hands up her body, which felt encased in a writhing fur jacket. A thick layer of bees covered every inch of her skin. Terror turned his blood to ice, but adrenaline spurred him into action. He scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder like a sack of feed, and charged on in the direction in which he guessed Granny’s house lay.
Leaping free of the deadly cloud just as he made it to the steps of the front porch, Shane gasped for air, rushed up, and pulled open the screen. The door was locked. The swarm closed in on him again, blocking out the light. Shane leaned back and kicked with all his strength. The jamb exploded into splinters, and the door slammed inward. Rushing into the house, he elbowed the door shut behind him. He lowered his aunt to the floor and then used a chair to prop the door closed.
His aunt rolled back and forth, swatting and wailing. Hundreds of wasps and bees clung to her, their bodies curled up so they could inject their venom. Louder than the noise of her screams, Shane’s pulse banged in his ears, his head seeming to swell. He picked some insects off and stomped on them, but he knew she’d die before he could save her with just his hands. The ones he didn’t manage to squash flew back onto her and sank their stingers in again. Desperate to find a way to help her, he scooped his aunt up and took her into the bathroom. He stood her in the shower, turned the water on, and tried to wash the bees away.
“Please make them stop!” his aunt yelled, thrashing around so much he had trouble keeping her in the tub.
“I’m trying, Aunt Lillian,” he replied, his voice choked with terror, “but you have to be still.”
Shane grabbed a stack of towels from the cabinet and wet them, using the towels to wipe the bees from his aunt’s skin. The shower curtain tangled around his arm and he jerked to break free, bringing the rod down on his head. Cursing, he slung the curtain aside and the rod slammed into the vanity mirror behind him, shattering it into a million shards that fell around his feet. Dripping with sweat from the effort, he used the wet towels to bury the bees in the tub. After an arduous half hour with his aunt shrieking in agony the entire time, Shane managed to free her of the last of the vicious insects. When he wrapped her in Granny’s bathrobe, she collapsed in his arms and he lifted her out of the tub.
Her face was swelled up as if she’d been beaten with a baseball bat, and her arms looked twice as thick as they should.
“Shane,” she wheezed, “I can’t see.” Her eyelids were swelled closed, and her bright red face oozed blood from all the holes the stingers created. “My whole body feels like it’s on fire.”
“It’s going to be okay,” he said, the words sticking in his throat.
If she puffed up any more, he feared she might explode. He’d never seen anyone with so many stings, and he couldn’t imagine how she could survive. She needed to see a doctor, and quick, or he knew she would die.
Tears blurred his vision, and he carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, trying not to think about Granny dying there just days before. Rushing into the kitchen, he grabbed the phone and dialed 911. It rang and rang, but no one picked up.
“Please—somebody answer, damn it,” he whispered into the receiver, dizzy with panic. After a minute, he dialed zero to see if he could even get an operator. With no answer still, he went back in to check on his aunt, worried she was running out of time.
She looked even worse than before. Massive red-and-purple welts, most of them bleeding, covered her face, ears, lips, arms, and every exposed part of her body. She shivered violently, and her breaths came short and harsh.
“You all right, Aunt Lillian?” He used a finger to clear her wet, black-and-gray hair from her face. Her eyes and smile had always reminded him of his mother, but now she was unrecognizable. She barely looked human.
She moaned a feeble response. Shane attempted to check the pulse at her wrist and then her neck, as he’d learned to do in CPR class for his part-time summer job as a lifeguard at the county pool. Her lumpy flesh made it impossible to find, and his fingers left sickening indentations in her skin when he removed them.
Smothered by dread, Shane rushed to the front door and pulled back the curtain hanging over the small, diamond-shaped window. A thick layer of bees obscured the glass, crawling around and searching for a way in. They assailed all the other windows in the house as well, and it grew darker as more joined the swarm. Cold fear rushed through Shane’s veins. Had every bee and wasp in the county converged on Granny’s house?
A wasp buzzed past
his ear and he smacked it to the floor, stomping it with a vengeance. It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t been stung once. How was it possible? His aunt suffered hundreds, if not thousands, of stings, and he was right next to her, had even held her in his arms and smashed some of the insects against his skin. Something strange and unnatural was happening, but he couldn’t begin to guess what.
The keys to Granny’s old Ford Ranger hung on the rack by the front door. Shane snatched them and rushed to the garage, praying her beloved truck was inside. The garage was dark and stuffy, the windows blanketed with hornets. A couple made it in and buzzed threateningly around the truck.
A sharp sigh of relief hissed between his clenched teeth. He’d drive his aunt to the hospital, and they would save her. Latching onto the measure of hope, he ran back to the bedroom in such a hurry that he slammed into a doorjamb, the dishes rattling in the china cabinet on the other side of the wall.
“Don’t you worry, Aunt Lillian,” he said, rubbing his shoulder and wincing from the sobering pain. He tried to sound encouraging. “We’re gonna get you to a doctor.”
She didn’t move or make a sound, and he feared her body had lost its fight against the massive dose of venom. Leaning close to her puffy, red face, he could hear her wheezing with each labored breath. She sounded like she wouldn’t make it for much longer—sounded a lot like the cow they’d hit right before it died.
Shocked by how hot her skin felt, he lifted her in his arms. Shane carried her through the house and into the garage, turning sideways so as not to bump her head or swollen feet against the doors and walls. He could hear the insects buzzing around outside, wanting to come in and finish his aunt off.
“Not today, damn it,” he growled, anger surging.
Laying his aunt on the seat, he smacked a wasp flying into the cab after her. He ran around, climbed in, and jabbed the key in the ignition with such force that he cut his finger on the chrome ridge surrounding the keyhole. When he jerked his hand away, the silver chain with a cross on it hanging from the ring wrapped around his hand and the keys came flying out, landing on the passenger floorboard.
