Ward

by C Bilici

  “Come on.” Stacey beckoned the man.

  He glanced around the room at the children. He looked at then in more terror than he had the creature in her flat. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Dude! I don’t have time for your BS.” Her voice came out in a harsh whisper. “Come on.”

  Janice turned with a frown that turned to a wide smile as she saw them. “Stacey. I told you not to come. Are you okay, hun?” Janice walked to Stacey and rubbed her shoulder.

  Stacey almost cringed at the woman’s touch but forced a smile out. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Listen, umm… Janice, this is—”

  The man stepped forward with his hand out and gave Janice a charming smile. She took it, returning his grin.

  “Good morning, Janice. My name is Fenton Wendell. I’m a relative of Stacey’s.”

  “Ooh, a Brit. I do love a good British accent.” The woman blushed.

  Stacey frowned as the man — as Fenton — looked into Janice’s eyes attentively, smiling wider.

  “Well, I for one was a bit bored of them, and much prefer a lovely Australian accent. Much like your own.” He smiled again.

  The woman blushed brighter, brushing a strand of her hair to one side. Fenton went from smile to serious, somehow managing to still lay on the charm thick as Stacey liked her peanut butter. Among other things.

  “Stacey told me about your little predicament.” The woman frowned back at him.

  “The wasps?” Stacey said.

  “Ohhh, yes. Yes. Strangest thing, you know.” She touched her hand to her throat, running her hand back and forth along a necklace there.

  “Yes, indeed. I’m actually an entomologist with the University of Cambridge.”

  The woman nodded, a frown of ignorance etched on her forehead, still rubbing her necklace. Her fingers spread wider, touching the skin at her chest where her polo shirt was open.

  “I study insects?” Fenton tried again.

  Janice’s eyebrows raised in response. “Oh, that’s great. How lucky. Do you think you could take a look?” she asked, hopeful. “The exterminators said they can’t make it until late afternoon, maybe tomorrow. Said to just to stay inside. Some of the parents are talking about keeping their kids home until it’s dealt with.”

  “That’s why we’re here, Janice,” Stacey said. She lowered her gaze and voice. “Why get some half-arsed guy in a van when you can have a uni professor.”

  Janet smiled.

  “Precisely,” Fenton said. “I can definitely handle the wasps, yes.” He smiled. Then his expression became grave. “But from the description you gave Stacey of the hive, fleeing may be the safest course of action.” Janice scowled, opened her mouth to speak, but Fenton cut her off. “I believe these particular wasps are the rather aggressive genus of Ventimilia Pithecine. Or more commonly known as the Vietnamese killer black wasp.”

  “Oh my God!” Janice stopped her rubbing, her hand prone on her chest in shock. “But we’re safe inside, right?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He gave her a very serious stare now, almost looking like his real self. “Once the wasps find a way inside they will attack anyone in their path. And they will get inside, Janice. You must vacate the premises immediately. Take the children away as quickly as possible. If even one were to enter…”

  “Of— Of course. Right away.” The woman turned and clapped her hands loudly several times. “Kids!”

  Janice was panicking. The kids turned to look at her like a group of carnival sideshow-game clowns, mouths open. Stacey cast Fenton and angry glare and stepped in. She put her hand on Janice’s upper arm gently. Janice turned to to her in much the same way the children had, jaw slack. “Janice,” she said softly but firmly. “Calm. Remember?”

  “I—” Janice shook her head.

  “It will be okay,” Fenton said after Stacey gave him another look. “Just remember. Quick, quiet and calm. The children more so. The wasps will take any loud noise as a sign of aggressive behaviour.”

  “Of course. Quiet. I can do that.” She smiled and put her hand on his. “Thank you, Fenton.”

  He smiled back at her in that charming way as Janice turned, walking to the children.

  “The fuck am I, chopped liver?” Stacey’s face soured. Her mouth seemed to copy it before she tasted the bile again. “Give me some of your drink.” Her hand stretched out and she clicked at him when he didn’t move.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Holy fuck. Justin!” Stacey stared past Fenton, face ashen. He turned to look.

  Yellow dish washing gloves on his hands and an orange mesh-bag from the fruit he’d been cutting over his head, Justin strode through the yard. In one hand an aerosol can. In the other a cigarette lighter. Behind him, in another room, a group of fascinated children and carers watched, giggling.

  “Justin,” Stacey yelled, running to the window to slap at it.

  He turned to smile at Stacey and gave her the devil horns before turning back to his task. The gloves slipped and caught in the wheel.

  Stacey ran for the exterior door. Her hand closed on the handle.

  Sparks caught the plume of spray burst. A black lump under the eaves was engulfed in flame.

  The reaction was instant.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JUSTIN HAD ALWAYS been a runt. He was under average height, skinny to the point of scrawniness, weak. He was like that as a child, a teenager, and now in his early adult life. He’d been bullied and picked on most of his life. He was, as his brothers always told him, a small fish.

  His older brothers had beaten him up and pranked him endlessly, but it was nothing out of the ordinary of normal sibling life. They’d actually beaten up a couple of his bullies in high school and always looked out for him. Even now, they were always supportive, caring, and loving. They did rib him about his career choice, though, much like everyone else. The jokes were always about his sexuality.

  Movement caught his eye and Justin turned to see Stacey banging on the window. She knew he was straight, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way to her. She had told him all about her bisexual nature and her polyamorous relationship. When he’d told his girlfriend, she had pulled a face and quizzed him about her. Her assumption was that Stacey Trampler was a slut. Saying Danielle was less than understanding about Stacey’s “choices” and antics, and what that meant for their future together, was an understatement.

  But that was for another day.

  Justin smiled and waved at Stacey, gave her the devil horns before remembering the kids were watching.

  “Ah, fuck it.” Justin turned back to his mission.

  His brothers had done more than roughhouse with him and call him names in their youth. They’d shown him all the usual big brother stuff.

  Throwing knives from the kitchen or from blades made from bits of scrounged metal. Sometimes they’d spend hours throwing at the back fence, leaving countless marks in it much to their father’s annoyance. His middle brother still had a scar on his knee from where one bounced back and hit him. Most of Justin’s throws had hit flat, or didn’t stick and fell

  Skateboarding down the steep hill of their street. When Justin had tried it, he’d been rewarded by being thrown off after hitting a tiny rock, the skateboard brought to a grinding halt while he hadn’t. It had been embarrassing, but the scars had been a big hit with his classmates, especially the girls.

  And, burning daddy long legs spiders and other bugs with cans of deodorant, air freshener, or WD-40 and a lighter, which his brothers had told him they only had for things like this, but he wasn’t stupid. They’d tried out every single can in the house, shed and garage. His brothers hadn’t allowed him to repeat that, though, saying it was too dangerous for him.

  Then one day a wasps nest appeared on the side wall of their house.

  That hive, all those years ago, hadn’t been anything like this. This one was huge in comparison. Its overnight appearance, size and colour, while all extremely odd, didn’t mean that the little bastards w
ouldn’t burn just the same.

  Now he was older. His brothers weren’t here. And Justin would be the one protecting the ones he loved.

  The hive buzzed with angry activity as he stared at it. One of the creatures flew out and over his head. If it didn’t fly away, he would get it later. He was surprised at the things size and colour as it whirred over him. Like the hive, the thing was an almost metallic black lit with highlights the colours of the rainbow. Like its surface was coated in water and oil. Its exterior was more like a big shiny beetles than a wasp, carapace like skin shifting colours like a hologram.

  He felt something on the back of his head but ignored it as a sense of bravery overcame him. He pressed down on the nozzle and attempted to spark the lighter, the clumsy gloves getting in the way. He heard Stacey screaming his name and glanced sideways at her with a wide grin as he lit the stream and concentrated the flame on his target.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JUSTIN’S HEAD BECAME a shower of pulpy colour that splashed across the astro-turf below him. Black, wire-like cords lashed in its place, shredding what remained of the bloody stump the creature was still attached to. The glass in from of Stacey was painted with red arcs and a fine mist interspersed with fleshier lumps.

  “No!” Stacey yelled as Justin fell to his knees.

  Children screamed and someone called for God.

  Before his body hit the ground, a mass of black insects descended from the hive. Each was five times the size of a regular wasp. The din from their wings incredible. Stacey looked down at Justin’s body through the red haze.

  “Stacey.” Fenton yelled to be heard over the top of the noise.

  The glass under her hands, now pressed against its surface, vibrated.

  “Stacey! You have to go. Get the children out.”

  She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. This couldn’t be happening. If something like this could happen in broad daylight, in front of her children, what would the fate of her lovers be? All it had taken was just one of these things. A small, almost insignificant one. And the life of someone she had known and cared about was gone.

  A sharp crack on the glass drew her attention. One of the insect-things was stabbing at the window with its stinger. The point hit and skewed, gouging a line in the red. It tried to land, but the ends of its legs smeared Justin’s blood, reminding Stacey of finger paintings.

  Before she had a chance to feel sick again, the sound from the creatures changed. It rose in pitch to a whine, grew in intensity. The shook violently. She could see it move.

  “They’re trying to break the glass,” she muttered. She was grabbed and turned from behind.

  “Miss Trampler,” Fenton yelled over the noise. “You need to save the children. They’re coming.”

  “What about—”

  The blacks of his eyes rushed outward and the lines over his body sprang into existence.

  Without further word, she turned and ran from the room to see the front door close and the backs of her colleagues rushing children out. The door to the room behind her closed and she caught a glimpse of Fenton’s back through the small window.

  With a dry swallow, Stacey ran room to room. From the front room window — her room — she saw the others running for cars or across the road. She turned to look her room over again before she started to walk back to Fenton to give the all clear.

  A sound from the staff bathroom drew her attention.

  Flinging the door open, she saw the stall at the end was closed and locked. She was at the door in a few sprinting steps and slapping gently, open palmed, on the door which elicited high-pitched screams from within. It was hard to tell when children were so young, but she thought it was a girl. Probably the same girl from before. She was always getting in there.

  “Sweetie, open the door. We have to leave,” she said, hoping her voice sounded sweeter than she felt.

  “No,” sobbed the child. “The monsters will get my head. Like Justin.”

  She tried the bittersweet approach. “Honey, if we don’t leave the monsters really will come in and get you.”

  “No!”

  Opening and closing her fists, Stacey clenched her teeth. “Fuck this for a joke,” she growled.

  Stacey dropped to the floor and stuck her head under the door. She looked at the girl huddled on the toilet seat, who screamed as she saw her. Stacey reached in for the girl’s foot but couldn’t reach. Neither could she reach the lock above her.

  She hoisted herself back to her feet and inspected the simple mechanism wishing she had her baggie of coins or wore hairpins.

  Glass shattered somewhere. The wasps were inside.

  “Stay back, kid. We haven’t got time for your shit.”

  The flat of her boot hammered the stainless steel circle of the lock. One kick was all she needed. The door flew open, hitting the wall of the cubicle and bouncing back, the cheap lock not meant to be any real barrier. She caught the door on its return and held it aside. The girl kept screaming as Stacey hauled her into the entranceway and over her shoulder.

  With her free arm, Stacey shouldered the the front door open, the hydraulic closer slowing their escape before pulling it shut behind them. She ran for the gate, the child squirming in her arms. After a few steps, she heard more glass falling. She faltered before increasing speed.

  They were in the entrance. They’d learnt how to get through glass faster.

  They got to the gate and Stacey loosened her grip on the girl, holding her one armed. She grabbed for the latch. The small amount of slack was all the girl needed to slip from Stacey’s grasp. The girl slid down the leg that Stacey lifted in a vain attempt to stop her. As the girl ran back for the front door, Stacey turned to give chase.

  The glass doors burst outward. A handful of the creatures flew out. And turned to face them.

  Rooted where she’d stopped, the kid screamed.

  Stacey turned her run to a sprint as the creatures bore down on the girl. As they came, the wings of the dark insects lengthened to become whip-like, the drone of their beating shifting to something like a grass trimmer.

  She wasn’t going to make it to the girl in time.

  The creatures abruptly jerked at a diagonal as a barrage of flaming darts whistled through the open door frame to pin them to the wooden fence.

  Scooping up the girl and clutching her tight, Stacey watched the things writhe and sizzle, keening as they devolved into running ink stains. Despite their liquid nature, they appeared to be stuck fast. Mewling and screeching, the things legs kicked ever slower until they were silent, hanging like rotten fruit.

  Fenton stepped through the door backward with a crunch of glass, drizzling his drink as he came. As he dropped the now empty bottle, a smell hit Stacey.

  “Kerosene?”

  That’s why he’d bought the drink before going to the toilet and hadn’t let her have any. He’d chosen the drink for its colour.

  Fenton pulled crayon scrawled paper from a pocket, lit the crumpled sheet on one of the burning darts on the fence, and dropped it through the doorway. He took the other bottle from another pocket and unscrewed the lid. This one was now three quarters filled with a dark fluid. Stacey watched him slide each dark blob off its pin, snuffing the flames with a hiss. He stuffed the remains into the mouth of the bottle one by one. He gave the bottle a shake and his hand glowed. The blobs dissolved into the liquid as he swirled it.

  “We should go. The fire will spread quickly.” He was so matter of fact, as if arson was a daily thing for him.

  Stacey blinked open mouthed. The girl sobbed on her shoulder, soaking it with tears, drool and probably snot.

  He’d just set fire to her kindergarten. Stacey felt numb.

  Fenton stepped ahead of her and opened the gate to usher her through with a hand on her back as she passed. Once through and in the mostly empty parking lot, the girl in her arms saw one of the other teachers across the road and fought for release. Stacey let her go and the girl ran to the woman, sobbing louder
.

  “We’d best leave,” Fenton said.

  Tears welled in her eyes as Stacey turned to look at the burning building. “Justin.”

  “I pulled his body into the building.”

  Stacey couldn’t find words. Was that supposed to be some sort of comfort? The memories she had of this place would burn up with the building and Justin’s body. She wouldn’t be able to think of the happy times without his death and the destruction of the place hanging over them.

  The next thing she knew, she was in her car and driving with no memory of getting into it. The plastic of the steering wheel creaked as she gripped it and her jaw ached. Wrenching the wheel, the car bumped into a parking space, hitting the gutter. Stacey let out the bellow that had been building pressure in her chest. Her fists hammered at the wheel, the horn blaring as she did.

  Fenton scrambled at her hands and caught her by the wrists. She fought him but his grip was too strong. She turned her anger onto him.

  “Why did you burn it? Why did you burn Justin?” She could smell the smoke on her clothing and skin. How much of that soot was Justin?

  “The place had been marked. No one would have been safe,” he said, monotone. “And your colleague was infected.”

  “My colleague?” she screamed. “He was my friend. And now he’s dead.”

  “You don’t know what the Umbra do.” He released her hands and she snatched them back. “Although after today, I’m not sure I do either. They’ve become quite brazen, it seems. Normally they would not attack in the open like this.” His voice was casual, calm. “If you’ve visited anyone else recently, now would be the best time to tell me.”

  Stacey looked at Fenton, fresh tears in her eyes.

  * * *

  By the time they reached The Pit it was already too late. All that remained was police tape around the wooden garage. There had been no answer at the house when Stacey had knocked. As far as Stacey knew, Tammy and her parents were all dead.

  “Are you going to burn this down too?” She stared at Fenton in anger.