by Peter Liney
Anyways, what I’m trying to say is—and, please, forgive a tired old cliché from a tired old big guy—having sex and making love are two very different things. One reduces us to the animals we unquestionably are, while the other raises us up to the spirits we hope to be. You’re not devouring flesh, ransacking the sensation of another’s body, but feeling something flowing back and forth, taking away the pain, reaffirming who you are to each other.
I don’t know what time it was, what with that big cracked cup of hooch and making love, but it was a rare night of deep relaxation and for once I was sleeping the Sleep of the Satisfied Gods. There was every chance I’d’ve stayed that way too, if it hadn’t been for Thomas reverting to type and noisily summoning his nurse, comforter and court jester.
I kind of stumbled across to him, bent-kneed and bent-backed, jigging his drawer up and down, shushing him, hoping he’d settle back down where he was, but he wasn’t having any of it.
“Clancy!” Lena wearily complained, which didn’t leave me with a whole lotta choice. I gave a long sigh, took a real careful hold of the little guy, fearing how groggy I was that I might drop him, and made my way outside.
I commenced on my usual circuit, hoping it would either make him sleepy or wake me up, but it didn’t do either. I went clockwise, counterclockwise, even threw in a little zigzagging for good measure, but nothing seemed to work. The only times he stopped crying were those when he was summoning up strength for the next round. Eventually I was that tired, that brow-beaten, I just had to rest. I slumped down on the porch, leaning against a post, still rocking Thomas back and forth. Every now and then he’d fall asleep for a few moments, and then me, and then, I guess, both of us . . .
It was one of those occasions when you’re awake before you realize you’ve actually been asleep, when you’re jolted there through discomfort or alarm, and consciousness comes in a breakneck rush. I awoke coughing repeatedly, with something sharp lodged in my throat, obstructing my airways, making me gasp for air.
Thomas was screaming in such a way I’d never heard before and I looked down to see something in my arms that at first I didn’t recognize. It was black and bubbling with movement, thousands of tiny wriggling bodies, and finally I realized the little guy was covered with weevils. They were everywhere—I couldn’t see even a glimpse of his skin, just this pulsating dark coating, most of them grouped around his nose and mouth, jostling each other in an effort to get inside him, like flies seeking out moisture.
I leapt to my feet, shaking the little guy as hard as I dared, brushing them off him, only in that moment realizing I was covered too, that it was weevils in my mouth making me choke.
I coughed and spat, ejecting what I’d almost swallowed, eventually managing to cry out, “Lena! Jimmy—!”
I was about to run inside, to head into the shower again, but those things were everywhere, thousands and thousands of them, stacked high against the front of the house, the door and windows, as if they were trying to break them down.
I could hear someone inside approaching, responding to my call, their footsteps echoing across the floor. “No! Don’t open it!” I shouted. “Block it up—weevils are everywhere. I’m going down to the creek—”
I ran over there as fast as I could, sweeping weevils off Thomas all the way, feeling those hundreds of tiny feet crawling all over my body. It was as if they were searching me, prying here and there, looking for something. The moon broke through the clouds, giving me a better view of the surroundings area—Jesus, the entire ground, everything I could see, was covered by this black crawling mass making their way toward the house.
When I got to the creek I jumped straight in and dropped to my knees so the water was up to my chest, splashing it over a shrieking Thomas, sluicing those damn things away as best I could. I fumbled with his tiny clothes, stripping him off, thanking God it was a warm night, just letting them float off downstream. But it wasn’t only him, I had to get rid of my own clothes, too. Somehow I managed to tug them off me while juggling him from hand to hand, but at one point he slipped from my grasp and fell in. He was gasping with shock as I pulled him clear of the water, and damned if a number of weevils weren’t still clinging on to his downy little head.
One by one I swept them away ’til finally I stood there in the middle of that creek with Thomas in my arms, both of us free of weevils, and utterly naked.
The only thing was, what the hell were we gonna do? We couldn’t get outta the water, not with all those damn things massed around us. Over in the house the lights were now on, and I guessed everyone was trying to kill the weevils that had got in and blocking out those who hadn’t. I just didn’t get it—I thought they’d moved on? Or was this a different swarm? A second wave? For sure there were a helluva lot more of them.
I don’t know how long I stood there hoping they’d go, but the longer it went on, the more I got it in to my head that maybe this wasn’t just them overrunning us on their way elsewhere—that maybe it was us they were after?
I know that sounds crazy—insects don’t do that kind of thing, right? But no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I heard the sound of a branch breaking upstream, and don’t ask me how, but I knew what it was even before it hit the water. There were some overhanging trees back there, and I reckoned those weevils had been collecting on them, more and more, ’til finally their weight broke a branch. There was a further crack and another splash, and another—Jeez, a whole damn armada was coming our way.
I tried moving to one side to let the first branch float by, but the creek wasn’t wide enough and I was forced to just wait ’til it reached me then stamp on it, push it underwater and hope I’d drown them—but the moment I did, they started crawling up my leg, going for my crotch. All the time I was clinging onto Thomas, doing my best to calm him, while he screamed with all the fear a seven-month-old could muster. It was mayhem: trying to drown them, splashing them off me, missing the odd one, seeing it crawling over Thomas or feeling it tickling its way over me.
Another branch arrived, another skirmish in our river battle, and this time I used the first branch to sink the others, trying to keep the weevils as far away from us as I could, though the creek was now thick with their bobbing little bodies. Over and over they came, branch after branch, ’til I was so exhausted, flailing away while hanging onto Thomas—I wasn’t sure I could take it anymore. Thankfully, a few moments later, I realized the barrage was slowing, that maybe they’d run out of overhanging branches.
I was left standing helpless and naked in the middle of that creek, my old chest huffing and heaving, my whimpering baby son clutched in my arms, the enemy probably massing on the bank, looking for another way to attack.
Suddenly I heard this weird sound, muffled and metallic, like someone was trying to vomit into a tin can. It took me a while to realize it was Jimmy.
“Big Guy . . . ! Big Guy! Can you hear me?”
I didn’t know what he’d done—sounded like he was shouting down a long tube. Maybe he’d found something and pushed it outta an upstairs window, or even the chimney.
“Big Guy!” came the muffled cry again.
“I’m okay!” I called back. “I’m in the creek with Thomas.”
“Can you get back?” came Lena’s voice, also all tinny and distant.
“No! We’ll have to stay here!”
“All night?”
“We got no choice. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” I added, though I wasn’t as confident as I was trying to sound.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
So that was what I did: I more or less stayed where I was, wading around in the water to try to keep myself as warm as I could, to stop my old legs from going numb, being careful not to trip on the uneven bottom of the creek, and grateful for the occasional shouted conversation with the house.
Sometime in the early hours the weevils came again, several more branches heavily laden down with insects floating down the creek—and ya know
the really chilling thing? I never heard a crack or splash. Which left me with only one conclusion: they’d found branches elsewhere and carried them into the water. I mean, it was beyond belief, but what other explanation could there be? Again I had to go to war: sinking, soaking, drowning. A whole gang of them got past me at one point and started swarming over Thomas but he was so exhausted, he barely reacted.
With the slow passing of the night, the temperature began to drop noticeably and I had to keep hugging and rubbing the little guy to keep him warm. I was that tired, I could’ve almost fallen asleep where I was. Thomas might be no weight at all normally, but for that length of time, my limbs were really beginning to ache. I shifted him from shoulder to shoulder, occasionally looking over at the riverbank, thinking how nice it would be to lie down, but I was sure those things were still there, trying to come up with another way of . . . of what? I didn’t know! What the hell did they want from us?
I thought I saw the first light of dawn a dozen times before it finally appeared. The moment I could clearly see the bank, I realized they’d gone, that they’d slipped away with the night. I gave this real heartfelt groan of relief and began to clumsily splash through the water, suddenly appreciating how stiff and achy I was, Thomas so deeply asleep he didn’t even wake as I jolted and shook him around.
I was about to climb outta water when I realized someone had emerged from the house, hastily shutting the door behind them, like they weren’t that sure if the weevils had gone or not. I peered over the bank to see Lena and Jimmy making their way across, both of them looking worried sick.
It might sound odd, but as soon as I saw them I lost all thoughts of weevils, of my aches and pains; the only thought going through my head was that I didn’t have a stitch on.
“Jimmy! Get me some pants, will ya!” I shouted.
“You okay, Big Guy?” he asked.
“Fine. Get me some pants.”
He returned to the house, Lena calling to me, making her way over, soon standing on the riverbank before me.
“Take him,” I said, carefully placing Thomas in her outstretched hands, but making no attempt to get out myself.
“You sure you’re okay?” she said, wrapping herself around Thomas, so relieved to have him back safe and sound.
“Yeah, we’re fine. He’s been asleep the last couple of hours. Finally we know what it takes.”
Lena just stood there for a moment, looking a little confused, obviously wondering what I was doing. “You getting out?”
“Yeah, yeah—soon as I get those pants.”
“Clancy! No one’s going to care about that.”
Jimmy came out of the house followed by the others, and I cursed to myself, knowing he must’ve said something. No matter how cold I felt, I immediately squatted down so the water made me decent.
“You okay, Big Guy?” Delilah asked, as she sauntered over.
“Fine. What’s everyone want?”
“Just checking you’re all right,” she replied, her smirk telling a different story.
“I’m fine. Now could everyone turn their backs?”
“You gonna put your pants on underwater?” Hanna asked.
“Just go, will ya!” I shouted, being of the opinion that the only women in a man’s life who should see him naked are his wife and mother.
Despite the circumstances, how tired and cold I was, damned if they didn’t all start giggling.
“Clancy!” Lena said, the corners of her mouth turning up, like she wanted to start laughing, too.
“Look, it’s been one helluva night; I don’t need to be embarrassed on top of it.”
They kinda saw the logic of that and finally took pity on me, leaving Lena and me alone, though they kept looking back as they returned to the house, little peals of laughter erupting every now and then. I didn’t know what they were saying, and I didn’t want to, either.
I staggered out of the water, my lingering embarrassment helping me get my pants on in double-quick time despite numbed fingers and a wet body. It was an unexpected end to a truly harrowing night, a little light relief maybe, but what’d happened was certainly no laughing matter. What the hell did those things want? Why had they returned? Jimmy went and checked on the wheat fields, coming back with the worst possible news, that every single ear of wheat had been eaten.
I guess that should’ve been it, the whole episode explained, but for some reason it didn’t feel that way. It was disappointing to lose the entire crop, especially after all the work we’d done plowing and sowing, but I couldn’t help but feel we had an even greater problem. I couldn’t believe that had merely been the natural instinct of some lowly insect, some weird quirk of nature. Something else had been motivating those things, and the most frightening part was, whatever it’d been, it seemed to have a measure of intelligence.
CHAPTER NINE
I thought it was just me, that I was the only one thinking those weevils were acting way above themselves, but I wasn’t. I crashed into bed the moment I got back to the house and slept all morning, but was woken up later by the kids going off down to the fields with Delilah to see if there was any wheat at all they could salvage. The situation so serious that for once they’d temporarily shelved their differences and all gone off together, Gigi and Hanna included.
I had a quick bite with Lena—Thomas’s ordeal had apparently had little effect on his appetite; he was sucking away like some baby vampire—then wandered over to see Jimmy in his workshop.
I walked in to find the little guy staring into this glass jar. To my surprise, inside there were several live weevils.
“Set a couple of traps down in the field,” he explained, handing me the glass. “Just in case they came back.”
I gotta say, up close like that, just a few of them, they weren’t that impressive: smaller than I imagined, black, with shiny green streaks, wiggly little antennae, and unnaturally large eyes. Their movement was kinda slow, not like the previous night, as if not wanting to waste their energy while imprisoned.
“Not so big now, are you?” I muttered at them. “Not without all your friends.”
Jimmy never said anything, just stood there, plainly heavily preoccupied.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I don’t know what they are.”
“What d’ya mean? They’re weevils.”
“You reckon?”
“Yeah . . . Don’t you?” I asked, not understanding this conversation at all.
Jimmy took a deep breath and gave an even longer sigh, leading me over to his workbench. Apparently he’d caught more than just those in the jar; he’d already dissected a few and that gooey green liquid was oozing everywhere.
“Their physiology,” he said. “Weird.”
“In what way?”
“First I thought it was some kinda parasite—maybe even a GM. Makes sense: subvert the culture, teach them new tricks, stop them eating what they shouldn’t—species reduction or termination, but . . . I don’t think so.” Again he paused, like he’d really have preferred not to say what he was about to. “It’s not cool, Big Guy.” he warned me. “It’s not cool at all.”
“What isn’t?”
For a moment he studied the dissected weevils on a screen, slowly bringing up the magnification. “When they were all over you . . .”
“Yeah?” I asked impatiently.
“They didn’t—?”
“What?”
“Find a way in?”
“What?”
He enhanced the magnification that bit more. “See those hooks?” he said, indicating these barbs on the creature’s body. “Weevils ain’t parasites. Those are for attaching themselves to a host.”
I stared at him. “Me?”
“They couldn’t’ve . . .” he stopped, making this rather apologetic face, “got inside ya?”
“No . . .” I said, but the word died in me even before it was properly uttered.
“What?” he asked, seeing the sudden expression on
my face.
I sighed, not really wanting to tell him. “When I woke up, there were some in my mouth. I spat them out, all of them—I’m sure I did.”
Jimmy didn’t comment, just stood there thinking it through. “Maybe I could recreate a host environment, see how they react.”
I shrugged; as ever he was starting to lose me.
“But where the hell they come from, I do not know,” he said, unusually for him plainly at a loss.
“GM, I’ll bet,” I snorted. “Two things put together that never should be. How often have we seen that?”
But he’d already lost interest in our conversation, searching high and low for something that might aid him with the thread of a theory, no longer listening to me or even aware of my presence.
In the end, I left him to it and headed across to sit on the porch, more than a little troubled by our conversation. Why did he think those things were trying to get inside us? What the hell for—hatch out a new family? Just the thought made me shudder: thousands of them eating their way outta us? But I’d know if I’d swallowed one, wouldn’t I? If I had it inside me?
I sat there turning the problem over and over, trying to get a handle on things. Where do they come from? Where do they go? Do they move on? Is each attack a different swarm or are they hiding somewhere and come out at night?
Without actually making a conscious decision, I got up and ambled over to what was left of the wheat fields, where the kids and Delilah were still searching for any surviving grain.
“You okay, Clancy?” Lile asked, sauntering over, the kids following on.
