Invasive Species (29 page)

TREY SAID, “WHERE
are you?”

“With Kait and Mary. In the safe house.”

“I know that,” he said.
“Where?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Are there any windows?”

“No.” He heard her take a breath. “We jammed a towel under the door. But there are dozens of them inside the house. Hundreds. Kait saw them coming.”

A pause. Then, her voice shaking for the first time, “Trey, we don't know what to do.”

Trey didn't, either. A call to the police would be sending unprepared cops into an ambush. And how could they make their own rescue attempt into anything more than a suicidal gesture?

Jack had disappeared, but Mariama was standing close, looking up into Trey's face.

“My friends,” he said to her. “The thieves have them trapped.”

“Yes.” She seemed unsurprised. Calm. “Do you have a car?”

Trey said, “No.”

At the same moment, Jack came back down the hall. “Sure,” he said, spinning a key chain on one finger.

They looked at him. He shrugged. “I called in a favor.”

Trey said into the phone, “Sheila, we're on our way. Two hours, tops.”

“But—”

“Trust me. We'll figure something out.”

“Okay.” He could have kissed her for not asking questions. Then she said, “Damn! My phone is almost dead.”

By such slender threads our lives hang, Trey thought. “Just hold on, okay?” he said.

“We will.” Again her voice caught. “Trey—”

“On our way,” he said again and disconnected.

*   *   *

“WHERE ARE WE
going?” Jack asked, handing Trey the keys as they moved down the hall.

Trey said, “Higgins Island on the Chesapeake.”

Jack nodded. “You have the address?”

Trey said yes.

“Good. I'll plug it into my GPS. If you drive fast—”

Trey didn't let him finish his sentence.

“I'll drive fast,” he said.

*   *   *

JACK HAD BORROWED
an Audi A3, which had no problem breaking the speed limit. Driving fast was even easier since Route 50 was nearly deserted. Only a few cars aimed out of town, and almost no one was heading in. The late-afternoon sky was a flat blue-gray and nearly empty as well, though near its apogee a jet caught the sun and seemed to catch fire.

“Humans,” Jack said from the backseat, “are so fucking predictable.”

Trey knew what he meant. When the world turned upside down, the eternal human tendency was to stay put. Hunker down.

Better to die at home, in your bed, than on unfamiliar turf.

“I'll bet the supermarkets are out of bottled water already,” Jack said. “The people who make spring water, they just love catastrophes.”

Mariama, sitting in the passenger seat beside Trey, grimaced. “What's the point in buying water in bottles?”

“So you have enough to drink before the water comes back on.”

Mariama laughed. “I guess that depends, no? On how long before the water starts to flow again?”

Trey thought about droughts that lasted five hundred years.

But Jack just grunted and said, under his breath, “Talk about your major buzzkill.”

*   *   *

TREY DROVE. THE
D.C. suburbs fell away, and the landscape grew more rural. They passed open fields, farmhouses, interspersed with stretches of minimalls. The color of the light flattened as they drew nearer the coast, and they caught glimpses of rivers and bays, slate gray in the late-afternoon sun.

The few people in sight all seemed to be in a hurry as well. A hurry to get back home. Trey wondered how many of them would spend their last minutes or hours or—perhaps—few days in the houses they'd retreated to. In their castles. Cowering in windowless bathrooms or broom closets, or stepping forward to fight back, brave, foolhardy, doomed.

“So, when we get there,” Jack said, “what's the plan?”

Trey said, “Any ideas?”

“Me?” Jack snorted. “Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I'm a dog chasing cars.”

Then, after a pause, “That's a quote. From
The Dark Knight
. The Joker said it first.”

“When we get there,” Mariama said, “I'll tell you what to do.”

*   *   *

THEIR ROUTE TOOK
them across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. There were ducks on the water below and cormorants drying their wings on rocks close to shore.

“Oh.” Jack had been looking down at his phone, giving directions when necessary, but now he caught Trey's eye in the rearview mirror. “They rescued the president.” He touched the screen. “Our republic is saved.”

Trey kept his attention on the road ahead.

“He's in some bunker while the White House and residence are being”—Jack made a sound that was probably a laugh—“bug-proofed.”

At another time, Trey would have had plenty to say about this, starting with the impossibility of “bug-proofing” any building. Instead, he just shook his head.

“It wasn't a rescue,” he said. “The thieves backed off.”

“Trey is right,” Mariama said.

Jack made a dissatisfied grunt. “Why? It's their Sabbath? They have a prohibition against eating elected officials?”

“No. They weren't ready for war,” Trey said.

Feeling Mariama's gaze on his face.

“They're still . . . building their strength,” he said.

Slave-making ants before a raid.

*   *   *

THEY LEFT THE
highway and followed a series of smaller, winding roads heading south and back west toward the bay.

Approaching dusk, the light was watery, the air still and heavy. They drove through a small town, wooden buildings, empty streets, tourist shops closed for the season. Beyond it, the houses were bigger and set farther from the road, more isolated from each other. Sometimes all that was visible was a gate and a long driveway disappearing into the woods. No sign of the building itself.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Sure. I'd hide people here, too.”

He checked his GPS. “Make the next right.” Then, “About fifteen more minutes.”

Something different in his manner. The ever-present good humor draining away as they drew closer.

Trey said, “Why are they there? Why are they threatening Sheila and the rest now?”

Mariama stirred. “When they're attacked, the thieves grow more . . . brazen.”

Jack grunted. “The attack happened in Florida. They'd get brazen a thousand miles away?”

“Everywhere,” Mariama said. “At once.”

Jack made a sound in his throat.

Trey said, “Sheila killed two larvae. Is that why they came? More revenge?”

“Yes. When they're at sufficient strength, they go after anyone who harms them. You know this.”

“And anyone who happens to be in their vicinity.”

Mariama didn't seem to think that worthy of an answer.

They drove in silence for a few moments. Then Jack said, his voice very quiet, “The thieves. They're like Horton? They never forget?”

Mariama grunted.

“It's not a matter of forgetting,” she said. “It's in their blood. To them, it is always happening right now.”

Jack looked out the window. “Hell of a way to live,” he said.

*   *   *

“SHEILA'S PHONE BATTERY
must be dead,” Jack said. “But her voice mail sounds cheery.”

“She said it was dying,” Trey said.

“Doesn't matter. We're almost there.” Jack pointed. “Next right. That's it.”

They entered a curving gravel driveway. In the encroaching darkness, the trees seemed to huddle over the drive, blocking any view but the one directly ahead.

The two-hour drive from Washington had taken an hour and a half. It felt like they were nearing world's end.

“The house is at the end of this drive,” Jack said. “About another third of a mile.”

Mariama draw in a deep breath through her nose.

“I hate that smell,” she said.

*   *   *

THE CHARACTERISTIC BITTER
odor prickled Trey's nostrils.

He could hear them, too. A familiar sound: the hum of wings, so high-pitched it seemed pure vibration, tickling somewhere in the center of his head.

But in this case multiplied a hundred times. A thousand.

The house, wood with weathered shingles, stood in front of them. It had been built on concrete posts and raised on stilts, with a wraparound deck overlooking the water beyond. Eight wooden steps led up to the front door, which hung open.

And then he saw movement on the lawn, on the drive, on the stairs.

A blur in the gloom. Glimpses of crimson. Flashes of black and green.

Jack said, his voice cracking a little at the edges, “Everyone's window closed?”

And, “Would you shut the air vents up there, please?”

Hundreds of thieves, crawling here, flying in short loops there. Dozens whirling into the air like malevolent dust devils as the car crept up the driveway. Others swooping close to the windshield before spinning away again.

Those on the front walk, on the stairs, on the patchy gray lawn, had all turned to watch. A thousand compound eyes staring, or one eye divided into a thousand?

The voice inside Trey awoke. He'd been expecting it to all along the way, but it had waited until now.

He wondered if that had been its intention. To lull him into a trap. Because now, exerting its will, it seemed to drag him toward the car door. His brain seemed to split, half of it here, inside the car, and half outside among the creatures.

He brought the car to a stop beside a gas lamp atop a metal pole, ten feet from where the wooden stairs led up to the open door.

A dozen thieves settled on the hood and stared in at him. Trey shivered, a convulsive movement of his shoulders.

Inside, the voice radiated happiness. Wholeness.

Mariama put her hand on Trey's arm, and after a moment he was able to pull himself back.

Behind them, Jack was staring out the window, his face a pale blotch in the darkness.

“Anybody got a spare Terminator?” he asked.

“I'LL GO IN,
of course,” Mariama said.

Jack leaned forward and stared at her. “What? That's insane. You won't make it three steps across the yard.”

Mariama's expression contained a trace of amusement. “They won't attack me,” she said.

Jack shifted his gaze to watch thieves moving lightly along the outside of the window. “And why is that?”

“Listen.” Mariama's voice hardened. “I have lived among these creatures all my life. I know more about them than you do. They will not sting me.”

Jack blinked. “Okay.”

Her expression softened a little. “In the Casamance, Trey saw that I was unharmed. I will explain why later, after your friends are safe.”

Trey said, “I'm coming with you.”

She began to shake her head. Then she stopped and looked up into his eyes. In a sudden, unexpected move, she placed her right palm against his shirt, below his rib cage.

“When did it happen?” she asked.

He knew what she was asking, knew he had to tell the truth.

“In July,” he said. “In Australia. Sheila—” He gestured at the house. “That was one of the larvae Sheila took out.”

Mariama's eyes were still on his. “Trey,” she said. “You feel it, don't you? The . . . consciousness.”

After a moment, he nodded.

“That's good.” Her eyes brightened. “Right now, that's good. Yes, you can come with me.”

“Without, you know, dying?” Jack asked.

Mariama looked back at him. “People like Trey—they confuse the thieves.” She switched her gaze to Trey. “It is hard for them to tell what you are—whether you are still a host.”

“And how about me?” Trey said. “Will I always be able to tell?”

She grimaced but did not answer.

*   *   *

“STAY WHERE YOU
are,” Mariama told Jack. “Don't do anything foolhardy, and you shouldn't be in danger. The thieves are much more concerned about Trey and me.”

Jack gave a nod, but he didn't seem reassured. He was breathing heavily, and Trey could see sweat on his face.

“The thieves will move away when Trey and I leave the car,” she went on. “Then they will come back, but no closer than they are now. Because of me, the inside of this car will seem . . . dangerous to them.”

“Okay,” Jack said.

“Just don't provoke them.”

“Ha!”

She looked at Trey. “I will get out first and walk around to your side. That will give the thieves a chance to understand about me. When I reach you, come out. But do not move too fast.”

Trey said, “Got it.”

She swung open her door and stepped outside.

*   *   *

IN THE LIGHT
of the gas lamp, Trey saw a cloud of wasps rise around Mariama. He waited for them to descend again and envelop her. For her to fall, to be dead before she hit the ground.

But it didn't happen. The thieves rose, yes, but to escape. In an instant, the car hood and the windshield were wiped clean.

“Holy shit,” Jack said. “She
is
the Terminator.”

From his position behind the wheel, Trey caught a glimpse of Mariama's expression. There was relief there, but a kind of fierce joy, too. The joy you take in learning that your power over an enemy is undiminished.

After a moment, she began to walk around the car. The thieves hovering within five feet of her retreated. The ones farther off, either in the air or on the ground, stayed where they were, but there was a tension in their posture that Trey hadn't witnessed before.

He knew that he shouldn't ascribe human emotions to them, but Trey thought he was seeing fear. The thieves were afraid of her.

Mariama reached his side of the car and looked in at him. When he nodded, she swung his door open and took a step back.

Trey breathed in. The voice of the hive mind had receded, and he could hear only his heart thudding and the hum of wings.

Steadily, but not too fast, he stepped out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and straightened.

Beyond Mariama, a cloud of wasps whirled. As Trey watched, one detached itself and flew directly at him. A blur. If it had tried to sting him, he would have had no defense. But it paused, hovering just in front of his face, dipping a little closer, pulling back.

He saw its abdomen pulsing as it spun away.

“We must hurry,” Mariama said.

*   *   *

TO TREY IT
felt like being inside a dome. A shaken globe filled with black and crimson snow. Every step, the cloud whirled around them, up above, to the side, never closer than a half dozen feet. Taking a single glance behind him, he saw that a multitude of thieves had fallen again upon the car.

The sinking sun had disappeared behind a screen of haze near the horizon, turning crimson wings the color of dried blood. Somewhere not far away, a dog gave a sudden series of high-pitched yelps before falling silent.

Trey and Mariama walked. The wasps that had been staking out the pathway to the house and the stairs made way as they approached. Farther away, others rose on their spidery legs, twisting their heads to mark the humans' progress.

The voice inside Trey stayed silent.

Mariama reached the foot of the staircase, Trey a step behind. Most of the stairs were now clear, but at the top a battalion of thieves held their ground. Others moved around the edges of the dark rectangle made by the open door. Farther inside, unseen wings hummed.

A group, five, or maybe ten, came from somewhere off to the side, swooped low over Trey's head, and sped away. The sight of them flickered at the corner of his vision like the aura that precedes a migraine.

“Stay close to me,” Mariama breathed into his ear. “You're in danger.”

“I had no idea,” he said, just as quietly.

Her indrawn breath might have contained a laugh.

“Listen,” he said, his eyes on the thieves staring down at him from the top step. “If they decide I'm worth killing, you have to get the others out. You have to save them.”

He heard her sigh. “I will do my best,” she said. “I promise.”

Then she said, “All right. Let's go in.”

But even as Trey lifted his right foot onto the first step, he heard a sound that froze him as if he'd been staked to the ground.

A long, drawn-out scream.

He twisted around. The front passenger door of the Audi hung open. Jack lay writhing on the ground beside it, facedown, his arms up near his head, his feet kicking at the grass. Floundering forward in an attempt to escape that he must have known was hopeless.

Nearly every exposed patch of skin—his arms, his hands, his calves where his jeans had hiked up—was covered in wasps.

Especially his face. His eyes. A riot of legs and wings and mandibles.

As Trey watched, pinned in place, Jack's head turned toward them. His mouth stretched wide open. He gave a wet, choking cry that must have begun as another scream.

Finally Trey awoke from his shock. But before he could move, before he could run back to try to save his friend, Mariama's hands grasped his arms. Her fingers were as strong as manacles.

“No!” Her voice a whip crack, designed to grab his attention. “Trey—it's too late!”

He tried to wrench away from her, but she hung on to him with strength born of desperation. “Trey,” she said, each word like a gasp. “Trey! They'll kill you, too. Look at them. Look!”

He pulled his gaze away from Jack's quivering form. All around, the thieves had risen into the air. Their spinning flight, with him and Mariama at the center of the vortex, seemed to Trey to have an edge of hysteria to it. Joy or rage or some alien mixture of both.

Emotions mirrored in the awakening consciousness within him.

“Come on!” Mariama said.

Trey turned his back to the car and, together, he and Mariama ascended the wooden steps.

From behind them came the sound of Jack's last, shuddering breath.

*   *   *

SILENCE INSIDE THE
house. Stillness.

Green eyes watched them from the dark corners where the walls met the ceilings. From the shadowy edges of paintings showing sailboats raising colorful spinnakers on bright blue oceans. From behind the DVD player, the rims of vases, and especially amid the leaves of the potted rain forest plants arrayed to catch the sun through a big, cheerful bay window facing south.

Only there was no sun now.

Trey and Mariama stood in the center of the living room. To the right was an open kitchen separated by a granite counter. Sitting on the counter were half-full glasses of what looked like iced tea, a newspaper folded in half, and a plate holding a peanut butter sandwich with one bite taken out of it. A thief stood on top of the sandwich. Not moving, just watching, like the rest of them.

The odor here was very strong, but Trey barely noticed it. He breathed, in and out, until he felt his heart begin to slow, his vision clear.

Then he pointed. “There.”

A short hallway led to three doors. Two were open, showing glimpses of bedrooms beyond. The third was closed. Trey could see part of a blue towel jammed in the gap between the bottom of the door and the wooden threshold.

Trey took a step toward the closed door but felt a hand on his arm. Mariama said, “Wait,” then gestured toward the kitchen.

They took a detour around the counter. Reaching up into one of the glass-fronted cabinets above the sink, she took down a tall plastic glass. From the counter she grabbed a section of the newspaper.

Turning to look at Trey, she said, “Now we're ready.”