Before the insect apocalypse, I met Laird Barron in Cancun. He’d been hired as chief scientist studying the eusocial characteristics of white ants, which had been plaguing the tourists of a prestigious resort. Several guests had been consumed, head to toe, leaving only their bones. Apparently, the ants had gone carnivorous. They were the first of several species to do so.
Happily, my husband was one of the partially-missing guests. We’d made one last effort to reconcile, only to wind-up arguing so forcefully that he’d slept his last, fateful night in the bathtub.
“How is it you didn’t hear him scream?” Barron asked. He just come back from a fifty-mile hike through the area, and though his interns were resting back at the hotel, he seemed sprightly. The dogs by his side, a pair of Huskies, panted.
“Must have been the quaaludes,” I told him.
Barron was on to me, but he let it go. After all, he was a scientist, not a cop. “Did you know that ants make up 25% of the animal kingdom’s biomass?” he asked. “It seems we’ve contained the problem—it affected several colonies reacting to the same biochemical signals. Cancun should be safe again,” he assured. “Until, of course, the insects attack again.”
Though I was unfamiliar with most things insect, this seemed like good news. There were some things, however, with which I was very familiar: concentrated sulfuric acid eats flesh, leaving only bone. Quaaludes work on grown men. Rogue, man-eating insects that rebel against mankind are very convenient, especially on the night you murder your husband.
“When will they attack again?” I asked.
“Well,” Barron explained, “I’m bringing a colony back with me to Alaska and training them, so probably pretty soon. The west coast, then across the continent. Their neurochemical signals are very strong—you’d be surprised. Ants make hosts of lots of animals, even humans. But don’t worry, they work fast. When your time comes, you won’t feel a thing.
I decided he was joking. So I tried to change the subject. “How come you’re wearing an eye patch?” I asked. “You weren’t wearing it this morning, were you?”
“I poked it out with my own thumb,” he explained, “Because of nosy people. Also, the ants need a place to live.” This seemed like a joke. Apparently, I was wrong.