Insects: A Novel

by Koloen, John

  “They’re almost here,” Hamel shouted excitedly. “They’re almost here. C’mon, Doc, get the gas ready.”

  Holding the gas-filled cup in one hand, Duncan moved sideways toward the rear of the truck bed. He handed it to Hamel and lit the splinter with his lighter.

  Hamel did as instructed, keeping it from spilling by holding the cup in both hands.

  “What if we miss?” Hamel said, nervously.

  It then occurred to Duncan that they might need more than one cup of gasoline, and he said aloud, “Find more cups, everyone. We need more ammunition.”

  Everyone got busy searching, pulling out backpacks and rummaging through them like thieves. Within a minute, they’d lined up four on the cab roof and began filling them with gasoline. At the same time, Duncan inched as near to the edge of the truck bed as he dared. He told himself not to throw it too early for fear of missing the bugs entirely, but then worried if he waited too long that the gasoline would get under the truck, setting it on fire. He knew that diesel fuel ignited at a higher temperature than gasoline, but decades of use and misuse would have resulted in flammable chemicals soaking into the wood planks on the bed and the running boards. But he pushed that out of his mind. He needed to hit them just right, just in front of them so that when he tossed the lighted splinter into the water, they would be engulfed in a sheet of flame.

  Taking the cup from Hamel with one hand, who almost didn’t let go for fear of dropping it, Duncan shuffled to the edge of the truck and, leaning over, timed the release of the gasoline as the raft of bugs neared. It was a good four feet across and six feet in length. He hoped it was too big to miss. Azevedo kept the light on the bugs, giving Duncan as good a view as he could hope for. As he lit the splinter, everything seemed to him to move in slow motion. He felt ready to do what he had to do but hesitated for an instant. What if he missed? The fear of failure just wouldn’t let go as if second guessing himself had value in such a situation.

  “Did y’all find cubs, I mean cups? And more splinters?”

  He didn’t hear the response as at just that instant he emptied the cup into the water. There wasn’t nearly as much gasoline as he’d thought. The cup was only two-thirds full. And then he tossed the lighted splinter. He wondered whether it would set the gasoline on fire or die in the water. The answer came swiftly as a fireball launched skyward, lighting up everything around it and drowning out Azevedo’s searchlight.

  Along with the burst of flame and smoke, a high-pitched screeching filled the air as countless insects were incinerated. The raft broke into smaller pieces as the bugs reorganized. Many more were jumping while others were sinking under the water. With no place to land, the jumpers ended up in the water and disappeared. The jumping gave them a few seconds of life before succumbing to the water. Because there were so many, some of them managed to land on the truck. Several landed on Hamel, who discovered how difficult they were to remove from his clothing.

  “Help me,” he shouted as he pulled several off his shirt front, tearing the cloth as he did so. Peeples pulled several off of Hamel’s back and then felt a slight stabbing pain on her back.

  “Doc, Doc, they’re on my back. Help me!”

  Duncan grabbed at the bugs on Peeples’ back and realized their forelegs had torn into the shirt cloth. Duncan wrapped his hands around several and yanked, ripping pieces of cloth and tiny pieces of flesh as he tossed them into the water. Peeples winced.

  “Did you get ‘em? Did you get ‘em?” she shouted. “Please say you got ‘em.”

  “I got ‘em,” Duncan replied.

  While this was going on, Azevedo tried to alert everyone that another raft was approaching but couldn’t get anyone’s attention while they struggled to clear the truck bed of bugs. The current carried the remaining pieces of raft under the truck and the bugs that jumped ended up smashing into the undercarriage, crushing themselves, or drowning. Hamel hovered near the cab on the driver’s side, clearly frightened. Responding to Azevedo’s imprecations, Duncan urged Hamel to watch the next group of insects. But he shook his head.

  “You can’t ignore them,” Duncan reasoned. “Our only chance is to stay ahead of them and hit them before they hit us.”

  “I’ll do it,” Rankin said resignedly, raising her hand.

  “You don’t hafto,” Peeples whispered.

  “Yes I do.”

  Watching this, Maggie Cross frowned and gave Hamel a withering look. But he wasn’t watching as his chin was buried in his chest like a disobedient child.

  Hamel handed the binoculars to Peeples, who stationed herself at the rear of the truck, about a foot from the edge, not as close as Hamel had stood. Adjusting the focus, she zeroed in on an area less than two hundred feet away, where Azevedo’s light barely reached. Still, she could make out the outlines of another raft, which itself was hung up on debris.

  “How we doing?” Duncan asked.

  “Ah, fine, I guess,” Peeples said, pointing toward the raft. “There’s a bunch of them out there. Can you see ‘em? They’re right on the edge of where the light is. You can see ‘em with the binocs.”

  She handed the binoculars to Duncan, who initially pointed them toward where Johnson had been looking and then scanned the entire area. He thought he saw other rafts but couldn’t be certain because of the uneven light. He didn’t want to increase anyone’s alarm any more so he kept it to himself.

  “Just let me know when they break loose,” he said, returning the binoculars.

  Remembering what happened the last time, he slammed on the brakes; Boyd gently brought the truck from nearly two miles per hour to a dead stop. His eyes were on Johnson and Suarez, who were pointing to something in the distance, beyond reach of the truck’s single headlight. Azevedo brought his light to bear and sighed. More bugs.

  Johnson and Suarez returned to the truck and asked Duncan what they could do to help.

  “Keep an eye out for the insects,” Duncan said while carefully pouring gasoline into a cup.

  “You gonna dump the gas on the bugs?” Johnson asked, not having been aware of the first encounter.

  “That’s the plan. But be ready, because some of ‘em will get on the truck. A couple of them attacked George and Alison.”

  Johnson shot a concerned look at Peeples.

  “I’m okay. Just a torn shirt and a little blood. Nothing to worry about.”

  While waiting for the next brush with the insects, Duncan advised everyone to try to rest, even if they couldn’t sleep.

  “You and Antonio must be worn out,” Duncan said. “Find a place to sit and try to rest. I know it’s hard, but Alison and I will keep a lookout. Who knows how long we’ll be doing this?”

  “The longer, the better,” Boyd said.

  Despite the bugs appearing in the road in front of the truck and the rafts drifting toward them from the side and the rear, surrounding them on three sides, the rafts were either hung up or those that were drifting were not on a collision course with the truck. However, the water level had risen above the running boards and was nearly at the level of the fuel filler cap. Boyd kept the engine at idle to charge the battery and power the headlight and the searchlight. He feared that the cap would leak without a gasket and asked Azevedo to check the glove box to find one. There was no gasket, just several rusty screwdrivers, a hammer and rusted screws and other junk. He thought about the function of a gasket as a mechanical seal and then looked around the cab, reaching under the seat and behind it to find anything that he could jury rig into a gasket.

  “Does somebody have a spare T-shirt?” he asked loudly.

  “What for?” Rankin asked.

  “I need it for a gasket for the fuel tank. I’m afraid if the water gets any higher, it’s gonna get into the tank.”

  Since most of the packs had been rifled through in search of cups, Cross grabbed the first shirt she saw and handed it
to Boyd, who promptly tore off a piece, which he grasped as he lowered himself onto the running board and into the water. He felt the current pushing him away from the truck but steadied himself. The water level was within several inches of the filler cap, nearly up to his waist. Removing it, he covered the inside of the cap with the cloth and screwed it into place. It was still loose, so he tore off another piece of cloth and added it to the cap. This time, when he tightened the cap, it didn’t jiggle. Not satisfied, he added a third piece of cloth and replaced the cap. This time he was barely able to screw it down completely, it was that tight. He wasn’t sure that he could get it off without a wrench but felt that it would prevent water from seeping in. All the while he was doing this, he was battered by debris floating underneath the truck. As he lifted himself onto the truck bed, he said, “What can I do to help?”

  Hamel, who crouched in the corner of the bed behind the driver’s seat, had found Boyd’s video camera in the pile of gear and was aiming it at Boyd. Boyd gave Hamel a puzzled look.

  “You can keep an eye out toward the front. Stephanie will do the rear. Right, Steph?” Duncan said.

  Boyd, Rankin and Peeples snickered and exchanged glances.

  “What’s so funny?” Duncan asked.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Rankin said. “Let’s keep our eyes peeled.”

  Suddenly, Duncan found himself with nothing to do. The same with everybody except Boyd and Rankin. Hamel continued filming, watching the LCD screen intently. No one was talking. The air was heavy with the sound of undulating water, interrupted by occasional unidentifiable animal noises. Thunder continued in the distance, the storm now moving away. Or so he hoped.

  They all started to nod off, exhausted, the adrenaline rush giving way to the adrenaline crash. Even Duncan could not keep from laying his head on the cab roof momentarily.

  “Oh, my, God!” Peeples said, enunciating each word slowly as she stared through the binoculars. “They’re coming.”

  Like a slap in the face, this brought everyone to their feet, all except Hamel who continued to watch everything through the camera’s LCD screen. Azevedo flooded the area with the searchlight, revealing several smaller rafts seemingly headed toward the truck.

  “Fill all the cups,” Duncan said frantically, as he watched the mats of insects approach.

  Peeples and Johnson lined up five cups on the cab roof and gingerly filled them while Duncan brought one to the rear of the truck. The bugs weren’t close enough yet to light a splinter. With two rafts, one in front of the other, Duncan’s anxiety increased. Could they defend themselves against two of them, one after the other?

  “Alison, Carlos, each of you bring two cups. Cody, dig out some more splinters. I need them right away.”

  The trio moved quickly and were at Duncan’s side with the cups and splinters.

  “You have a lighter?” Duncan asked Boyd.

  “Yeah, right here,” Boyd said, pulling a butane lighter from his shorts pocket.

  “OK, when I tell you to, light one of the splinters. I’ve got one, and I’ll use it for the first cup. Can you light it for me?”

  Duncan handed the splinter to Boyd, who prepared to light it when Duncan stopped him.

  “Not yet, give it a minute. They need to get closer.”

  Now it was up to the current and the debris. Duncan hoped the rafts would catch on debris that would re-route them, break them up or stop them altogether. But they seemed to have a clear path, moving rapidly toward the side of the truck, almost perpendicular to it. Instead of hoping that they would miss the truck entirely, his new concern was that they’d hit the front of the truck where he couldn’t reach them. What would they do then?

  “Professor, Professor,” he said, “can you roll up your window?”

  Although he’d been able to lower the window, Azevedo struggled to raise it, pulling the glass with one hand while turning the crank with the other.

  “No, it won’t roll up. Why? You think they’re going to hit me?”

  “Can you move to the driver’s side, or better yet, is there any way you can get back here?”

  “I can move over, but I don’t know how I’d lift myself.”

  “I can help,” Boyd volunteered.

  “That’s nice of you,” Azevedo replied, “but what can you do?”

  “I can help push you. If you can just get out on the driver’s side.”

  “I’m too fat and heavy. You’re not a weightlifter, are you?”

  Boyd looked at Hamel, who aimed the camera at the younger man’s face.

  “Can you help, Mister Hamel?”

  “I’m not getting into the water. Sorry.”

  Boyd sighed deeply.

  “Well, then give me my camera. I’m not gonna let you use it if you’re not going to help.”

  Hamel became defensive, hiding the camera behind his back with one hand while holding his other arm in a parrying fashion as if to ward off an attack. Boyd frowned angrily.

  “I’ll do it,” Johnson said. “There’s no time to waste.”

  But before Johnson could hand his two gasoline-filled cups to Maggie Cross, Duncan said, “They’re almost here. They’re headed right to where I’m standing. Get ready. Where’s the splinter? Cody?”

  Boyd stopped in his tracks and put a flame under one end of the splinter while shuffling to Duncan’s side. Once the flame was going, he handed it to Duncan. At that point, he could see the bugs. They were within ten feet of the truck. Bugs were jumping madly as Duncan leaned over to pour the gas into the water just in front of the bugs, dropping the lighted splinter into the water seconds later.

  The air burst into flame again, the heat forcing Duncan to turn away. Insects let out high-pitched screeching. Grabbing a cup from Peeples, he braved the heat to pour it alongside the truck, protecting his face with his free hand. Then he threw a third cup, some of which almost immediately was carried under the truck. But nobody paid attention as everyone focused on the insects, some of which were again landing on the truck and its occupants.

  Suddenly, Peeples dropped the cup she was holding and started screaming. Gasoline splashed across the wood plank truck bed, splattering on people’s shoes and ankles. Peeples writhed as insects landed on her chest and in her hair and swiftly started their gruesome work.

  Rankin was the first to respond to Peeples, pulling off several of the bugs almost immediately. The ones in the hair were the hardest and, for Peeples, the scariest. They became entangled, and when Rankin tried to pull them off, all she ended up doing was painfully pulling Peeples’ hair. By this time, Boyd had handed his cups to Duncan, pulled out his pocket knife and, wrapping his hand around a bug’s body along with a hank of hair, sliced through the hair and threw the bug and hair into the water. Working quickly, he made short work of the insects in Peeples’ hair while Rankin finished with the others digging into Peeples’ chest. The young woman then collapsed against the side of the cab and sobbed, joining Hamel who was recording again.

  Cross handed a cup to Duncan who threw its contents into the water, hoping to cover the remainder of the first raft, which was breaking up and its remnants floating under the truck. They heard the faint pinging of bugs as they jumped under the chassis and into oblivion.

  Peeples wasn’t the only person struggling with insects, but the others were able to bat them away or crush them under foot. Cross took the flexible panel at the bottom of her backpack. It was thin but tear proof, measuring about sixteen inches by twelve. She used it like a flyswatter. Rankin used her hands and, seeing the success Cross was having batting the jumpers into the water, tore into her backpack to pull out its panel.

  Duncan’s fear that the bugs would collide with the front of the truck became real. With everyone fending off bugs behind the cab, nobody was watching, except Hamel, who watched everything through the camera’s LCD. A cluster of insects broke off from a l
arger raft and was floating toward the passenger side front fender. He understood that if the bugs were able to climb onto the hood, many more could follow depending on the current. He also understood that Azevedo would die if the bugs managed to establish a foothold. Given time, even a handful of bugs could kill a person by attacking the eyes or other soft spots. Once they latched on, if they weren’t quickly killed the way Rankin and Boyd had killed the bugs attacking Peeples, they would slowly, excruciatingly consume their victim.

  With only a moment to plan, Duncan crawled onto the cab, sat on its front edge and asked Cross to hand him two cups of gasoline and some splinters.

  “I don’t have any? Where are they?” she asked, her voice betraying panic.

  “Just pull ‘em out of the flooring,” Duncan said.

  Cross fell to her knees and dug at the boards with her fingernails, but to no avail.

  “Quickly,” Duncan said, his voice rising. “Give me something, anything I can light. I don’t care. Paper, anything.”

  Boyd joined Cross and, knife in hand, dug into the edges of a board, slicing out a long, sharp splinter, which he broke in half and handed to Duncan. He lit it immediately and, holding it away from his body, poured a half-full cup of gasoline into the water alongside the passenger side wheel well, dropping the flaming splinter after it. The flames spread quickly, surrounding the right front and the passenger side to the door. But it wasn’t enough as a cloud of insects filled the air, many coming down on the hood and onto Duncan, who waved his arms like a madman to swat them away. Although he got most of them, several had landed on his legs and just that quickly he was no longer in the fight, focusing instead on tearing them away from his body, which he did, leaving parts of them embedded in his flesh. Blood dripped down his calves, and though he was in pain, he ignored it. Then another raft hit the side of the truck, almost dead center on the passenger door. Duncan lit another splinter, poured gasoline into the water and set it ablaze. But he was a little late with the flame, and plenty of them had already launched themselves into the air, landing on the hood, the cab and inside the cab onto Azevedo’s lap.