The Colony

by A. J. Colucci

  She followed the cord to the end, where it was torn from the wall. The jagged wire spun in her fingers under the light of her watch. A cold reality hit her: the mayor had never reached the president. No one had. She sat listening to the quiet, wondering what to do next.

  Kendra heard the sound of the ants. It was a low humming and she could tell they were coming from the open doorway. She turned and found her bearings along the carpet. Kendra hurried to the tunnel, heart pounding, and climbed back inside. She slammed the door three times as it repeatedly sprang open, and then finally shut with a whack. She fell back against the wall, hands pressed against her mouth and eyes clamped tight, once again safe inside the tomb. The general’s white-skinned face flashed like bursts of lightning on a dark windowpane.

  Kendra choked down the fear, started crawling again, slow and unbalanced. The bombs were coming and she had no clue how to stop them. “Now you’re in a jam, girl. So, what are you gonna do about it?” She checked her watch once more. It was 5:50. That left ten minutes to get word to the president that the pheromones worked. Then, of course, Paul was on the roof with a lunatic. And here she was trapped underground with millions of ants ready to kill. It seemed a slim chance at best that she would ever make it out alive.

  “Don’t lose it now,” she scolded herself. “Keep it together.”

  For a moment, she thought she heard the buzzing, and stopped.

  “It’s your imagination,” she said. Still, Kendra found herself pausing as she passed each LED light, all movement and breath abated. Then she continued down the tunnel, calmed by her own voice.

  “I should have been an orthodontist.”

  * * *

  Paul crawled out of the hole onto the roof. He bent over the ladder, panting and wincing in pain from the bullet that had grazed his thigh. The gun dangled from his hand.

  An ephemeral breeze had swept the smoke and ash away, and for a moment the sky was a clear Prussian blue, slowly turning to black. Paul spotted Garrett, a dark silhouette at the edge of the roof, looking out to the horizon and waving his hands wildly over his head. The Blackhawk helicopter beyond him was just a speck in the sky, but Paul glanced at his watch and knew what it was: the last train out of Dodge.

  “Garrett!” he cried, and the colonel turned.

  For an instant he looked confused, as if he didn’t recognize Paul. He contemplated the man in front of him, struggling to breathe, blood seeping through his khaki pants, and he laughed.

  Paul ventured a step and clenched his teeth in pain, raising the gun. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  The colonel turned back toward the sky for an instant, shaking his head, then casually approached Paul with a grin.

  “Stop right there.” Paul raised the gun higher, his voice hoarse with desperation. “I know you shot the general. I’m going to tell those pilots everything.”

  He looked at Paul curiously. “What do you want, Doctor?”

  “Give me the queen.”

  “You mean this?” Garrett took the specimen bottle from his pocket. He rolled it around in his fingers. “Anything else?”

  “You have to call off the bombing.”

  Garrett stared back at the helicopter, shielding his eyes from the glare. It was fast approaching and he could make out the pilot. He waved his arms again, ignoring Paul.

  “You won’t get away with it,” Paul said. “I’m not going to let you bomb this city.”

  The colonel smiled shrewdly, taking a few more steps closer to Paul. “But you will. And do you know why? These ants are a weapon to end all wars. They possess the power to disarm every nation. If you turn me in, the nuclear race will continue and tens of thousands of people will have died for nothing. You have the fate of the world in your hands, Doctor. Now tell me, as a human being, what should you do?”

  Paul aimed the gun, but it was shaking. The Blackhawk was coming in for a landing. He could see its massive shape to his left, and hear the loud engine, feel the rush of wind from the blades that threw him off balance.

  Garrett stepped closer.

  “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

  Garrett squared his shoulders. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

  After a long moment, Paul dropped the gun.

  The colonel nodded. “You haven’t got the guts.”

  “I haven’t got the bullets.” Paul lurched forward and punched the colonel in the stomach with his fist, but it felt like granite to his knuckles.

  Garrett pushed him easily aside, then swept his foot into Paul’s bloodied thigh.

  Paul snorted in agony and went down, throwing his arms out for balance. Anger blunted the pain and he lunged for Garrett. Paul was surprised at the strength of the older man as they grappled.

  Garrett dropped the specimen jar and watched it roll across the roof. “I’m going to kill you,” he hissed. The words sent Paul reeling and the two men fell to the blacktop. Garrett straddled Paul and struck several blows to his face. They seemed to come out of nowhere. Paul reached a hand to his bloodied nose but several body punches knocked the wind from his lungs and left him dizzy and coiled over. He tried to recoup and swung wildly but missed.

  The helicopter was hovering overhead. The pilot yelled something from a megaphone but Paul could barely hear anything over the engine and the ringing in his ears as Garrett connected with more punches to his head: five quick jabs to the temple and cheeks, a sharp right hitting his eye.

  A dazzling spotlight hit the two men. The colonel shielded his eyes with the crook of his arm and yelled something to the pilot.

  Paul made his move. He grabbed the colonel’s neck and shifted all his strength, rolling onto Garrett with a rage he never knew existed. He pressed down hard, squeezing his hands tight, as the colonel choked and struggled for breath, his face becoming mottled red. Paul could feel the body beneath him losing fight and slightly relaxed his grip, fearing he would kill the man, but his fingers stayed locked.

  Garrett managed to turn his head and flung his arm to the ground, touched the barrel of the Glock. He reached for it, eased it closer until his palm gripped the handle. He smashed the gun into Paul’s temple.

  Paul let out a grunt, clutching his forehead while Garrett crawled away, sputtering and heaving and finding himself cornered at the edge of the roof. Above their heads the helicopter was beating down on them.

  Garrett sprinted toward the landing site, but Paul tackled him. Again they were rolling on the blacktop but this time at the edge, five stories above the sidewalk. Heaving every ounce of his weight, Paul forced Garrett’s head over the ledge, then his shoulders, until finally half of the colonel’s body was suspended in air. Now Paul could hear the pilot shouting over the thwatting blades:

  “Step away from the officer! We will shoot you!”

  Garrett frantically grabbed at Paul’s shirt collar, wrenching himself higher until they were face-to-face. Baring his teeth, he hissed, “You’re going down with me, O’Keefe. With any luck you’ll break my fall.”

  Paul clawed at the slick blacktop, but it was futile. He was slipping, and he looked down in terror at the cement below.

  A shot rang out.

  Blood splattered across the roof.

  CHAPTER 44

  KENDRA STARED AT THE glowing face of the watch strapped to her wrist and illuminating the time: 5:55. It wasn’t just despair and fatigue slowing her down. She felt woozy, with all-over body aches, as if she were coming down with the flu. The ant venom was still surging through her veins, hot and angry, while the cold temperature in the tunnel was affecting her muscles, making them stiff and slow. She struggled to fight off a feeling of hopelessness.

  “Can’t stop now,” she said aloud. But Kendra had five minutes to make it to the roof. She thought about Paul anxiously waiting for her, holding off the soldiers in the chopper, who were most likely ready to hightail it out of the city, as the bombers came charging over the horizon. We can’t wait any longer, Dr. O’Keefe!

  Kendra swore under each breath and
tears welled in her eyes; for a moment all she could do was collapse against the metal. “Damn it, Paul. I can’t do this.”

  She lifted her head and was struck by a bright red light. Just possibly, she thought, it might signal the end of the tunnel. It was enough to get her moving. The pain subsided, along with the dizziness, and in that moment she found boundless energy and scrambled for the exit.

  Kendra threw herself against the last door and found herself sprawled on a dirt floor. Lying perfectly still on her back, she stared up at the caged black lightbulb in a circular room cut from the earth. The smell of damp soil hovered in the air. A metal ladder stood at one end. She had reached the south exit.

  Kendra coughed and drew a wheezing breath of relief. Now all she had to do was climb three hundred feet in about a minute.

  “Piece of cake,” she said, and pulled herself to her feet. Her white sweater glowed violet under the black light.

  Kendra grasped the first rung. “You can do this,” she coaxed sternly. “You did it twice before.” But that was with Paul, and now she seemed so alone, so exhausted. Kendra grabbed each rung white-knuckled, taking deep breaths.

  She moved quickly at first, thinking of nothing but the next rung. Then she suddenly stopped. All at once the bottom seemed to drop out from below and taking another step became impossible. She was shaking and covered in sweat. It was as if her arms and legs were still climbing but she wasn’t getting anywhere. Fear struck with pounding force and the walls of the cavern began to close in. Kendra sensed their rough exterior just inches from her face and nearly slipped off the ladder, disoriented.

  She squeezed her eyes tight.

  “How far to the top?” she asked in a small voice. She could feel the flutter on her wrist, light, comforting wisps. Butterfly kisses.

  Kendra didn’t know how long she stayed on the ladder, but her heart rate began to slow and her legs could move again.

  There was nowhere else to go but up.

  * * *

  Paul’s face was splattered with blood and he felt Garrett go limp beneath him. He backed off and let the body plunge to the sidewalk.

  Mayor John Russo stood by the open hatch with a smoking gun by his side. A powerful wind from the whirling blades of the Blackhawk threw him off balance. The helicopter came in fast and low as it landed on the blacktop. Russo ducked and broke for Paul at the ledge.

  “Thanks,” Paul shouted over the sound of the engines. He was panting on hands and knees, overcome with relief, and wondering how many more people he’d have to thank for saving his life that day.

  “You’re welcome,” answered Russo, looking down at the twisted body of Colonel Garrett on the pavement five stories below. “Now let’s get the hell out of here!”

  He helped Paul to his feet, and he started for the chopper.

  “Wait.” Paul took a few painful steps, then reached down and picked up the specimen jar. The queen was in three pieces and he handed the bottle to Russo. “I think we can study her, prevent this from happening again.”

  “Is that right?” There was a sudden twinkle in the mayor’s eye.

  Paul shouted, “Did you reach the president?”

  Russo shook his head vigorously. “The phone line was cut. We can only hope the general got word in time—now let’s haul it.”

  “I’m going back for Kendra.”

  “Get inside, Paul. Those bombs could drop in minutes.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Three members of a Special Forces unit spilled out of the helicopter cabin with guns drawn. One of them charged toward the two men. Paul started for the hatch but the soldier was already upon them.

  “Freeze!” he yelled, the barrel pointed at Russo’s head. “Drop your gun.”

  The mayor let his gun fall and raised his hands. “Settle down, soldier.”

  “You just shot Colonel Garrett.” His rifle shifted between Russo and Paul as he tried to decide in his next move. Obviously, this wasn’t the situation he expected. He turned to the Blackhawk, where the rest of the crew were pacing with keen eyes on him, hands ready on their weapons.

  “Where’s General Dawson?” the soldier asked.

  “Dead,” Russo told him. “Garrett shot him.”

  The soldier raised his rifle with an expression of renewed alarm. He looked at Paul, who nodded affirmatively.

  Mayor Russo yelled at the man with urgency, “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did they call off the bombing?”

  “I don’t know about any bombs, sir. Now please get inside the helicopter.”

  “Don’t you understand? They are going to drop nuclear bombs on this city! The president has no idea there’s another solution. If you just—”

  “My orders are to pick up the last of the civilians on this roof.”

  “There are people inside the bunker.”

  “I can’t do anything about that, sir. We have direct orders to leave this site by eighteen hundred—that’s now!”

  A heated voice screeched from the radio receiver on the soldier’s collar, “What’s happening, Sanchez? We are way behind schedule. Return at once!”

  Paul could see it was another soldier, talking into his lapel.

  In a bold move, the mayor charged Sanchez, grabbing at the receiver. “Listen to me—”

  Russo was knocked to his knees by a blow from a rifle. “I’m placing you under arrest for compromising a mission of national security, and killing an officer of the United States Army. Now both of you—move!”

  As the soldier pulled the mayor to his feet, Paul took off across the roof toward the hatch.

  “Hey!” the soldier yelled.

  “Paul!” the mayor called as he was dragged to the Blackhawk, but Paul was already out of earshot. Seconds later, the Blackhawk took off at full speed and banked toward the horizon, as night fell over the city.

  CHAPTER 45

  PAUL HAD BARELY DESCENDED twenty feet down the ladder when he heard someone struggling on the way up. He shouted, “Kendra, is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me!” she cried with relief and exhaustion. “The ants invaded the bunker. Go up, Paul!”

  He reached the roof and helped Kendra out of the hole, both locking into a tight embrace. She was covered in sweat, he was covered in blood.

  “Thank God, you’re all right,” he said.

  “Your face.” She touched his swollen, bloody cheek.

  “Yeah, well,” he said faintly, “you should see the other guy.” He glanced anxiously at the open hatch. “Where’s Jeremy?”

  Kendra shook her head. “He was supposed to meet me on the roof.”

  They both scanned the empty blacktop in silence. Neither wanted to think the worst, opting instead to imagine Jeremy had escaped the ants in classic superhero fashion.

  Kendra forced her attention to the bright speck of helicopter steady on the horizon. Its lights blinked off and she frowned. “You should have left without me.”

  “No chance.” He put his arms around her shoulders. “You’re shaking.”

  Kendra grasped his arm with more bad news. “I saw General Dawson. The phone line was cut.”

  He nodded. “It’s out of our hands. Right now the mayor’s on that helicopter, hopefully convincing someone—”

  There was a flash of light and a thunderous boom out toward the sea. Military planes were streaming over the horizon, headed toward lower Manhattan. The engines roared and Paul counted three in quick succession.

  The first plane drew close to the UN, passing over the river, and stopped. It seemed to hover for a moment and then banked sharply to the right. Then a whirling sound echoed over the city as the plane took off like a bullet. Seconds later, a deafening explosion erupted from the ground where the plane dropped its load. Kendra closed her eyes and covered her ears from the burst.

  Paul watched in horror as the lights from the Williamsburg Bridge flickered off and a huge piece of the enormous steel structure fell into the
river. The sky came alive with more aircraft, and there were more eruptions and more sounds of collapse. Kendra huddled close to Paul and breathed into his neck, wanting to drown out the booms.

  After a dozen massive explosions, the bridges and tunnels were gone and now they were truly an island. What would come next, they didn’t want to think about.

  Paul and Kendra stood alone on the roof, holding hands, as a gentle wind blew across the buildings. The smell of smoke filled the air, but the planes were gone and the city was once again deathly still. Above the smoke, the sky was transforming from a deep blue in the west to the deepest black in the east, a vast number of bright stars poking through the canvas.

  Paul’s voice was worried. “Do you hear them? They’re coming back.”

  Kendra snapped out of her trance. Yes, she heard them. It wasn’t the planes returning but the ants. The roof was suddenly swarming with Siafu Moto. They raced up the sides of the buildings and across the blacktop.

  “Where do we go?” Kendra cried, turning in circles.

  “I don’t know,” Paul answered.

  They backed away from one side of the building, but ants were swarming from every direction. They poured from the bunker’s open hatch like an erupting volcano. The entrance to the UN was blanketed by the colony, and the sea of ants began to take shape across the roof, a wide circle surrounding the scientists.

  Kendra stumbled against Paul.

  “Stay with me,” he told her, and they clutched each other, turning with the colony, looking for a path out of this. There was none, and for the second time that day, the two scientists braced for an onslaught.

  Instead, the air around them turned fuzzy gray. Kendra felt the fluttering of a thousand wings, like gnats in her face. But it wasn’t gnats, it was ants.

  The flight of the alates.

  Kendra realized in one terrifying moment that time had run out; they would never stop the swarm. The winged virgin queens were taking off with the males in their nuptial dance.

  She tried to speak but they flitted around her mouth and she wiped them from her lips. Paul was madly swatting his face.