At that moment, a sonic boom shook the building. Kendra jolted backward, searching the sky, while Paul reflexively ducked his head. Another sonic boom and the stealthy body of an F-22 Raptor cut through the heavens and hovered in the air like a snapshot.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Paul cried, grabbing her hand.
“Where?” she yelled back, blowing out insects and staring at the circle of ants at their feet, which were rounding faster, moving in.
“This way!”
Kendra could barely see Paul, the air was so thick with wings.
Another sonic boom cracked the sky and they lurched back, straining to see the plane directly overhead. The raptor glowed silver against the dark universe. Giant metal flaps opened like wings and the shrill whistle of a falling bomb sounded.
“Kendra, get down!”
They both hit the deck, curling up like pill bugs with Paul draped over Kendra, both of her arms crisscrossing the back of her head. They waited for the bomb that would tear them to pieces, holding their ears and bracing for impact.
A deafening explosion blew open the sky in a rumble that echoed for miles. Kendra felt the ground shudder under her knees, and the strength of Paul’s body. Their ears were still ringing, when the world went silent for a moment. A soft wind blew over them.
Suddenly, Paul and Kendra were pummeled by an oily liquid.
It hit their bodies like an ocean wave and they slid across the roof, soaked and confused.
The plane was gone. They both sat up, feeling their wet limbs, making sure it wasn’t blood. Ants were running in frantic circles, zigzagging in no apparent direction, searching for queens that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. Paul licked his lips and tasted soybean.
“It’s the pheromones,” he said, excited.
Already the armies were beginning to fight. Groups of ants were attacking each other. Large soldier ants were battling small workers, and workers were slaughtering soldiers; it didn’t matter. They tore each body limb from limb, unaware and unconcerned that they were colony mates committing their own form of genocide.
Dozens of aircraft were blazing over the horizon, and the sky was filled with ant-killing machines, strategically hitting their targets. The bombs would fall a hundred feet and then suddenly explode, dousing chemicals over a wide area. Behind the heavy planes were a fleet of crop dusters, blazing white under the moon and leaving contrails of pheromone that sprinkled to the earth and coated every skyscraper. Gray swarms of insects, covered in the sticky chemical, formed clusters of dark clouds all over the city, before plunging from the sky like a heavy rain. The ones that escaped flew head-on into buildings, attracted to the chemical like moths to a searing flame.
Kendra looked down at the ants breaking up into angry mobs.
“They’re dying,” she said.
“Yes,” Paul replied, but it was with sadness as much as relief.
Kendra felt it too.
They held each other, lost in their small corner of the world. Already it seemed like a dream, or more aptly, a nightmare. She smiled at Paul, realizing it was over and he was still standing at her side.
“So where do we go from here?” she said.
“You marry me, and I marry you right back.”
She liked the idea.
“Let’s get you bandaged.” Kendra took his arm and he leaned against her shoulder. Across the skyline, she gazed at the smoke drifting over the river. The buildings were becoming hazy. Kendra lifted a hand to her eyes but it felt heavy like lead. Sweat poured from her forehead and Paul watched helplessly as her body began to shake uncontrollably.
“Kendra?”
At first she didn’t hear Paul. He called her name again, but pain struck like a hammer to her brain. Kendra fell backward, with unfocused eyes. Paul grabbed her and stared frantically into her face. His lips were moving but his voice sounded far off, his words gibberish.
Something cold trickled over her lips. It tasted thick and sweet. Even before she put her fingers to her mouth, Kendra knew it was her own blood.
CHAPTER 46
Bethesda, Maryland
THE HOSPITAL ROOM AT Walter Reed Medical Center in Maryland was overly bright and cheerful, painted in pastel blues and adorned with tall vases of fragrant white orchids, daylilies and pots of flowering cacti.
The curtains remained open all day and blinding light poured through the glass. The nurses complained it made the room hot and stuffy, but Paul insisted on sunshine every day. Kendra had thrived in the desert and she needed every ounce of strength while she was fighting for her life. He had brought her to Walter Reed because it had been transformed into the leading hospital for victims of Siafu Moto–related injuries, handling mostly patients in the armed services and medical profession, police and firefighters, as well as politicians, movies stars and the exceedingly wealthy.
The ants cut from Kendra’s back had indeed released their destructive enzyme, but the medications to treat her had masked all outward signs of what was going on inside her body. None of her major organs were destroyed, but her liver and kidneys had been damaged and some systemic arteries had hemorrhaged.
Paul listened to the steady beeps of the heart monitor. It was a comforting sound that he had wanted left on all the time. In the beginning, there had been a few close calls and twice Kendra needed to be resuscitated, which sank Paul into cycles of depression. But he always managed to fight it off and never left her bedside.
That was all in the past. Today was checkout day.
Dr. Bradley Collins, a wise old man with an aversion to smiling and releasing patients, gave Kendra the thumbs-up and told Paul to take her home. Although they had no real home anymore. The East Side of New York City would be shut down until the new year, and neither of them had any desire to return to Paul’s apartment on Park Avenue.
Paul had made other plans, which he hoped Kendra would find agreeable.
Wearing jeans and a red plaid shirt, he stood by her bedside, rocking slightly on the tips of his hiking boots. He kept a tight hold around Kendra’s hand and watched her sleep, his eyes dreamily tracing the perfect contours of her profile from the tip of her nose, to her rosy pink lips and the point of her chin. Kendra’s cheeks had filled out and she’d gained weight from four months of bed rest. She was self-conscious of the sudden plumpness on her bottom and around her middle.
In a Marilyn Monroe way, Paul had told her.
Her skin was light as porcelain. Paul frowned. Kendra seemed unusually pale, and he hoped it wasn’t a relapse. Dr. Collins had been honest with them, having seen thousands of similar cases. The enzyme could lay dormant for months and without warning begin eating away at this organ or that. It was like a new form of cancer, not yet explored or understood.
Paul knew even one more day in the hospital would greatly upset his wife. His wife. It sounded good and he rubbed his left thumb over her ring. They had exchanged the same gold bands from their first wedding in a bedside ceremony weeks ago.
Kendra’s eyes fluttered open.
Paul leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Hey, Rip Van Winkle. Third nap this morning.”
“Sorry,” Kendra said faintly and stretched her body like a cat. “I was dreaming of fast food.” Tacos. French fries. Caffeinated soda. Chocolate. It was all just minutes away. She licked her dry lips and smiled at her husband. There were dark smears under his lids, but his creamy brown eyes still sparkled brightly. His face had been cleanly shaved for months but now he sported a sexy five-day growth.
CNN was broadcasting from a television hanging on the ceiling. The world, as it turned out, never learned of Operation Colony Torch and never knew how close it had been to being hit with nuclear bombs. General Dawson had gotten through to President Davis before his demise, and the entire affair was covered up, blamed on an imaginary ecoterrorist group called Earth Avengers.
By all accounts, it seemed Kendra’s pheromone formula was a complete success.
The last round of chemicals was
pumped underground into every subway, cable and sewer line, every crack and crevice, and then the entire surrounding Tri-state area was doused for good measure. The only complaint so far was that the city streets and buildings were covered with yellow goo and it was getting into the water supply. It wasn’t toxic, but the drinking water tasted like soybeans.
The city was still closed for business, but had been slowly letting residents return to their homes block by block. Tourism would be shut down until New Year’s Eve, when the army finished its search for ant survivors. So far they had found nothing. Jack and his team at the USDA were in charge of counting dead ants. Hundreds of thousands of winged virgin queens and billions of Siafu Moto workers had to be rounded up and counted, and some were in pieces. Jack was already seeing signs of indigenous life returning to the soil. With the help of his team, Manhattan’s wildlife would be back to its former state in less than a decade.
Kendra channel-surfed and found scenes of memorials, empty city streets and disfigured victims. Her stomach felt queasy. The thought of Jeremy filled her with a remorse that she wasn’t prepared to deal with yet. It would have to be someday soon, she realized, and hoped the stories being told of his heroics would take their place in history.
Paul, too, was saddened by Jeremy’s death, and thankful his former rival had selflessly saved Kendra. He was also filled with a renewed sense of hope for mankind. What Paul saw was a very different world emerging, one that was somehow … better. The notion that tragedy brings people together never rang so true as in the weeks following the Siafu Moto attacks. Diplomacy seemed to be sweeping the globe and the world had taken on a sort of wholesome glow. At least for now.
Kendra flipped to MSNBC and watched an interview with John Russo. He was announcing his candidacy for president of the United States. It came as no surprise. The story of Mayor Russo saving Paul’s life was just one news report of many, which snowballed into tales of the mayor single-handedly defeating the ants, and he had quickly become America’s most celebrated hero, a true urban legend. Billions of dollars were pouring into Manhattan from across the globe, and Russo was shrewdly restoring America’s most populous city back to its former glory.
A pretty young nurse came into the room with a farewell Cobb salad for Kendra. “A letter came for you by messenger, Dr. O’Keefe,” the nurse said with a flirtatious smile. She placed the salad on a tray in front of Kendra and gave Paul the letter and a fleeting glance.
Paul opened the envelope and sighed. The logo on the stationary was for ORAN Laboratories. There was a handwritten note from John Russo. Presidential race aside, the development of the Siafu Moto had become his personal project, shrouded in secrecy. ORAN was about to open a new laboratory in the Nevada desert, to be fully operational in five years. John Russo believed that having control of the deadly ants would one day give him the greatest legacy of any American president.
Dear Paul,
I will ask you again to take the lead in this project, as operations director of the Siafu Moto colony. The data we’ve uncovered in the last few weeks has been revolutionary in your field and to be part of the historical precedents taking place is both a privilege and a duty. To witness this marvel is something I think you and Kendra dare not miss. Of course, I will be disappointed if you decline once again (I won’t even bring up saving your life) but I am at least hopeful you will both come to Nevada as soon as Kendra is well.
Yours truly,
John Russo
Kendra picked up the letter and read it silently to the end. She felt suddenly flushed and laid her head back on the pillow.
“You okay?” Paul folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
“Yeah.” She shook the dizziness from her head. “I think we should go.”
“All right. I’ll put your things in the car.”
“No, I mean to the laboratory.”
“Oh,” said Paul flatly. “Not if you’re feeling ill. You look pale, Kendra.”
“She should look pale.” Dr. Collins was standing in the doorway, looking graver than usual. Kendra knew that look. He had bad news and she tensed at the thought of staying in the hospital one more day.
“Just so you know,” she told him, “I am prepared to throw the rest of this salad over your head if you make me stay here another minute.”
“I had one more test done,” the doctor said, without a hint of a smile. “Just on a hunch.”
Paul took Kendra’s hand and straightened. He’d resigned long ago to be strong for her, prepared for anything. But he wasn’t prepared for this.
“You’re pregnant.”
They both stopped breathing for a very long time.
* * *
By the time Kendra was discharged, the sun was setting in the distance over Washington, D.C. Paul wheeled her out of the hospital under a crisp October sky, and she breathed in the sweet smell of early autumn blowing in the chilly air. Leaves were already turning yellow at the tips.
Kendra couldn’t stop touching her belly. Although news of her pregnancy was startling, she felt a delicious feeling of contentment. Dr. Collins, while slightly embarrassed, explained that he missed her pregnancy symptoms, as they were typical in patients taking her medication. Before she left the hospital, he had performed a quick sonogram that revealed a clear image of a baby girl, curled up tight and cozy. Kendra’s heart warmed with affection for the child she’d already named Audrey, after her mother.
Paul whisked her down the long ramp to the parking lot. He wanted to surprise Kendra with something special. It had arrived weeks ago, and he was anxious to see her reaction. Abruptly, he stopped in front of a big, red bow.
Kendra looked at the roofless, cherry-red Jeep.
“Like it?” Paul asked.
She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, as if mulling it over, and then sprinted from the wheelchair. With a burst of delight, she vaulted over the door and settled into the driver’s seat with both fists hugging the steering wheel.
“Now, this is how a woman was meant to travel.”
Paul hopped into the passenger seat and dangled the keys like fish bait. She snatched them with a grin.
“Nice, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” Kendra started the engine with a roar and peeled out of the parking lot, thrilled to be outside again. She eased onto the access road and revved the engine, hitting the speed limit, as the wind blew her shaggy layers of blond hair that had grown to her shoulders. She turned on the stereo and scrolled a few dozen reggae songs, settling on Bob Marley.
For a while the two sat without speaking, lost in thought. As they slowed to pass through a security gate, Kendra pressed a warm palm against her shirt and felt the beginnings of a bulge.
Paul watched with a hesitant expression.
She turned down the music. “You okay with this?”
He nodded. Paul was more than okay, he was elated at the thought of having a child with Kendra but worried about her long illness.
She saw anxiety in his face and flashed a comforting grin. “Doc says everything is fine. She’s the perfect size for five months.”
He smiled, nodding again.
“Where we headed?” asked Kendra, crossing the Maryland border into Washington, D.C.
“South,” Paul replied. “Florida.”
Kendra arched an eyebrow.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said. “The USDA is funding the largest IPM research institute in the world.” Paul said. “The focus will be pheromone manipulation, of course. You’re supposed to run the whole thing.”
For a moment, Kendra was speechless. “What about your work?”
“I’m going to be your assistant.”
She couldn’t suppress a burst of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, offended.
“There’s no glory in dirt, Paul. No offense, but I think your digging days are over. Even field study won’t replace your burning desire to unlock the mysteries of the Siafu Moto.”
; He scowled inwardly, and Kendra took his hand.
“Let’s go to Nevada,” she said. “To research the ants.”
Paul looked away.
“Oh, come on. You’ll be world famous.”
“I’m already world famous.”
“World famouser.”
“This is your moment, Kendra. You earned it, and the work you do will bring about great changes to the environment. To the future of agriculture.”
Kendra frowned. Somehow the future of agriculture didn’t seem as important anymore. She stopped at a light and watched the pedestrians marching across the street: tourists pointing and chatting, couples holding hands, distracted teenagers texting in stride. Life had not ceased. The earth continued spinning, its inhabitants going on with the daily grind as always, barely skipping a beat after the most monumental catastrophe in the history of humankind.
We’re a resilient bunch, she thought. Yet somehow, a piece of her soul had transformed and would never be the same. She wondered if it was her own evolution, or did others feel it too? She looked at the faces streaming by but couldn’t tell.
The light turned green, and she turned south onto Georgia Avenue.
“You can’t pass up this opportunity,” she said. “There’s no telling where it may lead.”
“What about the institute?”
“Let Jack head the research for now. He never really wanted to retire.”
Paul didn’t say anything.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought.” Kendra raised her chin, sounding defiant. “We devoted half our lives to ants. I don’t want death and destruction to be their final legacy.” She looked at him. “You can make sure it never happens again.”
Paul wrestled with the proposal, as he’d done many times before. Living in the desert with Kendra. Studying the most dangerous creatures on earth. Raising a child in a world … a child? Suddenly, it wasn’t just about him. Perhaps their research could somehow benefit future generations. “Okay, we go to the lab—but just for a look around. I’m not making any promises.”
The Colony Page 22