Unearthed

by Gina Ranalli

  “It’s not gonna get inside, man.” Joe tried to sound calm, though he felt anything but. “This is just a precaution.”

  At the far end of the kitchen, Stacy removed the phone from her ear and said, “It just keeps ringing. No one picks up.”

  With his free hand, Joe rubbed the stubble on his cheek and upper lip, then paused, his hand still covering his mouth.

  “What do we do now?” Stacy asked.

  Before Joe could reply, John lunged at her, snatching the phone from her hand.

  “Hey!” Joe protested, taking a step towards the man.

  “Watch it!” Stacy snapped, swatting at John as he moved away, head bent as he dialed the phone. “You could ask, you know!”

  John ignored them both, pressed send and ran a hand through his grimy hair as he listened to something on the other end of the phone. “Fuck!” he shouted after a moment. “Fucking voicemail!”

  He tried dialing again, with the same result. “She should be home right now!” he yelled to no one in particular. “Where the fuck is she?”

  Joe shoved his way past John to look out into the dining area again. Their visitor still remained on the window, though except for its antennas, it wasn’t moving.

  Coming up beside him, Stacy repeated her question: “What are we gonna do, Joe?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m definitely not crazy about going outside right now. What if there are more of those things?”

  “So...we just bide our time?”

  He shrugged. “I guess so. Unless you have a better idea.”

  Stacy’s eyes remained fixed on the giant insect, both hands rubbing her gently curving belly. Joe was pretty sure she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

  “Motherfucker!” John shouted, throwing the cell phone as hard as he could against a wall. The device shattered and fell to the floor in several pieces.

  “You son-of-a-bitch!” Joe nearly dropped the shotgun, but managed to place it on the counter before whirling and grabbing hold of the front of John’s shirt. “What the hell is wrong with you? That was our only phone!”

  “Where is my wife?” John screamed into Joe’s face, as if he really expected Joe to know the answer.

  “You’re paying for that,” Stacy said angrily as she tried to gather up the pieces of her phone. “You prick. There’s no way anyone will be able to fix this.”

  Joe shoved John away and pointed a meaty finger in the other man’s face. “You need to calm yourself right now, asshole! I’ll toss you out of here in a second if you don’t chill the fuck out.”

  “With that thing out there?” John cried, pointing towards the window. “You don’t even know what it is! It could kill me!”

  “Yeah, it probably could,” Joe agreed. “All the more reason for you to cut the hysteria shit.”

  Tossing the remnants of her broken phone aside, Stacy changed the subject. “Joe, whatever happened to that old transistor radio you used to have in here?”

  Suddenly, Joe’s eyes lit up with hope, his altercation with John forgotten. He smiled and said, “I ought to kiss you.”

  “You wish, old man.”

  Together, they began rummaging around the kitchen, searching for the radio while John circled around to the other side of the counter and began pacing back and forth, sweat running down his temples as his hands gestured wildly, though his mutterings were inaudible.

  “Got it,” Stacy announced, pulling the radio out of a lower stainless steel cupboard. She scowled as she studied it. “Jesus, when did you buy this? 1966?”

  “Funny,” Joe said, taking the radio from her and twisting the power knob. Immediately, static blared from the tinny speaker and Joe hurried to turn down the volume as Stacy clasped her hands over her ears.

  He looked up, his smile ever broader. “Batteries still work.”

  “That’s a minor miracle,” Stacy said, though she returned his smile.

  Joe put the radio on the counter, stretched its antenna and began spinning the tuning dial in search of anything other than static. It took nearly a full minute of barely moving the knob, but finally the crackle of a distant voice could be heard.

  “Right there!” Stacy said.

  “I know!”

  They both stared at the radio, straining to hear the male voice which sounded so far away it might have been coming from another planet.

  “...complete devastation...no estimations...deaths...”

  John leaned over the counter. “Make it come in clearer!”

  In unison, Joe and Stacy shushed him.

  “...gone...”

  “What’s gone?” John demanded.

  Joe shot him a dirty look. “Shut the hell up.”

  “...approximately 250 miles...growing...”

  “250 miles?” John asked. “What the fuck are they talking about?”

  Opening her mouth to yell at him, Stacy was interrupted as a deafening explosion rocked the building, shaking loose anything that wasn’t nailed down, including pans, cutlery, small appliances, condiments and half a dozen other things. All three of them instinctively ducked, covering their heads as the power went out and plunged them into dimness.

  Plaster rained down on them from the ceiling and a wall clock crashed to the floor with the sound of breaking glass.

  When he was certain it was safe, Joe dropped his arms and looked around, dazed.

  “That was close by,” Stacy said, straightening up. “Probably a block away at most.”

  “Yeah,” Joe agreed. “I’m gonna take a look out the back door.”

  “NO!” Stacy shouted, stepping in front of him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “We have to know what happened. Someone could be hurt.”

  “And that someone could be you if you go out there.”

  “I’m just gonna have a peek. I promise.”

  “But...that thing.”

  “It’s gone,” John said, gaping towards the front of the diner.

  Joe and Stacy both looked and saw that he was correct. The bee—or whatever it was—was no longer on the window.

  “Huh,” Joe said. “The explosion must have scared it off.”

  Stacy cocked her head, listening. “We should hear sirens pretty soon. The fire department is only a couple miles away.”

  “I’m not waiting for the fire department,” Joe said, seizing his shotgun. When Stacy tried to block his way again, he said, “If I see anything that ain’t...right...I’ll blast it. Okay?”

  “No,” she snapped. “It’s not okay. Something happens to you and I’m in here alone with...” She waved at John with disgust.

  “Just a peek,” he repeated firmly, pushing past her.

  Throwing her hands into the air with exasperation, Stacy cursed and began searching the floor for her cigarettes. When she couldn’t find them, she quickly spun around and called after Joe. “Fuck it. I want a peek too.”

  He knew better than to argue with her anymore. Instead, he said, “Just stay behind me.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” she said, one hand against her tummy. “Junior here is gonna be pressed right up against your ass.”

  Joe was amazed at her ability to retain some of her humor in this fucked-up situation and he had to admire her for it. God knew he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, he knew he was damn close to pissing his pants.

  They went through the doorway and into the storage room where the back door was located. Moving into deeper gloom, he wished he’d grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen, but knew as soon as they reached the door to the outside they’d have all the light they needed.

  Luckily, they’d both spent enough time back here that they could have maneuvered blindfolded and neither of them bumped into anything.

  Once they reached the door, Joe gripped the knob with his free hand and glanced over his shoulder at Stacy.

  “Ready?”

  Her shadow nodded, barely visible, and Joe blinked
sweat out of his eyes. Fuck! Why was he so scared?

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, he turned the knob and slowly opened the door a crack. Sunlight streamed into the room, temporarily blinding him.

  Joe squinted, peeking through the opening. In the distance, the blue sky was smeared with black and the smoke cloud was rolling towards the Pinecone Cafe.

  “See anything?” Stacy asked.

  “The explosion wasn’t as close as we thought. Maybe half a mile. I’d say it might have been the 7-11 up the road. Close to it, anyway.” He paused, studying the smoke. “But judging the way that wind is blowing, that smoke is gonna be over us in about ten minutes.”

  “What about the monster bug? Is that out there?”

  Joe shook his head. “Not that I can see.” He opened the door farther and braved poking his head outside, looking around. To his left, the normally busy road was completely deserted. The right was somewhat obscured due to the Dumpster he kept back there, but from what he could see, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Behind the diner’s paved surface was just the lip of the forest and it was too dark to see anything of interest in there.

  “Seems safe enough,” he said. “I want to see if I can get a better look.”

  Ignoring Stacy’s protest, he swung the door wide and prepared to venture outside, shotgun at the ready.

  “Stop!” John shouted as he raced into the room, causing both Joe and Stacy to jump and whirl around.

  John held the transistor radio in his hand. It only took Joe a moment to realize the man was crying.

  “I heard them,” John wept. “They said Seattle is gone. Just...gone. It sunk. The whole fucking thing.”

  Joe let the door fall closed, casting them into blackness.

  “But...” Stacy began. “How is that possible?”

  “That’s not all I heard either,” John sniffed. “Those...bees...or whatever the fuck they are. They’re attacking people. They’re fucking killing them!”

  Neither Joe nor Stacy spoke, shocked into silence, but the radio crackled in the dark and the faraway voice told them that the end had come.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Day house stood on a large piece of property but could still be easily seen from the road.

  Rebecca was relieved to see it was still standing as she neared it. Along the way, she’d encountered several more sinkholes, though none nearly as large as the one which had taken out acres upon acres of forest. A few had been bigger than a typical swimming pool and twice as deep but as far as she could tell nothing had been emerging from them.

  She had seen several more of the bee-like creatures while she traveled. Most of them had been in flight and each time Rebecca had hidden, dragging her dog with her.

  With the exception of the huge insects and the trees, she had seen nothing alive and it was this fact, more than any other that had come before it, which gave her a foreboding sense of doom. The world had gone too quiet and the possibility that she and Lou were the only ones left alive tickled at her brain like the tiny, scuttling legs of a black spider.

  Walking up the Days’ dirt driveway, she saw what looked at first like a bundle of laundry on the lawn near the front porch. Frowning, she turned her attention to the brown Land Rover in the drive, its driver’s side door standing open.

  “Martin?” she called as she drew closer to the vehicle. “Joyce?”

  When she reached the Rover, she peered inside only to find it empty. She noted that the keys were in the ignition, though the auto wasn’t running.

  Odd, she thought.

  Lou pushed past her and leapt into the vehicle, panting at her from the passenger’s seat.

  Rebecca considered scolding him, but decided against it. What would be the purpose at this point? Instead, she said, “Sorry, buddy. No rides today.”

  Turning to face the house, Rebecca felt a small surge of hope. The fact that the Land Rover was here meant that the Days were home. That seemed like a good sign, despite the silence. In fact, Joyce was probably peeking out from behind a curtained window at her at this very moment, busy-body that she was.

  “Come on, boy,” she said and began her way across the lawn to the front door.

  She was about forty feet from the bundle on the ground when she realized it wasn’t laundry at all.

  Gasping, she broke into a run, Lou at her heels.

  When she reached the body of Joyce Day, she skidded to a halt and bit into the knuckle of her index finger to keep from screaming.

  The elderly woman had been dead for some time, judging by the flies swarming around her. Her face was completely gone, as was most of the exposed flesh of her arms and legs—anything not covered by her flower-print house dress.

  What from a distance Rebecca had thought was various pieces of red garments, was actually raw, red meat, oozing blood, a stark-white protrusion of bone here and there.

  Joyce Day now resembled a freshly butchered carcass wearing a dress, black orthopedic shoes and a curly gray wig.

  Sniffing cautiously, the dog inspected the corpse from every angle, disturbing the feast of the flies while Rebecca stepped back a pace, fighting the urge to retch.

  What could have done this?

  But she already knew the answer, if only because there was no other. Those things...those bee creatures.

  The realization made her check her surroundings; she searched the blue sky for any sign of movement, her ears pricked for that now familiar high-pitched drone.

  She saw nothing but it didn’t make her feel any safer. Knowing how fast the things could fly, one could be upon her long before she could outrun it.

  A chill racked her body and turned her attention to the house. Martin must be inside, probably hiding, paralyzed with terror and surely traumatized by the killing of his wife.

  Rebecca stepped around the body, trying not to think about the flies, some of which were probably already laying eggs in the savaged flesh of the old woman.

  She climbed the porch steps quickly, anxious to find Martin but also to get inside where it would be safe from enormous and apparently carnivorous insects.

  The inside of the house was dark, all the curtains drawn tight and from somewhere within it, Rebecca could hear the ticking of a grandfather clock, each swing of the pendulum as loud as a firecracker in a long-abandoned crypt.

  “Martin?” she called, deciding to leave the front door open behind her. “It’s Rebecca Robinson. Hello?”

  From where she stood in the foyer, the living room was directly to her right. A quick scan told her the room was empty and she moved down the hall to the kitchen and dining area, only to find these places were also void of life.

  After checking the bathroom as well as the screened-in back porch to no avail, she was left with the upper level of the house.

  Standing at the foot of the stairs, she swallowed, her palms suddenly moist with perspiration.

  Could he be sleeping? And if so, for how long? Did he even know his wife was dead?

  Rebecca shook her head. The feeling of impending doom was almost enough to make her flee the house entirely, but where would she go? Into town, of course, but to what end?

  She couldn’t think about that now.

  Briefly, she considered forgoing the search for Martin and just heading back to the kitchen to use their telephone and call for help.

  She looked down at Lou, faithfully standing beside her, gazing up at her with adoring eyes and a gently swaying tail. “What do you say, boy? Up or just get the hell out?”

  Lou’s only response was a soft whine.

  “I was afraid you’d say that. Up it is, I guess.”

  For the first time since entering the house, she felt like an intruder and proceeded slowly, her hand trailing along the mahogany rail, each riser creaking underfoot.

  The dog had no such qualms. He raced by her as if he were in his own house, making it to the top of the stairs in a few quick seconds.

  On the landing, Lou turned to look down at Rebecca as if ple
ased with himself, then darted away, out of sight.

  “Lou!” Rebecca hissed, increasing her pace. She imagined the dog scaring the crap out of poor old Mr. Day and winced inwardly.

  “Martin?” she called again as she crested the stairs. “I’m sorry. It’s me, Rebecca, from up the road.”

  In another room, Lou barked once and she hurried towards the sound.

  The second level of the house was even darker than the first but she made it to a far bedroom at the end of the hall without banging into anything.

  She stopped at the threshold of the master bedroom, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  “Martin?”

  When black shapes formed into actual objects—bed, dresser, hope chest—she saw her neighbor seated in an armchair by the window facing the front lawn. He appeared to be gazing out the window, though the blind was barely cracked.

  At his feet, Lou sat, watching the man expectantly, his tail thumping the carpet.

  Rebecca swallowed what felt like a cantaloupe lodged in her throat. Martin didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge either the dog or herself.

  The most disturbing part of the scene was the rifle laying across the old man’s lap.

  “You saw what the bastards did to Joyce.”

  The man’s words so startled Rebecca that she cried out, clasping a hand to her mouth.

  Finally Martin turned his head to look at her. “You saw it, Rebecca?”

  She nodded as her heart pounded painfully against her breastbone. “Yes.”

  “It’s over now. You know that, dontcha?”

  Crossing the room, she sat on the edge of the bed nearest the old man and leaned over, placing a hand on his knee, doing her best to ignore the rifle so casually placed on his thighs.

  “Those...creatures,” she said. “One of them did that to Joyce?”

  “Digger bees,” he said.

  Brow furrowed, she said, “Excuse me?”

  “Those creatures. I’ve seen something like ‘em before. Those are digger bees, sure as shit.”

  “I’ve...I’ve never heard of digger bees before.”

  “They live in the ground. Where they get their name from. They dig their nests in the ground ‘stead of building ‘em like regular bees. Stepped on a nest once when I was a boy down in Oregon. Bastards can be fierce. Foot swelled up the size of a damn football.” He chuckled a bit at the memory, then continued. “’Course never saw any so big. That part I don’t know about. Probably some science project gone awry or some crap they been putting in the soil or water supply. Poison, probably. Who knows, right? Don’t matter now anyway.”