A. Colucci - The Colony

“It may happen soon.” Kendra explained to Russo the mating ritual of ants. During the flight of the alates, winged virgin queens take off in a nuptial dance with the males, filling the sky with billowing gray clouds of swarming insects. Then the newly pregnant queens fly away to begin new colonies. “They can fly thousands of miles. It would be devastating.”

“It usually happens once the queens reach full maturity,” Paul said. “Hopefully we’re not too late.”

“So you can make these pheromones in the lab?”

“No, we can’t. We can isolate and identify the molecular structure, but we’ll need at least a metric ton of the synthetic pheromone to kill the colony.”

“Where will we get that?”

“I have a friend, Jack Carver, at the USDA. One call and he can whip up enough base for this pheromone right in his laboratory.”

“I’ve got a direct line out,” Russo said, and picked up a phone with a heavy cord snaking to the wall. He handed Paul the gold-plate receiver.

Paul dialed the Washington number, waited for a connection. He was relieved to hear Jack on the other line.

“Good Lord, Paul. Don’t tell me you’re still in New York City? Somewhere safe, I hope.”

“Can’t say exactly.”

“Well, it’s good to know you haven’t been eaten. Guess the ants have better taste than that.”

“Jack, this is no joke. I’m here with Kendra and she’s possibly found a way to kill these crazy beasts, but I need your help.” Paul relayed a short version of their plan.

“I’d like to help you, but I’ve been snubbed by the Pentagon. Tried to send out a team after our last excursion, but they pulled the plug on our whole operation. They don’t want the USDA involved.”

“I have a United States Army general here who can give you all the clearance you need.”

General Dawson gave a nod.

“He’ll be calling you as soon as we find a queen. In the meantime I need you to whip up a metric ton of base for the pheromone. Maybe soybean oil. Nothing that can evaporate. I need at least forty-eight hours of nondiluting odor.”

“A metric ton? You’re talking millions of dollars.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jack. It’s not on your tab.”

“How long do I have?”

“No more than six hours.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Never more so.”

“I’ll have every synthetic chemist on it, Paul.”

“Thanks.”

“Tell Kendra if her experiment works, she’ll have my job.”

“Doubt she wants it. She’d just wind up a sarcastic old geezer like you.”

“You just get me the breakdown.”

Paul hung up the phone. “We need a way to spread the chemical over the city.”

General Dawson nodded. “I can get a fleet of aerial firefighting aircraft. The Green Sweep C-130 is a converted cargo plane capable of dropping twenty thousand gallons of liquid. It’s been instrumental in cleaning up the oil spills in the Gulf and putting out the Los Angeles fires. It will be perfect for widespread areas and buildings.”

“Terrific. Get me a couple of those. And a few crop dusters for the smaller streets.”

“I’ll have them deployed immediately.” The general spoke into his handheld recorder. “Jack Carver, USDA.” He winked at Kendra and started for the door. “Good luck out there and remember, you’ve got just twenty-four hours. By sundown tomorrow I want this city completely evacuated.”

Kendra furrowed her brow, unsure why the statement sounded so foreboding.

Mayor Russo waited for the general to leave. He gestured to Paul and Kendra, waving them over surreptitiously. They leaned in close as he spoke quietly, a dire look in his eyes. “There’s been talk of dropping low-yield nuclear bombs on Manhattan.”

“Nuke the city?” Kendra gasped. “Whose dumb idea was that?”

“Colonel Garrett has been telling everyone at the State Department with ears that radiation kills the beasts.”

“Do you think they would actually do it?”

“I think the colonel is blowing smoke, grasping at straws to save his own hide. Can you imagine the president authorizing such a thing?” The mayor huffed. “As long as I’m alive, there won’t be any bombs falling on this city.”

Kendra started for the lab to gather equipment for the trip. Paul tracked down Agent Cameron, who wasn’t pleased about issuing a gun to a scientist with no training.

“You’ll probably shoot yourself,” he said, and reluctantly led Paul to a small room with a large closet that was loaded with weapons locked down tight.

Cameron grabbed a pistol and opened a file cabinet that was full of magazines. He eyed Paul suspiciously. “You’re wasting your time out there.”

“No one else is doing anything productive.”

“That’s because they want to save their weapon,” he muttered.

“What weapon? ”

Cameron bit down hard. “Never mind.”

“Do you know something about these ants, Agent?”

Cameron slammed the file cabinet, startling Paul. “That’s the problem. No one does. This was an FBI investigation from the beginning. I was this close to exposing whoever was funding this operation, until the plug was pulled by Military Intelligence. My sources disappeared, the money trail evaporated, we were thrown off the case. So Garrett rushes into Bolivia and destroys the entire laboratory without gathering any evidence. His technical crew didn’t bother to investigate who created these monsters, how they did it. You’re a scientist; don’t you find that odd?”

“I find your suspicion odd.”

“You didn’t see what I saw. Those bodies in Bolivia were completely mutilated. Liquefied. The people who created these ants are extremely dangerous. Garrett doesn’t seem to care about finding them.”

“Maybe the army knows more than they care to share with the FBI.”

“Maybe.” Cameron gave Paul a stern look. “Now I’m stuck following two bug scientists around.”

“You think I have ties to ecoterrorists?”

The agent didn’t answer.

Paul shifted uncomfortably. “Are you going to issue me a weapon or what?”

FIVE HOURS TILL DAWN. A large moon cast a veil of light over the city, picking up thin wisps of smoke and speckled ash, white ash like snowflakes blowing in the breeze from small, scattered fires. Kendra emerged from the hatch onto the roof, where she had just been hours before, but now the cool air had a bitter stench of sulfur, and she could see a fleet of army aircraft spewing extinguishing foam from their pregnant bellies over Midtown. News choppers dashed over the city like mosquitoes at a campout. In the distance, sirens blared from emergency vehicles going nowhere and store alarms wailed through hundreds of broken windows.

Paul emerged from the hatch right behind her, dropping a Bug Out suit at her feet and stepping into his own. He glowed white like a space alien. Neither of them spoke.

Kendra climbed into the gauzy material, which seemed paper thin but felt heavy, like a bulletproof vest. The lining was metallic and stiff: new breathable steel from DuPont. It would be an uncomfortable field trip. Paul zipped her headpiece and checked the seal. It was immediately cramped and hot inside the suit and Kendra threw off the hood, wiping her brow.

Paul knelt on the blacktop, checking the contents of the knapsack. There were specimen bottles, flashlights, blowtorches and a medical bag, along with a pistol.

“A gun?” Kendra blinked hard.

“Not just a gun, a Beretta 92f.”

She balked.

“You heard the general. There are desperate people out here.” Paul closed one eye and aimed at the moon. “Cameron didn’t want to give it to me. Thought I couldn’t handle it.”