A. Colucci - The Colony

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.

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.”