Mandibles (3 page)

*-CHAPTER FOUR-*
Dustin Abbott had been blessed with a brilliant scientific mind, but his sense of direction was non-existent. He drove down Dale Mabry Highway, or what he assumed was Dale Mabry Highway, struggling to follow the incoherent map. At least the traffic in Tampa wasn't as bad as it was in Houston, although he was starting to get the impression that a lot of Florida people protested traffic tickets with the argument "But officer, it had only been red for a few seconds!"
He realized that he was suddenly in a turn-only lane, but couldn't get over in time and was forced to make a right onto Kennedy. He was definitely going to have to stop and ask for directions. Something to drink would be nice, anyway, so he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store.
Dustin was in town on business. Sort of. He worked in the entomology department of Texas A&M University with a specialty in _Solenopsis invicta_, the red imported fire ant, or RIFA. The stings of these insects created a very painful burning sensation, thus the name fire ants, but they were rarely fatal to humans. There were fewer than one hundred recorded deaths in the United States. People who died from fire ant bites were usually severely allergic to the venom, had been bitten hundreds or even thousands of times, and were elderly or invalid and unable to escape. An allergic 90-year-old woman confined to her bed might be swarmed by the insects and eventually die from their stings, but a healthy woman in her thirties was unlikely to suffer anything more than some pain, some swelling, and a nasty white pustule.
Except that in the past three months, at least four Tampa residents had died from fire ant stings. Healthy people. One of them, Charles Windfall, had slipped in the shower and broken his neck as result of being swarmed by the ants. That case was certainly out of the ordinary, but understandable. But a man named Jason Eckor had been swarmed while he was on his couch taking a nap. Alerted by his screams, his wife had rushed into the living room to find him crawling on the floor, clawing at the ants that were all over his body. He died on the way to the hospital. He was thirty-one years old and a personal trainer.
The other two victims had been Denise Crossley, 18, and Margaret Draper, 40. Margaret had mild asthma, but neither of them fit into the category of people who should have had any chance of being killed by fire ants. Fire ants were aggressive, no doubt about it, but not _that_ aggressive. How were they protecting their nest by attacking somebody sleeping on his living room couch?
Last week he'd received a bizarre letter from Tyler Enzian, one of his old college professors, asking him to fly to Tampa for some extremely important _Solenopsis invicta_ research. Top-secret research. And Mr. Enzian was offering him more money for two weeks' work than he normally made in a year. They'd spoken on the phone a couple of times since then, but the only information Dustin could get out of the old man was that it would be well worth his while to show up in Tampa. Dustin was somewhat suspicious, of course, but his fifteen years as a workaholic at the university had left him with a nice big stack of vacation days, and it was certainly worth checking out.
Not worth flying for, though. Dustin's research took him all over the southern United States (the red imported fire ant was currently found in nine states from California to Florida, infesting over 275 million acres) but he'd never boarded an airplane in his life. There was no real reason for his fear, since he'd never lost any relatives to plane crashes or had any kind of traumatic experiences involving air travel, but he had the phobia, accepted it, and drove everywhere. Besides, this way he got to listen to a lot of books-on-tape.
He got out of the car, yawned, and stretched. He'd slept poorly in the hotel last night, since a couple of kids thought it would be desirable if they ran up and down the hallway until three in the morning, shrieking and giggling. If something like that happened at the hotel he stayed at tonight, he was going to call the front desk and complain.
Dustin was forty-one years old, six feet tall, and fairly lean. At his high school reunion three years ago, he'd promised himself that when his hair loss reached the point that a comb-over seemed like a fine idea, he'd shave it. Last year, he'd kept that promise, so now his black hair was in a nice buzz cut.
He'd kept himself in pretty good shape all these years, save for a brief eating binge in his mid-thirties after Betty dumped him for the taxidermist she'd paid to stuff her dead parrot. He'd had an on-again, off-again relationship with one of his fellow entomologists since then, but romance was no longer a high priority in his life. He had his bugs.
He walked into the small convenience store, grabbed himself a Snickers bar and a bottle of unsweetened iced tea, and went up to the cashier, a young guy, probably a college student. "Could you tell me where Trexler Road is?" he asked.
"Sure thing," said the cashier. "That's right off Independence Parkway. You'll need to keep going west on Kennedy until you pass the Westshore Mall, and once you're there -- "
"Just a second," said Dustin, taking a small notepad out of the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. "I'd better write this down."
"Oh, it's pretty easy."
"Not for me it isn't."
The cashier grinned and gave him the directions, double-checking Dustin's notepad to make sure he'd written it down correctly. "So did you just move here or are you on vacation or what?"
"Business."
"Cool. What kind of business?"
"Ants."
"Ants? Hey, I've got ants all over my yard. Me and my roommates are just renting the house, so it's not a big deal, but I was wondering the best way to get rid of those things. One of my roommates heard that you should pour boiling water all over their mounds, but he burned himself and didn't finish. That's just an old wives' tale, right?"
Dustin shook his head. "Actually, that can work. You need to use about three gallons of hot water on each mound, but it kills the ants and collapses the inside structure of their nest. I'd say it works about half the time."
"Really? I'll have to try it tonight. So what do you think is the best way to get rid of them?"
"Depends on the kind of ant. My specialty is RIFA, the Red Imported Fire Ant."
"Who the hell would import those things?"
"It wasn't done on purpose. They were brought from South America in the 1930's because they ended up in soil that ships used for ballast."
The cashier frowned. "And ballast would be...?"
"Stuff they used as weight to stabilize the ships," Dustin explained.
"Ah, okay. I think I heard that before."
"So, anyway, the ants ended up in Mobile, Alabama, started thriving, and now they've spread all over the southern United States and probably your yard."
"Bastards."
"Well, the queen _is_ kind of a tramp."
The cashier paused to ring up a young woman's purchase, and then returned his attention to Dustin. "So, seriously, what's the best way to get rid of those things?"
"In my opinion? _Pseudacteon tricuspis_."
"Is that poison?"
"Phorid flies. The females are attracted to fire ants. They zip down, quickly inject an egg into the ant's body, then zip away before the ant knows what happened to it." Dustin demonstrated this with enthusiastic hand gestures. "Then the egg develops in the ant's thorax for about ten days, sort of like in _Alien_."
"Cool. Does it burst out of its stomach?"
"Worse. The larva moves into the ant's head. Then the head falls off and the larva uses the decapitated head as its home for the next month."
"Nasty."
Dustin smiled. "Wonderfully so."
A pair of sleazy-looking guys in jeans and leather jackets that looked way too heavy to be wearing in this weather entered the convenience store, and Dustin decided that he should probably be on his way. "Anyway, good luck with the hot water treatment."
"Thanks. If you need to borrow somebody's yard for your research, especially those flies, let me know."
"Will do."
The cashier rung up his candy bar and drink. Dustin paid him, thanked him for the directions, and headed for the door. One of the sleazy-looking guys, freakishly thin with a heavily pockmarked face and dirty brown hair stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
"Going somewhere?" the guy asked.
"Well, out that door was my intention," Dustin said. Or would have said, if his mouth hadn't gone completely dry.
Dustin heard a gasp, and turned around to see the second sleazy guy, who was slightly overweight with unruly red hair, point a gun in the cashier's face. The guy in front of the door took out a gun of his own. "All right, lovely patrons of Seth's Quik-Stop, it is my great pleasure to announce that this fine establishment is now in the process of being robbed! Which of you loyal patrons would like to be our first volunteer to get shot in the head?"

*-CHAPTER FIVE-*
"Roberta, I think there's something you need to see," said Agnes, standing in the doorway.
"We're kind of in the middle of a root canal right now," Roberta explained. Zachary, lying on the chair with the rubber dam over his face to isolate the tooth being worked on, incoherently grunted his agreement.
"I know, but it's kind of important."
Roberta sighed with annoyance, but Dr. Ruiz waved her away. "Go on. I can handle it. Zachary's a good patient." Zachary grunted his agreement again.
Agnes led Roberta out to the waiting room, where Mrs. Baine, a short, fragile woman in her seventies, stood peering out the glass door.
"Oh my God," said Roberta, looking outside.
There had to be a couple of hundred ants scurrying along the sidewalk and around the unpaved parking lot. That in itself was no big deal, except that these ants were _huge_. One of the dark red insects was crawling on the door, and it had to be the length of a business card.
"I left my purse in the car," Mrs. Baine said. "But I can't go back and get it by myself."
"Have you ever seen ants that big?" asked Agnes.
Roberta shook her head. "Never."
"What should we do?"
"Mrs. Baine, I think we should reschedule your appointment. I'll help you get out to your car safely, okay?"
"Yes, that would be good," Mrs. Baine agreed.
Agnes returned to her desk and began typing on the computer. "Do we have any Raid or anything?"
"No," said Roberta, picking up the fire extinguisher. "But this should keep them away from us."
"Should we call the police?"
"Uh-uh. It's just some bugs."
Agnes nodded, though her face had turned pale and a bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She looked over at Mrs. Baine. "I can get you in at four o'clock on Tuesday if that's okay."
"Yes, yes, that's fine," said the old woman, nervously fiddling with her wedding ring as she looked outside.
Roberta walked over and put her arm around her. "Don't worry, I won't let any of them get on you. Do you have your keys ready?"
"They're in my purse, in the car."
"It's not locked, is it?"
"No, no, I'm sure it's not."
"Good. Okay, I need both hands to use the fire extinguisher, so if you'll open the door, we'll head on out."
Mrs. Baine opened the door and the two of them quickly stepped outside. Roberta immediately sprayed the sidewalk in front of them, knocking several ants away with the yellow foam.
Several more ants began scurrying toward them.
Roberta sprayed those away as they moved off the sidewalk into the parking lot, keeping as close together as possible. More ants followed. "My God, look at the way they're coming at us," Roberta said. "Ants don't do that, do they?"
"Several people have died from ant bites this year," Mrs. Baine noted, as Roberta sprayed one that was mere inches from her foot.
"I heard that on the news, but I didn't hear anything about ants being so big."
Mrs. Baine was moving with surprising speed and agility for somebody her age, but Roberta still wished she'd pick up the pace. The ants seemed to be all over the grocery store parking lot as well, and most of the cars had at least two or three crawling on them. Where had they come from all of a sudden?
"Which one's yours?" asked Roberta.
"The blue Plymouth, right there."
Roberta missed one of the ants with the fire extinguisher spray, and stomped on it as hard as she could. Mrs. Baine let out a yelp and frantically brushed something off her back. "One's on me!"
"Turn around!"
Mrs. Baine did so.
"You're okay, there's nothing there." Roberta stomped another ant.
"I can feel it!"
"No, it's just your imagination. C'mon, we need to keep moving."
They hurried over to her car. Roberta sprayed an ant off the door, and then opened it, grateful that Mrs. Baine had been correct about the door being unlocked. Mrs. Baine quickly got inside, and Roberta slammed the door shut.
She realized that an ant was crawling up her leg, screamed, and quickly brushed it away.
Mrs. Baine started her engine and backed out of the parking space as Roberta rushed back toward the office. She threw open the door, ran inside, and pulled the door shut.
"Are you okay? Did you get stung?" asked Agnes.
"I'm fine," Roberta said, dropping the fire extinguisher and frantically brushing phantom ants off her body. "Did you _see_ those things? What in God's name is going on?"
"I don't know, but I think we need to get out of here," said Agnes.
"You'd better believe we need to get out of here. Those things are going crazy. You'd better shut down for the evening."
While Agnes went back to her desk, Roberta watched through the door, praying that Mrs. Baine would make it out of there safely. She was driving slowly through the parking lot ... and then the car stopped.
Mrs. Baine was swatting at something.
Roberta picked up the fire extinguisher and prepared to rush outside again, but then the car resumed moving. She watched until Mrs. Baine was out of sight, then, satisfied, set down the fire extinguisher again and walked back down the hallway.
"Dr. Ruiz...?"
"Everything's good, yes?"
"Actually, no. I don't know what's going on, but there are ants all over the place outside. Big ones. I think we should get out of here."
Dr. Ruiz gave her an amazed look. "I don't think our patient would appreciate a half-finished root canal."
Zachary grunted his agreement.
"I know, but there are lots of them out there, and they're two inches long, and they're hostile."
"Hostile?"
Roberta nodded. "They kept coming after me and Mrs. Baine. I don't know what's going on out there, but it's really scary and we need to get out of here."
"You're playing a joke, yes?"
"No. No joke."
Dr. Ruiz held his fingers a quarter-inch apart. "Ants are little things."
"Not these."
"Check in back for a really big magnifying glass. We'll burn them."
"Dr. Ruiz, I'm serious! They're all over the parking lot! Who knows where else they might be? How do you even know your grandchildren are safe?"
Dr. Ruiz glared at her. "Not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny."
"All right. We'll go. But I can't leave Mr. Davidson like this. We'll finish up quickly and go."
Zachary grunted something.
"No, not too quickly," Dr. Ruiz assured him. "Your tooth will be fine. Roberta, tell Agnes to call my grandchildren."