Bugs 1863

                                                                      Bugs 1863

by Jason P. London

   Benjamin Hawkes loved the quiet of the land and the flowing, spiritual power of the many rivers and streams that had become so much a part of his life. Like his forefathers, he had always imagined growing old in the same desert mining town and being one of those old timers that had his own barstool in the local saloon and told tales of his adventures to anyone who’d buy him a drink for a story.   

   Ben was a trapper by trade. He’d made a decent living catching squirrels, rabbits, rattlesnakes, foxes, javelina, and even the occasional bobcat. It was a rough life in the desert, but, having grown up there, it was all very normal to Ben. Until the Bugs came.    

  At this particular time, growing old seemed an impossibility for anyone who wasn’t already elderly. And, after the invasion, Ben found himself fighting to protect the same animals to which he had trapped, slaughtered, and sold their body parts, bones and all, out for profit. His current efforts were still for personal gain. However, the gains he now seeked were for nothing but basic survival.   

  The Bugs were killing and eating anything with a heartbeat. And people, if they didn’t end up being bug food, were starving by the thousands for lack of proper nourishment. The Bugs didn’t just eat meat, they ate everything; Wheat, corn, potatoes, and all other produce that sustained the population. It was all disappearing at a frightening, deadly rate. 

  Being so far away from the rest of the country made it impossible to see that the invasion was global. Ben reckoned that he had to try and fight for, not only his survival, but for anyone left alive. One day, the world, as he knew it, was going about its normal routine and the next day, the Pods fell from the sky like meteorites on an insidious mission. They’d crash through the topsoil and bury under the ground. A few days later, the Bugs would emerge from the earth, ravenous, and feed like a swarm of locusts after a seventeen year nap. 

  And, of course, as human nature will always be human by nature, the capture and killing of Bugs became big business. Ben used his learned knowledge of trapping and hunting to make a lucrative living. (What that meant at this time was anybody’s guess.)

   Bugs were worth more alive than dead. Ben knew this. But no one in their right mind would take the risk of capturing and keeping one of these beasts alive. That was tantamount to suicide as far as most folks knew. 

  Ben didn’t care if they were dead or alive, he just wanted to get paid for his hard fought work in order to flee to safety, unaware, at this time, that this effort was, most likely, futile.

  One evening, whilst checking his traps, Ben realized that he had caught something larger than usual. He approached the screaming creature, cautiously keeping his rifle at the ready. He’d seen many of these grotesque things, but the shock of their horrifying visage never wore off. They were certainly like nothing he had ever seen. They seemed to be part mantis, part humanoid. They oozed a slimy goo from their skin that dripped an acid, like a poisonous frog, that would dissolve anything or anyone it touched. And, when trapped, they screamed a deafening call for help. 

  Ben aimed his rifle at the Bug’s head and pulled the trigger, its head exploding into a dangerous vapor. He was sure to keep his distance, knowing that the venomous liquid that bled from the creature was, like a rattlesnake, just as deadly, even after death. He also knew that a calvary of Bugs was on its way, heeding the death call of his current catch. 

  Ben waited in anticipation for the potency of the slime to subside, praying that he would make it out before becoming another meal. To him, his existence had to mean something, if anything, at all. 

  He then bagged the creature and loaded it onto his wagon. He looked back to see an army of winged Bugs headed towards him. He cracked the reins and his horses took off in a knowing panic. But, to Ben’s surprise, like ants, they seemingly smelled the dying pheromones of the Bug and cut into the trees towards where it was killed, leaving Ben to safely speed away towards town. Of course, this was only until the Bugs realized what had happened.

  As Ben rushed down Main street, he could hear the angry, distant call-to-arms cries of the hive. He yelled out to what was remaining of the townsfolk to batten down their homes and businesses, and prepare themselves for trouble. A hand cranked siren sounded its dire warning. The people ran inside and shut every window and door, all reinforced with the strongest of steel and wood, with the hopes that every second meant a chance of survival, if, even for another second of life.

  Ben pulled up to the local saloon and hurriedly transported his catch inside, making sure that the place was fully shut down to the incoming scourge. He dragged the slimy parcel up to the bar and ordered a double shot of whisky.

  A portly bartender named Stanley poured Ben his usual Irish shot, looked down at the offering, and paused.

  “ What’s this?”, Stanley asked.

  “ What do you mean? Same thing I always bring ya.”

  “ No, this one’s bigger than most.”

  “ Yeah, isn’t that something? I’m looking to properly get paid for this one for a change.”, Ben stated.

  “ Are you some kind of fool, or what?”

  The Bugs surrounded the saloon and mercilessly tried to get past any and all reinforcements, tearing away anything they could penetrate, with one goal in their programmed design.  

  “ You’re paying for Bugs, I brought you a big one.”, Ben stated.

  Stanley reached down and pulled the canvas open enough to see what he was dealing with.

  “This ain’t good.”

  “ What ain’t good?”

  “ It’s probably best if you take this one somewhere else.”

  “ Ain’t nowhere else to take it, Stanley.”

  “ Take it to the quarry and blow it into coal dust. Gonna get a lot of folks killed!”

  “ No, it's all fine and dandy, Stanley. Stop your worrying.”

  The Bugs, stronger than usual, began to rip the roof completely off of the saloon.

  “ Probably too late.”, Stanley cried, as he crouched behind the bar, unsure of what to do.

  “ Why’s that?’, Ben asked, confused.”

   Stanley ran and peeked out of a hole in the front of the saloon, confirming his worst fears. His face paled as he watched the entire town get torn to pieces.

  “ You are an idiot, ain’t ya, you sumbitch?”

  “ Maybe. But, this is good money to go and waste it. Give me my pay, or, when these bastards give up, I’ll gladly go elsewhere.”

  To the horror of Ben and Stanley , the entire roof of the saloon was then torn away. 

  Sensing the pheromones, the bugs crawled, ominously, towards their end goal.

  “ You best make your peace right now. We are done for!”  

  “ How could this be? What’s going on?”

  Just before Stanley was grabbed up and devoured by a Bug, he screamed, “ This is their Queen!”...