Visible Wear

Opening his eyes James saw nothing.

He might have thought himself blind but it was a different sort of darkness he was immersed in. The smell of pine, dirt, and decay were strong all around him. He had to get out of this place, he knew, but he couldn’t manage to move more than his fingers. But the hunger, the hunger churning deep in his belly pushed his creaking muscles almost to the point of rupture as he kicked and clawed his way out of his grave.

—

The first hand punched out of the hard packed earth, nails torn back, tendons exposed and caked with dirt. Bright moonlight filtered down, stinging his eyes as James gulped the fresh air refreshing his stale lungs. When he stopped sucking down mouthfuls of air and dirt, James stopped breathing altogether. Breathing was an instinct, nearly forgotten, which had compelled him to take in those desperate breaths. But now it felt unnecessary, and so he stopped.

The air seemed different than when he had last tasted it. It was warmer, drier, but more than that something fundamental in the very breeze had changed. James inhaled once again, slowly, lingering through his nostrils as he tasted this indescribable yet familiar flavor in the air. The taste reminded him of his hunger, stronger than before, and he clawed out from his final resting place.

His torso halfway out he reached for a handhold with clumsy fingers to extract the rest himself. His hands found an outcropping of rock and he gripped it, pulling himself and kicking with his legs until he was free. His vision, hazy as though clouded with cataracts, tried focusing on the strange stone he was still gripping. Blinking, James loosed more dirt from his eyes and his vision grew clearer.

The stone before him was a headstone, the marker for James’ own grave. Though he couldn’t understand what they said he traced his fingers along the grooves on the face of the stone.

Here lies
James Cooper
Beloved Husband and Father
July 31, 1978 – June 29, 2012

He lingered a moment longer, traces of a feeling both sweet and sad tugging at him.

Then the hunger drove him to his feet.

—

The taste in the air lured him to the cemetery gates. His legs were uncertain and he stumbled often but he grew steadier with each step. He wasn’t able to move at much more than a lurch and the walk just to the gates felt like an eternity. However, time was no longer a concern to James.

The gates were tall and imposing in the darkness. They were held shut by a chain and padlock which held fast as James pushed at them. He let out a mournful cry, mixed with rasping from his dry, dirt-filled lungs, and he pounded at the padlock with his fists. He kept beating at the lock, hunger driving him even as his bones splintered and his hands turned to pulp, until finally the lock gave.

With a triumphant shove he opened the gates wide and James continued outside.

—

He had been wandering an hour now.

The night was filled with monsters and James felt pangs as he saw each group of them. They screamed as they saw him, always running away in laughter. As each approached the smell that nurtured his hunger grew stronger and as they ran away he was driven to follow.

Many of the houses he passed were covered in cobwebs, headstones, and carved pumpkins. The monsters ran from house to house, stopping at houses whose porches were lit, and they would approach those houses, knocking doors or ringing doorbells, and the doors would always open.

The humans answering the door would often give a start and begin laughing as the monsters shouted something in unison. The monsters then held out a bag or a bucket and the human would drop something inside, causing another shout from the monsters before they would turn and run to the next house.

James watched this and he knew he was seeing something familiar. The monsters owned the night, they filled the streets and ran from house to house, yet the humans always seemed happy to see them. This night was special, it was the night for strange things and it was this night that gave him life once more.

Still following the scent and taste in the air James continued onward, seeing more of the same behavior until he came upon a trio of bigger monsters throwing things at a dark house. The lights came on and the monsters ran away, laughing as a balding man in pajamas ran outside, shaking his fists as he shouted at the fleeing ghouls.

The man looked at James, huffed, and said something with contempt before returning inside his house. The lights went dark again and the house was still once more.

Another group of monsters ran down the street and a little one trailed behind. James walked towards this group and the taste he craved again grew strong in the air.

The group of monsters ran up to a house leaving the little one calling to them from the sidewalk. She looked up and saw James, gasped and covered her mouth before breaking into a fit of giggles.

“You look really scary, mister,” she told him.

James studied this tiny monster. She wore a black hat atop stringy red hair and freckles surrounded her unusually large and warty nose. Something tugged harder at his memory and James groaned in confusion.

“Where’s your treat bag?” she asked.

James looked at his empty hands and managed a shrug.

“Oh, you can’t be out without that!” she said. She raised her bag to him and he received it, a warmth spreading through him.

She ran to rejoin the others, waving to James as she went.

James looked inside the bag, inhaling the flavor that drove his hunger.

Looking up, his face pulled taut into a smile and he said, “Trick-or-treat.”

“’Mandibles of death… *ffzkt* … city under siege… *bzzt* …cars crushed, people cut in half…’ the radio gave one last blast of static before cutting out. I couldn’t believe the guy actually said ‘mandibles of death.’ Then again, given the circumstances it could be forgiven.

I’d been following the story since yesterday. Giant bugs were attacking New York, killing people, and destroying everything in their path. It was like a fifties sci-fi radio show – giant insects suddenly show up in the middle of a thriving metropolis and the hapless inhabitants can do nothing but watch their glass towers crumble.

The breaking feed on the story seemed to be from PeopleWatcher2424, a blogger spending his day in a tree in Central Park photographing women jogging below and uploading them to his blog with his Blackberry. He was snapping away when he heard screams and saw a fifty-foot ant tearing through the park eating joggers.

It turns out that the audience for covert photos of women joggers is much larger than one might expect and soon his blog was linked on Digg, Metafilter, Boing Boing, and Fark. Within hours his monthly bandwidth was overwhelmed and his ISP blocked off his site. By this time, however, news and photos were in no short supply as the monstrous bugs were now everywhere and everybody was talking about them.

In the twenty-four hours that followed there were over a thousand reported casualties, twenty major fires, and hundreds of millions in property damage. Roads were clogged with evacuees whose cars were being peeled open or crushed and all flights in local airports were grounded after a gigantic wasp took down a commercial jet.

The national threat level had been raised to severe and the president and vice-president had been taken to undisclosed locations. The National Guard had been deployed to combat the insect menace but now struggled unsuccessfully with just trying to contain the bugs within the city.

Conventional weapons were useless against these massive beasts. Whatever process had made these bugs huge had also made their chitin exoskeletons like titanium armor. Experts on the news theorized that reinforced exoskeletons were the only way these bugs were able to support their significantly larger bodies – otherwise the gigantic bugs would’ve simply collapsed under their own massive weight.

Bullet-fire and shotguns bursts did little more than to annoy the bugs but to bring in heavier ordinance in the middle of the city meant endangering people trapped inside cars and buildings. The longer it took for action to be taken, however, still equated to more lives lost.

The situation was getting desperate, military strategists advocated bringing in tanks and fighter planes, and failing that dropping bombs or even nukes. Exterminators promoted bug-bombing the entire city, filling the air with highly concentrated insect poisons. Even the animal rights activists were crying out for destruction of the mutant pests as they were eating all the wildlife in the city and the zoos.

To make matters worse some experts brought up questions about whether the bugs were reproducing. Some speculated that the mutant bug’s eggs could have accelerated gestation periods and new waves of infestation might be within weeks, days, or even hours of hitting.

Right now talks are being held on what to do and what sort of time frame we have to do it in. The one thing that’s clear though is that nobody knows the answer to either of those questions and we might not have the time or resources to find out. Action has to be taken, but there’s no telling what the right action might be.

As it stands it looks like the president is going to give the military authorization to do whatever they feel is necessary to combat the menace within our midst.

Perhaps as soon as tomorrow we may be looking at all out war against the bugs.

How was that, Mrs. Purcell?”

“Amazing, Casey, but I don’t think you quite understand what we mean by presenting current events. Let’s talk after class.”

 

 Mandibles of Death [3:38m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Story will be up by the end of day Monday — moving is proving to be an exhausting experience. Thanks for stopping by, please come back around later today or tomorrow.