The Uninvited Page 7

  But that wasn’t the problem.

  What was the problem was that once they’d married and had had their first and only child Mark had turned, well, there was no use sugarcoating it: soft.

  Domesticated.

  Had stopped all skydiving and poking around in submerged caves and anything else that involved risk. He’d gotten a “real” job as a techie IT supervisor with a utility company, and settled down into a life of boredom and complacency—well, according to Kacey, anyway. Though he was still tremendously interested and in love with her, she was no longer interested in him.

  That was the problem.

  Kacey felt as if her entire life was screaming down the tubes... and she didn’t want to get tied down to a boring bit-nerd husband who never did anything, never went anywhere. But the other thing was that everything revolved around “The Kid,” and that, frankly, scared the crap out of her. Kacey, as much as she loved Emily, simply couldn’t stand it. She still had so much to do, so much to see, and so much yet to experience. She’d originally thought, hey, how cool! Now, we can raise the ultimate extremer! Introduce her to skiing, bungee jumping, skydiving, you name it, and at such an early age that she could become a truly physical phenom, and possibly even make a name for herself!

  But what a mistake that had been.

  Kacey thought about taking Emily with her, then thought better of it. Mark had become the perfect dad... dull and boring... so why not let him continue to do what he did best? Raising Emily. Kacey’d often thought she’d been born into the wrong skin... wasn’t this what men were supposed to do? Feel trapped... stifled? Flee commitment? She could no longer look at herself in the mirror. She’d screwed things up royal, and now that involved a child—her own flesh-and-blood—and she couldn’t stomach that. She should never have married, and never have had a child, as much as it pained her to even think the thought. As much as she loved Emily, she knew it would be far better for all involved if she just... left.

  So, that’s what she did. One day, she said she was going off on another ten-mile run...

  And simply never returned.

  She’d planned to start off “small,” taking her summarized suitcase-of-her-life with her to Dover and stay at a Days Inn. She’d only stayed one night, agonizing over her choice, when she decided it was time to either cut bait and bolt, or return home. So, the next day, Kacey decided to make a clean break of it and headed across Chesapeake Bay into Norfolk, where she’d intended to hop a flight to LA and stay with some friends she knew from the airline business.

  It was also there that she’d met Sheila.

  2

  The funny thing about airports are all the distractions.

  You can buy just about anything. Airports are their own little microcosms, and it was easy to lose yourself in their world of transit make-believe. It was extremely seductive, at least to Kacey. She loved travel, loved airports. You could buy a ticket to anywhere. Buy a book or magazine about anything. Or a great (well, pretty good, anyway) dinner. Heck, you could buy just about any kind of food or drink and meet people from the farthest-flung corners of the globe. Kacey bought her ticket, one that would take her to the other end of the country (in a mere handful of hours!), and decided to get a little looped before her flight, which was in three hours—not smashed, but just pleasantly “happy” enough to take off some of the sting—and found an all-but-empty lounge just outside the metal detectors. She’d begun her drinking at the bar, watching NNC, or the National News Center, out of New York City, when she noticed a businesswoman take a seat two stools down. She felt intruded upon, sure, this was her bar, her bartender, and she wasn’t in the mood for sharing, let alone with some uppity-looking bitch in a business suit.

  But was she really here? Was she really about to leave her husband and child for the great unknown? This wasn’t her. All her jewelry, her clothes, her extreme sports gear, were all still at home.

  Home.

  Her favorite coffee mug. Still felt the comfort of her favorite chair in the living room. The comforting feel of their Black Lab, Boomer. And she still had the dishes to do, the laundry to finish—she’d thrown a load of wash into the dryer just before leaving—and she’d actually left her husband and toddler playing on the living-room floor none the wiser.

  What kind of creep did something like that?

  How could she just up and leave her family? What must they be thinking? Man, she hadn’t even left a note—just to let them know she was okay—okay? And how was she any definition of the word? Sure, she wasn’t murdered, at least not yet (where’d that come from?), she was alive—but she had just up and left her family.

  How was any of that “okay”?

  That was when the question had hit her. Ain’t it funny how life worked?

  “Excuse me, but are you okay?”

  That had come from the businesswoman soon-to-be-known-as-Sheila sitting two stools down, in that Norfolk International bar.

  Kacey looked over to her and realized she must have appeared quite the sight. She hadn’t realized she was hunched over the bar, drink in one hand, the other shoved up and under cascading hair, supporting a brooding forehead in that universal “I’ve hit rock bottom” repose.

  “Do I know you?” businesswoman Sheila asked, eyeing her.

  “I get that a lot,” Kacey said. She turned to directly address this person who dared interrupt her self-loathing.

  “But it’s just all so absurd, isn’t it? Life, the universe—everything!”

  Kacey looked to the woman as she smoothed her hair away from her face, then looked away.

  “Excuse me?” businesswoman Sheila asked.

  “Sorry; I don’t mean to offend, but—”

  Then a weird thing happened when Kacey again looked up to this woman and into her eyes for the first time. There was something intensely familiar about her, so intense, in fact, as to actually border upon the emotional. It not only surprised her, but actually frightened her, significantly toning down her mirth.

  “Do... do I know you?” Kacey asked, swallowing nervously. She suddenly felt very, very, warm.

  The woman looked to Kacey. “No... no, I think I was mistaken....”

  Kacey choked out a couple nervous chuckles, but was soon laughing deep belly laughs, laughs which felt surprisingly good. The bartender eyed her. Kacey raised a hand.

  “I’m so sorry, it’s just that my life has suddenly gone to hell in a bucket—and here you come,” she continued laughing, “asking if I’m all right!”

  Kacey buried her face in her hands, trying to muffle her amusement.

  “I-I’m sorry to have bothered you,” the businesswoman said, collecting her things and getting up to leave, when Kacey leaned over and touched her.

  “No, please—don’t go,” she said, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you... it’s just, well, I don’t know if you really want to get involved in all this, but I just left my husband—yesterday—and I’m drowning my guilt in cheap booze.” She briefly eyed the bartender eying her.

  Kacey choked off her laughing and stuck out a hand. Grimaced.

  “My apologies. I’m Kacey.”

  Sheila looked to her hand. Reshouldering her purse and laptop carry case, she managed a smile. “Sheila.”

  As Sheila and Kacey shook hands and looked to each other, Kacey narrowed her gaze. Images of a wide open and barren plain filled her mind.

  “Are you sure we’ve never met? You really do seem awfully familiar.”

  Still holding Kacey’s hand, Sheila said, “It does seem like we’ve met. I travel a lot.”

  Kacey shrugged her shoulders; they released their handshake. Sheila placed her purse and laptop back on the stool between them and shifted back onto the stool.

  “Are you all right—stupid question, of course not. Wanna talk about it?”

  Kacey returned to her drink. “What’s to talk about? You married?”

  “Used to be.”

  Kacey stared at her. “Oh. One of those hubbies who didn�
��t pay enough attention to ya? That kind of thing? Always at work, doin the office bitch?”

  “Noooo, we had other issues—look, Kacey, not all men are pigs. Sometimes things just... just don’t work out, even with the best intentions. People change. There’s no accounting for what happens, sometimes, you know? What happened with you, if I may ask?”

  Kacey silently played with her glass and as she did so felt an unaccountable... attraction... to this woman who just showed up in her life, on a bar stool in the Wonderland that was Norfolk International. Out of nowhere she blurted, “Hungry? Want some... chili... or something?”

  Again that barren-plain imagery... wind in her hair...

  “No... I’m fine.”

  “Okay. Well... I messed things up. He didn’t really do anything wrong, I guess you could say—it was all me. It’s just that I married this guy, active and adventurous like me, and when we had Emily, weeelll... he changed. He stopped skydiving, stopped scuba diving, became this full time bore.”

  Kacey turned to her new friend.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong—he’s a great father and all—always there for the both of us, always doing the right thing—heck, he even loves changing Emily’s poopy diapers! You know, the Hershey-squirty ones? I’m the one who gags. It seems like nothing bothers him about parenthood. I was the problem. I kept seeing my life flash before me... no more trips, no more fun.”

  Kacey fell silent, staring into her empty glass, out of which she tried to suck another sip.

  “Beertender!”

  The bartender came over and eyed her for a good, hard, moment. “This is your last,” he said, pouring only half a glass.

  “Everyone’s a critic.”

  “So,” Sheila began, “what do you really want out of life? Why’d you marry?”

  “Ooh, now that’s the fiddy-cent question, ain’t it!”

  3

  Nothing in Tiger’s head made sense. It all ran together... the last thing he remembered was something about being beaten about the head and shoulders by a cop after he was told he was in a hospital—

  Was that right?

  He mentally searched about himself to see if he’d really been beaten, but found that hard to corroborate. There were all these other images... screaming people, ants, fire, explosions, more ants, sand, roaring water... and that godforsaken wind. Lots and lots of scathing wind. Wind and sand.

  Where the hell was he?

  Tiger decided to just grab onto one of the threads screaming through his head and hold on tight. As the wind and sand blew through him, he grabbed onto the ants that crawled along the grass... followed them along their trodden paths through Bahiagrass, past Ti plants, bougainvilleas, and citrus trees. Along buildings and over dead squirrels and rabbits and goats. They seemed very determined to get where they were going... possessed an incredible sense of

  Urgenc...

  Urgency.

  Amused, Tiger went along for the ride. Up ahead he sensed-before-seeing their mound. Children were playing nearby, and a portion of the ants momentarily diverted toward the closest child who wasn’t paying attention to where she was straying. As one of those ants, Tiger crawled over her unshod foot. The child jerked, and Tiger bit into her. The child shrieked, and he, and most of the others, were tossed off. Tiger and company continued on their journey toward the mound, as the child fled, screaming for mommy.

  Funneling in and scurrying down, down into the earth, Tiger was fascinated by the interior tunneling. He’d never owned an ant farm, had seen plenty of pictures, but it was quite something else to actually be running down inside one yourself. It was comforting, cozy. Tiger felt the call of the Queen and immediately diverted toward her. The column raced down and toward her and entered her chamber. Swarms of other ants surrounded her, and there were images again flooding his mind. Urgency, there was another sense of

  (Urgen... )

  urgency. Suddenly he was, once again, racing downward, him and the entire column of ants. Down, down... ever...

  They were no longer scurrying through well-formed tunnels, but now tunneling through hardpacked dirt, which eventually gave way to looser soil. After what seemed an eternity, they broke through the surface and exploded out onto desert sand in a torrent of ant bodies gysering out of the earth. Tiger and his fellow ants hit the ground running, sprinting across hot sand. It felt cathartic, just running and running and not knowing where he was or why. He just followed the others... when it soon became apparent something wasn’t right. There was a smell to the air. Rot and decay. It was a smell that wove its way into his little ant sensors.

  Did ants smell?

  He never really thought about it, but it didn’t matter because he was smelling something wicked horrible up ahead whether or not he was supposed to.

  The flowing mass of chitinous exoskeletons continued their forward rampage, when loud, crashing sounds washed over them (could ants hear?). It sounded like waves, crashing against a shore... but that reek grew stronger. Tiger found it hard to breathe, but also found he couldn’t stop. He was driven inexorably on... there was still something ahead, and as much as he grew increasingly sickened by it, couldn’t stop. They were of one mindset, these ants, and he was a part of them. But they were almost there, he knew, and if he could just get past that horrendous stench...

  As Tiger continued on with the rest of the swarm, he found they now climbed over bumps—obstacles—in their path. Obstacles meant nothing; they merely swarmed over whatever was in their way, but the interruptions quickly became more frequent until he found that, now, that’s all there was. And the stench had grown unbearable. Tiger gagged, though he knew his little ant body was continuing on like a good little trooper, and when he was able to have the presence of mind to look down at what they traveled over, he experienced horror like never before.

  They scurried over, past, around and through human remains and body parts.

  Millions of them. Trillions. Everywhere. Arms and legs. Hands and feet. Torsos. Heads.

  Bloodied, all of it.

  Tiger tried to stop, to will himself out of there and back into his bed. This was supposed to be a dream, but he was beginning to wonder... maybe the dream part was him back in that odd, white, room, in that bed... attached to that weird, beeping, dream equipment, and maybe...

  Screaming, he tried to quit the swarm, to turn around and head back—but his little ant body just wasn’t cooperating. It didn’t even twitch. He was a helpless prisoner. And the sound of the ocean was quickly getting closer. That smell that reek from hell was only getting worse, and Tiger could have sworn his brain was bleeding, melting. Tiger began to weep as he continued to swarm throughout the body parts, all sticky and fresh from whatever had caused this carnage. The wholesale, pandemic, prevalence of it all was unfathomable. It went on for as far as his little ant sensors could discern.

  But he continued onward, ever onward...

  * * *

  Finally... a crashing of waves just up ahead. He’d long ago given up that the smell would lessen and had consoled himself to drowning in its breakers. That would surely end his misery, though the imagery, he was sure, would carry with him into any next life an ant might have.

  Oh, please, God, God of Ants and All That Is, let me die! he pleaded, I can’t take this anymore!

  Tiger grew dizzy. If ants bled, he was certain he was doing so now... his little ant brain melting from the horror he waded through. He found he’d just run into the gaping mouth of a severed head, only to exit through a messy and jagged fracture out the back of it.

  When would it end!

  The waves... they were just up ahead... it couldn’t be much longer. When he should have been smelling sand and surf, instead he gagged. He felt the actual pounding of the surf, reverberating across the mangled bodies. He was almost there... he could just keep running, run straight into the sea... drown himself and forever be rid of the horrible smell, the unspeakable imagery... put himself out of his misery... the sea, the stinking, rancid sea.
.. his only hope.

  Tiger increased his pace, forced his little ant legs faster, faster, until he began to outdistance the rest of the swarm and felt his little ant lungs (if they had them) burn. He grew dizzier, so much so he was unable to focus on his efforts, and was unable to continue in a straight ant line. The breakers not far ahead, Tiger just pointed himself in the direction of the sea and hunkered down. It wasn’t much farther... if he could just hold out, he didn’t want to die among this decaying butchery. He wanted to be free of it when he exploded from all his disgust...

  The breakers were deafening, and Tiger was unable to focus. He felt the warm spray on his little ant face, but the smell was no better. In fact, he felt himself actually beginning to rot for the intensity of the odor, from the horror of it all—but he forced himself onward...

  * * *

  He’d made it! Was finally there!

  He could die in peace, now, because he certainly wasn’t able to turn back and make his way all the way back across this hell. No, he was here to stay, here to die, here it would all end.

  Tiger met the breakers and made one last-ditch effort to look up and welcome the warm ocean waters he would allow to overcome him—when his heart sank. No longer able to hold himself up, and with the rest of the colony fading away and decaying along with him on those bloody shores, he met his fate head on, in an apocalyptic hail of tears and sorrow. Tiger’s little ant legs give out, and he collapsed in his tracks as the breakers that weren’t breakers, for the sea that wasn’t a sea, fell over him and swept him away. Tiger died in the churning surf of a million-trillion severed and bloodied, mutilated body parts that washed over him in its disgusting foam of frothing, churning, roiling, blood...