James Axler – Deathlands

“Get out of here,” he panted.

“Just putting some spittle on these bites. Sometimes helps them. Sort of dilutes the acid poison in the bites.” She glanced up at him and saw the shock etched deep in his face. “What is it, lover?” Realization dawned on her. “That’s what it is! What’s freaked out every living thing in the whole jungle. An army of ants!”

“Yeah. Army isn’t the right word. Doc’s good with words. There’s a universe of them out there, covering a square mile or so of ground like a red carpet.”

“Coming this way?”

“Right.”

She quickly pulled on her dark blue boot and tucked in the leg of her trousers, taking care not to leave any gaps. “These are the recce party?”

“Guess so, lover.”

“Can I see the rest?”

“We need to get our bolts greased and hurry back to the village. Warn them.”

Krysty stamped her feet on a group of ants that had found her. “Must be vibration that attracts them. I have to go take a quick look, Ryan. For myself.”

“Skirt around to the right there.” He pointed to the highest point of the ridge.

She ran quickly, moving as lightly as she could, with Ryan at her shoulder.

When they reached the top of the hill they stood together, staring down at the awesome sight. Her hand reached out and took Ryan’s, squeezing hard.

“Shit-scared, lover,” she whispered. “I swear to the green gods I never saw anything like this.”

“Nor me.”

“How fast they going?”

Ryan shook his head. “Probably sort of slow. They must be eating all the time, on the march. Only two or three miles a day. But” He looked behind him. “They’ve got a straight ace on the line for the village.”

“Time for people to move if we warn them.”

“Sure.” Ryan looked carefully around and spotted a squad of the red ants moving toward them. They didn’t seem to be physically mutated, being well under an inch long. But their fierceness and eagerness in hunting was something new. “Sure the people can move, but look way back, where they’ve been. Stripped the land bare for a half mile across.”

“Over there!” Krysty pointed to her right.

The forest wasn’t utterly deserted.

A young water buffalo calf had been left behind. Perhaps it was sickly or maybe it had wandered too far when the rest of the herd fled.

Now it came wandering from some dense foliage, with strands of vegetation dangling from its jaws. It seemed totally insensible to its danger.

Ryan drew the SIG-Sauer, intending to fire a shot to warn it away from the advancing column of ants. But he hesitated a moment and then holstered the blaster. “No point,” he said. “It’s too young to make it far. And the noise of the bullet might bring them all over us. Silencer doesn’t work like it used to.”

The animal was very tottery on its long, skinny legs, staggering like a newborn colt, moving toward the nearest edge of the ants.

“They’ve sensed it,” Krysty said, watching as a long arm split off from the broad central column, reaching out like living fire toward the hapless animal.

The buffalo calf stopped suddenly, peering at the ground in front of it with a concentration and surprise that would have been amusing.

If it hadn’t been so tragic.

“Got it,” Ryan said, checking behind them to make sure that none of the marauding insects had yet reached them, not wanting to find themselves isolated up on the crown of the ridge. “They’ll take it now.”

The buffalo gave a short, sharp yelp, tossing its head back, its skinny little tail waving futilely, as though it had been stung by a gadfly. Then it took a number of unsteady steps to the side, head going up and down, its body beginning to twitch. Tiny red streaks appeared up its legs, across its belly and flanks, as the ants climbed onto its body.

“Run,” Krysty said to the doomed animal.

“Too late.” Ryan looked behind them again. “Hey! Little bastards are on to us. Better get moving out of here.”

“Just a second. Why doesn’t it ?”