James Turnbow

Patches of squat, drought-resistant trees made an irregular border around the lot.

The Texas sun immediately started baking me in my suit.

Our destination was the most robust of the nearby structures, which wasn't saying much.

It was a low cinderblock building with a metal roof that housed the security office, the armory, and any other sensitive items such as pesticides and chemicals.

It was our designated gathering spot in case of an emergency.

To our left, a stretch of the enclosure's border fence was visible 80 yards distant.

The wall was made of cinder block, but a dirt track led up to the large gate, the doors of which were made of solid metal.

The whole thing struck me as security theater.

Without a completely sealed enclosure, the insects could go wherever they pleased.

So far, they hadn't, but that didn't mean they never would.

I stopped, realizing that, even through my helmet, I could hear shouts from inside the enclosure.

"'What are people doing in there?'

I asked Philo."

I thought you said it was a watch and wait situation.

Philo stared at the gate.

When he spoke, I could hear him clearly thanks to the earpieces we wore inside our suits.

I sent a small team in to set up a few passive sensors far away from the colony.

We've never had issues before.

They've never killed anyone with some unknown infection before either, I thought.

The sound of a revving engine reached my ears.