James Turnbow

The gate started opening, but not quickly enough.

A Humvee barreled out, smashing into either side of the double-door gate.

Neither door broke completely, but they both went askew as the powerful military vehicle knocked them aside.

As it rushed toward us, what I saw produced several warring feelings.

The first was fear.

The second was concern for those security officers in the Humvee.

The third was a dark joy.

They were attacking.

Now I had every excuse to eliminate them once and for all.

The vehicle was covered in ants.

They coated the windows and obscured most of the windshield.

The wipers swiped at them, but the sheer number of the maroon and black insects meant that for every thousand swiped away, another thousand quickly replaced them.

On the next swipe, one of the wipers came off and tumbled to the ground, covered in ants.

I didn't have to guess to know the wiper hadn't broken.

It had been chewed off by the ants' powerful mandibles.

Philo said, yanking me by the arm.

I'd been so lost in the spectacle and its implications, the danger hadn't yet landed.

Philo and I sprinted toward the security building.

As we closed in, three security officers ran out in full hazmat, holding items that looked like flamethrowers, complete with tanks on their backs.

They moved to meet the Humvee, yelling for the driver to stop.