Transcript generated automatically by AI and may contain errors.
Chapter 1: What happens to the researcher when an ant colony adapts too quickly?
I sat outside the quarantine chamber. Wade sat inside, slumped in a wheelchair, discolored skin visible everywhere that wasn't covered by his gown. The sickly greens, alarming purples, and disturbing reds made him look like a piece of modern art. His swollen lymph nodes, the size of golf balls, made his neck look thick. I could hardly look at my friend.
I wanted to go out and find whoever was responsible for this. I wanted to grab them by the neck and tell them, fucking fix it! But no one was responsible for this. No person anyway. Nothing with a neck that I could wring. This sucks, I said, leaning down, elbows on knees. And it cuts, Wade rasped, his voice coming through the intercom set into the wall.
I looked up to see him smiling, actually smiling. The dude was something else. It certainly does suck, I said, finishing the Wayne's World quote. We'd been working together for over 10 years, trading movie quotes daily. Our very first interaction featured a dumb and dumber quote.
On our second day, Wade had come up to me during lunch to ask if I knew the name of another junior researcher who was in orientation with us. We spent a few moments trying to remember, testing out different names, when Wade finally said, Samsonite, I was way off. It was a fantastic Jim Carrey impression. By the time I finished laughing, my abs hurt. We had been good friends ever since.
Now, even though Wade was dying, he still traded movie quotes with me. He said, doing his best Garth impression, I laughed once before the comment hit. It was too close to home. Rage taking over, I stood, flinging my chair out of the way before pacing in the small room. There had to be something I could do. Come on, man, Wade said, chuckling.
Lighten up. It's just death. We all gotta go one day. No use getting all bent out of shape.
Wade convulsed violently and slid halfway out of the wheelchair. Blood filled his eyes and poured from his nose.
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Chapter 2: How does the researcher cope with the loss of his friend Wade?
He coughed, sending a fountain of red splattering against the window before falling into a supine position. I rushed over and banged uselessly on the window, shouting that he'd be okay. As I lied to my dying friend, I thought once again about finding someone to blame. Only now, I knew there would be no fixing it. There would only be payback. But the problem persisted.
There was no one person to blame. No neck to ring. There were tens of millions. And as I watched my friend die horribly, I realized I didn't care what the O5 Council said. I would kill them all.
I told you to take the rest of the week off, dammit!
The combination of Philo's Texas lilt and the nasally tone he developed when angry was like a kebab skewer in my ears. I knew that turning around to see his melantite gut and wide, ruddy face might send me over the edge. I remained at my desk, staring at my computer screen as I answered. And I told you I don't need any time off, sir. Philo crossed from the door quickly.
The next words came on a breath that disturbed the hairs on my left ear. I don't want to have to revoke your security clearance. It's too much paperwork. But I will if you don't leave right now. I don't want to see your face here until Monday. My eyes ranged over the newly generated report on the pathogen that had killed Wade so quickly.
I had arrived early and spent several hours researching it and entering data. I had even done some in vitro experimentation.
You hear me, Connor?
I spun in my chair and stood, fists clenched. Memories of Wade's bloody, convulsing body played in my head. Philo stood a few inches shorter than me, and I looked down into his coffee-colored eyes. His curly brown mustache twitched as he sneered, daring me to make a move. In my head, Wade suddenly stopped convulsing.
He sat up and said, Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the war room!
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Chapter 3: What measures are taken to contain the anomalous ant colony?
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. 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.
Come on!
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.
Since I wasn't on the open security channel, I couldn't hear it in my earpiece, but they were shouting plenty loud enough. The Humvee came to a skidding halt. The three security officers worked their devices, but instead of flames, fountains of milky white liquid came out, expanding quickly to foam. Within moments, they had the entire Humvee covered.
The foam was a specific kind of pesticide used by the Foundation that was harmless to humans. I stood outside the security station door and watched. The three foam-spraying guards stopped and waited as the foam turned back to liquid, sloughing off the vehicle, tiny bubbles sizzling and popping. It seemed to be working.
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Chapter 4: How does the researcher plan to weaponize the ants?
It didn't work, I said, more to myself than Philo.
It didn't work.
The foam's movement had obscured the fact that the ants were still alive. Their powerful mandibles made quick work of the tough hazmat suits, and soon of the skin underneath. The two dancers sprayed their own legs, but it didn't work. They soon fell to the ground, writhing. Their suit helmets did little to dampen their screams.
Meanwhile, the driver who'd been pulled out of the Humvee fell to his knees and straightened enough for me to see through his visor. The flesh of his face bubbled and twitched as hundreds of insects marched around under his skin. His mouth opened to scream, disgorged a soup of blood heavy with ants.
The guard who'd pulled the driver out made his retreat, but the ants were already inside his suit, tearing into his legs. Thinking once again of Wade, I started toward the man, but Philo jerked me back. He was right to do so. I didn't know what I could do for the guy.
Over there!
Philo cried, pointing a gloved finger toward the enclosure. A river of ants poured down the dirt track 70 yards away, angling toward us. We'd retreated inside the security building, which immediately felt like little more than a fancy tomb. The frightened eyes of a dozen other staff members met us from behind their faceplates as they huddled together behind a desk.
They had been watching the events outside on a computer screen via a security camera. The first one to speak, even before we had the metal door shut behind us, was a woman named Fontana.
There's still time for us to run before they get here. Don't be stupid. You'll make it as far as the main gate, where you'll be gunned down or torched, Philo said. We can figure this out.
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Chapter 5: What unexpected challenges arise during the containment efforts?
The pesticide seemed to slow them down, but it didn't kill them. When we'd experimented with the stuff months ago, it had killed them. Same with the foam. I was starting to see a pattern. We had covered our hazmat suits in a layer of grease from the nearby garage, where mechanics worked on the vehicles we used around the site.
The stuff caused any ants that reached us to get stuck, but we tried to stay away from them as best we could. Enough of them could overwhelm us and eliminate the grease's efficacy. We have to do something else, Philo shouted, his own sprayer running low. Command's talking about bombing the whole place. I need to tell them we're close to finding a way to stop them.
He had a direct line to his boss and had been talking to him, trying to convince the man not to do what Foundation Brass always did when they got nervous. Bomb anything in sight, and then bomb it again. I have one more option, I said. That thing Wade was working on. I thought you said it wouldn't work fast enough. Normally it wouldn't, but I have an idea to make it work faster.
I think they've developed an immunity to anything we've tried on them, some sort of hive mind immune system. But what I'm thinking about, if I can make it work, they won't have time to develop an immunity. I held my breath, hoping Philo would overlook the fact that I hadn't answered his question. He grumbled. His pesticide sprayer sputtered, running out of fluid. Fine, just hurry.
I dropped the sprayer and sprinted toward the lab, which the ants had left untouched, probably because no one was inside. As I got to the door, I turned around to see Philo spraying the last bits of his pesticide at the ants as he ran toward the small trailer where we took our breaks. The river of insects, now 10 feet wide at points, had forked.
One tong was heading toward me, the other headed toward Philo. Across the way, the security building was three quarters covered in ants. I had no doubt they could get through the cinder block walls given enough time. I turned and rushed inside, determined to kill them all before they could end any more lives. My first stop was to turn on a TV.
I pulled up a camera feed that provided a wide shot of the buildings, so I could see how much time I had. Paralytic fear cemented me in place at what I saw. The lab was already almost covered in ants, same with the trailer Philo was in. The security building, underneath the writhing black-red mass, looked like it had been doused with acid.
The ants were eating through the cinder blocks faster than I anticipated. Terror jumbled my thoughts. What had been a clear plan earlier was now a chaotic maelstrom of fleeting notions dissipating as I reached for them.
Vague but disturbing images of death battered me, my coworkers in the security building getting torn apart by the ants, Philo screaming in pain, and then my own death as the ants ripped through my skin. I thought about my parents, my sister, my girlfriend, about never seeing them again.
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Chapter 6: How does the researcher realize the potential of the pathogen?
When moments passed and my legs didn't grow heavier with thousands of ants, I opened my eyes again. The ants in the lead were still there, still moving, but their behavior had changed. What had once been an impressive display of cooperation, all of them moving together toward a common goal, was now a chaotic spectacle.
The insects nearest me now moved in every direction, seemingly without rhyme or reason. But as I looked closer, I saw the pattern. Those lead ants that had been doused with the pathogen-laden liquid were under a different directive. They turned on each other, appearing at first to be biting their brethren, but I knew they weren't biting.
Ants use their saliva for many important things in the colony, such as communication via pheromones and larva development via hormones. Wade's goal had been to weaponize this fact with cordyceps spores. In nature, these fungal spores come into contact with an ant and hijack the insect's body through a series of roots in the muscles and chemicals in the brain.
These chemicals prompt the so-called zombie ant to seek out an ideal place for the parasitic fungus to grow. Once the ant reaches this destination, it will clamp down on the tree or branch with its mandibles. It will remain there, the fungus killing it as it grows, eventually sprouting out of the ant's body and developing spores to start the whole process over again.
Kate had developed a strain of cordyceps that prompted the ants to spread the spores throughout the whole colony. But during his experiments with the isolated lab colonies, the spread had taken weeks. We didn't have weeks. My hope was that, by adding the mystery pathogen, I had sped up the process considerably. As I watched in awe, it quickly became apparent that my gamble had paid off.
Chaos spread back through the river of ants like dominoes toppling. The orderly uninfected were quickly turned as the infection swept through their numbers like wildfire on a windy day. Philo? I asked, walking toward the door, feet crunching on the ants. You okay? Holy shit, holy shit, it worked! I breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of his voice.
By the time I stepped out into the sunlight, the next phase of the infection had started. Instead of seeking an ideal place for the cordyceps to grow and develop more spores, the insects were marching back to their colony. They moved drunkenly, the fungus damaging their bodies irreparably. I saw Philo step out of the trailer. We both looked at the security building. It was mostly intact.
If any ants had gotten inside, it wasn't enough to kill the people in there. As I followed the ants back toward their colony, I wondered if adding the deadly mystery pathogen would have any other effects. I was still 50 yards from the colony entrance when I got my answer. The insects stopped being able to walk.
They dropped to the dirt, their little legs twitching ineffectually, antennae jerking back and forth. One by one, starting with those at the back who had been infected first, the ants slowly melted as if they were made from chocolate. They left bits and pieces of their exoskeletons along with their legs, but otherwise little remained of them, at least to the naked eye.
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