The Colony: A Novel (24 page)

Kendra looked at the bottled queen in her hand. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“These are the warriors of the future,” Dawson insisted. “We can’t depend on old methods anymore. There’s just not enough money or support. You’ll see—if it’s not ants, it will be some other creature.” They reached the mayor’s office. Dawson led them inside and said, “And after twenty-five years we finally have a method to destroy them.”

Paul and Kendra both dropped their shoulders with relief.

“Your buddy Jack Carver came through for us. He has a dozen chemists working on a metric ton of the pheromone, almost ready to take off.”

Kendra closed her eyes. Consumed with fatigue, she could barely open them.

“When’s the last time you two got any rest?”

“What day is it?” Kendra asked.

“Saturday.”

She squinted, too tired to do the math.

Dawson grinned. “I’ll call the president and get those pheromones in the air. You can both take a couple hours off. It will be at least that long before the planes are loaded.”

*   *   *

The shower was as small as a coffin. Paul and Kendra stood entwined under a hot spray that soothed their aching muscles and washed away the filth of the streets, but not the memories. The left side of Kendra’s hip glowed with an enormous bull’s-eye bruise of deep purple, yellow and black that closely matched the one on Paul’s backside. There were smaller bruises and scrapes, but fatigue took the greatest toll.

Kendra stared up at Paul with sleepy lids and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of the steam. His dark hair hung long and damp, and she swept it away from his eyes, the same lovely brown as always, but she couldn’t read his thoughts.

It was more than despair.

Paul turned off the shower and handed Kendra a towel. She let it drop to the floor and followed him into the shoe-box-sized room painted moss green and furnished with a simple bed and dresser, like the tiny bunks on submarines. She kicked aside the grimy Bug Out suits lying in a heap and curled up next to Paul on the cot. The narrow mattress was a tight fit so she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

He stared unblinking at the wall, his face shrouded in grief. The weight of a little girl in his arms, the smell of blood in his lungs and the end of a natural world separate from man all spun in his mind and he struggled to keep it together. On the dresser, he could see the specimen bottle containing the queen, her body lifeless and broken. An image of Colonel Garrett, and all his boasting and warnings, played like a demented music video in his head.

“What have we done?” He sounded worn down, depleted.

“What do you mean?” Kendra’s voice was raspy from shouting alarms all morning.

“
Nature.
My one solace. A world void of spite and vengeance—turned into a sadistic instrument of destruction.” He shook his head. “Why?”

“Because we can,” she muttered. “It’s like you wrote in your book—”

“Don’t remind me. How an
ant colony
can save the human race. Jesus, I’m the laughingstock of the Nobel committee.”

“But you were right.”

“I was wrong.” Paul cringed. “What if my whole life was wrong?”

“Ah, Tolstoy.” She nodded.

“It was a childish simplification, Kendra. Humans aren’t ants.”

“Are we so different?” She smiled at his pouting. “Your research showed that ant colonies fight for the same reason we do, variation of the species. Yet they’ve survived for a hundred million years. That proves diversity isn’t fatal. All we have to do is accept our differences and learn to exist alongside other colonies … without blowing each other up.”

“Yeah. That’s gonna happen,” Paul said. “Ants act on instinct, for the good of the whole. Man’s greatest downfall has been—and always will be—individuals who think and act on their own. People like Garrett and Dawson. They don’t care about getting along with the rest of the world. They just want to create a more deadly weapon.”

“Which they have,” Kendra replied. “And now that the world has seen the result, who knows? It may change people. That’s the beauty of being human. We aren’t slaves to our genetics.”

“Come on, Kendra,” Paul said dismissively. “This is real life, not some fairy tale. Contrary to popular belief, tragedy doesn’t change people. War will continue. The madness will continue. Only now we have ants in the arsenal.”

Kendra scrutinized Paul. “Why did you save that little girl last night?”

He looked away. “Because you wanted me to.”

“You could have talked me out of it.”

“What’s your point?”

“You wanted to know she was safe, even if it meant losing precious time and our chance to save the entire city.”

“It was an irrational decision.”

“We
are
irrational, that’s the point. I can’t even imagine a world without compassion, valor, creativity and unique perspective.” She forced his gaze to meet hers. “Ants have had a lot of practice being ants, and they’re good at it. We’re still learning how to be human.”

The two lay in silence, Paul pondering her words.

“Why do you always do that?” he asked her.

“Do what?”

“Make sense of the absurd.” He nodded, lost in a new direction. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps we will figure it out someday. We must be here for some greater purpose.”

Kendra seemed shocked. “You really think so?”

Paul’s stare became intense. “I just look at you—and I know.” He had a fiery expression, almost angry. He rolled over and moved on top of her, his eyes darting wildly over her mouth, along the damp wisps of her hair and then into her deep blue eyes, where he saw a hunger like his own.

Kendra sighed deeply and buried her face into the nape of Paul’s neck, biting lightly at his skin, still warm from the shower. The sensation of his body was maddening and every muscle tingled with a yearning she had long forgotten.

Then suddenly Paul bolted upright. Kendra protested with a groan and arched her back, wanting his warm skin against her own.

“No,” he said and held her wrists to the bed. The muscles of his arms were hard and trembling. “Tell me now, Kendra, because I’m not losing you again. We might be dead tomorrow or fifty years from now, but I won’t spend another day without you. It’s that or nothing.”

She kissed his lips. “That.”

CHAPTER 40

IN THE MAYOR
’
S OFFICE,
General Dawson pressed the phone against his ear and listened intently to the other line. He leaned back and swiveled his chair toward the wall, eyes pinched tight, and rubbed a painful spot on his temple.

“Uh-huh,” he muttered.

Colonel Garrett watched him, unseen from the doorway, wondering if Dawson was speaking to the president. Garrett crossed his arms and felt the gun holstered across his chest. He hoped to hell he didn’t have to use it.

It was those blasted two stars on the general’s uniform that kept him from completing the most vital task the nation ever faced. Decades of research and monumental discoveries were being wasted over fears of bad publicity. Garrett and Dawson had begun their work twenty-five years earlier as part of a CIA paramilitary unit in Special Operations, and while Garrett had spent every waking moment in the laboratory with the ants, Dawson had dealt with the army brass, schmoozing and making friends with all the right people. Back then, the Siafu Moto had been seen as a viable weapon and the few who knew about the operation—only the highest-ranking officers—treated the group with a sense of awe and respect. It was Garrett and his scientists who had created the colony and Dawson rode on their backs all the way to the Pentagon. In the 1990s, Garrett had watched helplessly as his former friend and colleague transferred management of the operation from the CIA to the army—which was deceitful enough—then rose steadily in rank above him.

Garrett drew back into the shadows as the general straightened in his chair.

“Right,” Dawson said into the phone. “Tell him I’ll await his call.”

Perhaps I’m not too late.
Garrett watched Dawson hang up the phone, count out three aspirin and swallow them dry. He stepped into the room.

“Leonard,” the colonel said.

The general barely gave him a glance. “You’re the last person I want to see right now.”

“Have you spoken to the president?”

Dawson didn’t answer.

Garrett sat down in a chair, facing the general with the utmost seriousness. “Think very carefully about this, General. Once you drop that blasted pheromone on those ants, they may be worthless.”

“Say what you have to say and get out, Tom.”

“The only reason the operation was terminated was lack of any way to exterminate them. Now we have the pheromones.”

“It’s over, Tom.”

“Listen to me! We can save this weapon, start over and make it right.”

“It’s been nothing but problems for twenty-five years.” Dawson picked up a pen and signed an authorization sheet on his desk, stuck it inside a fax machine. Garrett’s heart kicked up, then calmed when the general didn’t press the
Send
button. Instead, he started packing up his briefcase. It was a good sign that he was still waiting for the president’s call.

Dawson held up a finger. “The president has to know about the pheromones. He has to know the facts. He’s the one who decides. It’s out of our hands.”

“The facts are simple. We have a Siafu Moto queen. We can start the operation over again. Once you drop those pheromones, the world will know how to kill them. But if we continue with the bombing, the United States will have possession of the only living, breathing, thinking weapon on the earth.”

“Use your head, Tom. If those two scientists can figure out how to destroy the ants, eventually every other country will too. The Siafu Moto are history.”

“You can’t destroy our work.” Garrett was all but pleading. “There must be a reason we were given this second chance … some higher power that’s made it all possible.”

The general flashed a look of disgust. “You sound like Laredo.”

“For what it’s worth, at least he understood.”

Dawson didn’t say anything.

“Laredo released that queen because he believed it was his calling to save the world from itself. He knew that our ants would lead to a better, safer world.”

“Is that what you believe?”

“I think we put fear in the hearts of every leader on earth. No one’s gonna mess with us now.”

Dawson winced. “You’re as crazy as Laredo.”

Garrett stood up tall. He leaned over the desk and turned up his lip. “I’ll ask you again: Did you speak to the president?”

The general gave a slight motion toward the door. “Get out.”

Garrett nodded but made no attempt to leave. He straightened, keeping his eyes on the American flag behind the general. “It was never the intention of the United States military to test this weapon on our own soil, but you have to concede that it has presented an opportunity. A chance to see how the colony performed and to devise a method of control. Now that the entire world has seen their devastation, the Siafu Moto are a weapon worth saving.” He stared hard at the general. “Do you understand?”

Dawson gritted his teeth. “I understand perfectly.”

The phone rang and Dawson reached for it.

Garrett reached inside his jacket.

*   *   *

Sheer exhaustion overtook Paul and Kendra. They lay entangled on the bed until the late afternoon sun began to sink over New York City and the sky turned golden over the wreckage.

A loud knock at the door startled them both awake, and they looked around, confused. Paul shook the sleep from his head and nearly fell off the cot retrieving his clothes.

“Just a minute,” he said, as they dressed in haste.

Paul answered the door in a pressed blue shirt and khaki pants, fastening his wristwatch, and found Garrett looking a few shades lighter than his natural pallid tone. Sweat glistened on the colonel’s forehead, but his expression was calm and cool.

“We’re clearing the bunker,” he said flatly.

“Now?” Paul asked.

Garrett looked past him at Kendra, straightening a white cotton sweater over her jeans, and he smiled. He needed to sound sincere, speak calmly. There was little time for discussion. “I’m sorry to inform you both. The president has rejected your pheromone solution as a way to stop the ants.”

“General Dawson said—”

“The general was overruled. Operation Colony Torch is back on schedule. There’s a helicopter set to land on the roof at six. I’d advise you both to be on it.”

Kendra came to Paul’s side and said, “We’re not going anywhere till we speak to General Dawson.”

Garrett bit his lower lip, contemplating. “The general has already evacuated the building. He’s instructed me to take custody of the queen.”

Nobody moved.

With a sneer, Paul gritted his teeth. “What are you up to?”

Their boldness took Garrett by surprise. He didn’t think they would question the orders of an army officer. It was a huge miscalculation on his part, but one he was prepared for. He watched Kendra back away toward the dresser and his gaze landed on the bottled queen.

Garrett took out his gun. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

“Have you gone mad?” Paul gasped.

Garrett held out his palm. “The queen.”

Kendra clutched the bottle firmly, but Paul took it from her grasp and gave it to the colonel. “You got what you wanted, now leave us alone.” He glanced at the Beretta on the bed and took a few steps toward it.

Garrett fired his gun with a loud bang.

Kendra cried out in fear.

“Leave the weapon right there.” Garrett motioned down the hall. “Both of you—move it.”

*   *   *

Garrett was tense, taking long strides down the corridor with his gun aimed erratically between Paul and Kendra. He was talking gibberish like a man possessed. “You’re not capable of understanding the implications of these ants, how vital they are to the security of our country. What is it with you civilians? Demonizing the government, when it’s our job to watch over the flock, make all the sacrifices, protect this nation from the most dangerous criminal minds. I’m not going to let the single greatest weapon in the world go to waste.”