beast.
“You want to hold him?”
“No!” I rock backward on my heels, and the ant farm behind me sways.
Uncle Will gives a wordless cry, drops Babó to the floor, and rushes at me. Stupefied, I wonder what’s gotten into him and then realize that the ant farm is about to tip off its stand onto the floor. My father throws himself on it, steadying it until it’s still again. Sweat beads his brow, and I see he is shaking.
“Uncle Will? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset the ants—”
“Not just
ants
, child!” He peers into the terrarium, nearly feverish. “
Eciton burchellii
. Or they were
Eciton burchellii
before the experiments.”
“Experiments?”
Uncle Will chews his lip. He seems unwilling to talk about it, but I stare pointedly at him, waiting for an answer. Babó has disappeared to the far corner of the room, where I hear him rooting through a pile of discarded Styrofoam.
“I…have been developing a formula, mainly with
Ilex paraguariensis
.…”
“A steroid,” I remark. I see some of the leaves scattered across the table.
“Yes. Sometimes it has no effect. Sometimes it makes thesubjects race in circles until they die from exhaustion. But this time…” His eyes are grim. “This time was different.”
I look from him to the ants. They are large, but not freakishly big like Babó. The terrarium isn’t filled with sand and dirt like most ant farms; it has leaves and sticks to simulate the rainforest floor. I realize there are many, many more of the insects than I first noticed. What I took for topsoil lining the bottom of the terrarium is actually a living carpet of ants. “
Eciton burchellii
are army ants,” I say. “Carnivorous, hunting in swarms.”
He nods. “Just so. But there was a mistake. I cut my finger on a broken vial when I was making the formula. I thought I cleaned it all up, but I found later that a drop had made it into the mixture.” His voices trembles, and he continues hoarsely, “The ants…they have a thirst for human flesh.”
“What?”
He clears his throat, but his voice still shakes as he holds up a finger wrapped with cloth. He unwinds the bandage, and I gasp.
The finger looks as if he dipped it in a jar of acid. The skin is red and mangled, evidence of a hundred tiny jaws at work. “They attacked me. I reached into the terrarium to change their water, and they just…attacked me.”
Man-eating ants
. I’ve read of species of ants that can devour human beings, but never of any that specifically target them. “If they were to escape—”
“I have prepared for that unlikely event.” He points at a white box on the wall. Inside the box is a wide red lever.
“The emergency alarm,” I say, recognizing it immediately.There is one in every building in Little Cam, even in the glass house. If pulled, the lever will set off a series of loud alarms all across the compound, signaling everyone to evacuate immediately. As far as I know, the alarms have never been set off.
“And I have this,” Uncle Will adds. He opens a metal cabinet under the terrarium. It’s filled with cans of aerosol insecticide.
I tap the side of the terrarium. Instead of scattering, the ants pile on one another, trying to bite through the glass to get at my finger.
“Let’s hope we never have to use it,” I say. “Why don’t you get rid of them
before
they break out and eat everyone?”
Uncle Will retrieves Babó and returns the beetle to its cage. “There’s still so much to learn from them,” he says, a little sheepish. “It’s worth the risk.”
As he tidies the mess Babó made on the counter, I absently touch a petri dish of water, watching the ripples undulate on the surface. My mind is filled with the memory of last night, particularly with how uncannily blue Eio’s eyes were when I shone my flashlight in his face. Suddenly I’m struck with a thought.
“Uncle Will?”
“Hmm?”
“When was the first time you left Little Cam?”
His forehead crinkles
“You want to hold him?”
“No!” I rock backward on my heels, and the ant farm behind me sways.
Uncle Will gives a wordless cry, drops Babó to the floor, and rushes at me. Stupefied, I wonder what’s gotten into him and then realize that the ant farm is about to tip off its stand onto the floor. My father throws himself on it, steadying it until it’s still again. Sweat beads his brow, and I see he is shaking.
“Uncle Will? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset the ants—”
“Not just
ants
, child!” He peers into the terrarium, nearly feverish. “
Eciton burchellii
. Or they were
Eciton burchellii
before the experiments.”
“Experiments?”
Uncle Will chews his lip. He seems unwilling to talk about it, but I stare pointedly at him, waiting for an answer. Babó has disappeared to the far corner of the room, where I hear him rooting through a pile of discarded Styrofoam.
“I…have been developing a formula, mainly with
Ilex paraguariensis
.…”
“A steroid,” I remark. I see some of the leaves scattered across the table.
“Yes. Sometimes it has no effect. Sometimes it makes thesubjects race in circles until they die from exhaustion. But this time…” His eyes are grim. “This time was different.”
I look from him to the ants. They are large, but not freakishly big like Babó. The terrarium isn’t filled with sand and dirt like most ant farms; it has leaves and sticks to simulate the rainforest floor. I realize there are many, many more of the insects than I first noticed. What I took for topsoil lining the bottom of the terrarium is actually a living carpet of ants. “
Eciton burchellii
are army ants,” I say. “Carnivorous, hunting in swarms.”
He nods. “Just so. But there was a mistake. I cut my finger on a broken vial when I was making the formula. I thought I cleaned it all up, but I found later that a drop had made it into the mixture.” His voices trembles, and he continues hoarsely, “The ants…they have a thirst for human flesh.”
“What?”
He clears his throat, but his voice still shakes as he holds up a finger wrapped with cloth. He unwinds the bandage, and I gasp.
The finger looks as if he dipped it in a jar of acid. The skin is red and mangled, evidence of a hundred tiny jaws at work. “They attacked me. I reached into the terrarium to change their water, and they just…attacked me.”
Man-eating ants
. I’ve read of species of ants that can devour human beings, but never of any that specifically target them. “If they were to escape—”
“I have prepared for that unlikely event.” He points at a white box on the wall. Inside the box is a wide red lever.
“The emergency alarm,” I say, recognizing it immediately.There is one in every building in Little Cam, even in the glass house. If pulled, the lever will set off a series of loud alarms all across the compound, signaling everyone to evacuate immediately. As far as I know, the alarms have never been set off.
“And I have this,” Uncle Will adds. He opens a metal cabinet under the terrarium. It’s filled with cans of aerosol insecticide.
I tap the side of the terrarium. Instead of scattering, the ants pile on one another, trying to bite through the glass to get at my finger.
“Let’s hope we never have to use it,” I say. “Why don’t you get rid of them
before
they break out and eat everyone?”
Uncle Will retrieves Babó and returns the beetle to its cage. “There’s still so much to learn from them,” he says, a little sheepish. “It’s worth the risk.”
As he tidies the mess Babó made on the counter, I absently touch a petri dish of water, watching the ripples undulate on the surface. My mind is filled with the memory of last night, particularly with how uncannily blue Eio’s eyes were when I shone my flashlight in his face. Suddenly I’m struck with a thought.
“Uncle Will?”
“Hmm?”
“When was the first time you left Little Cam?”
His forehead crinkles
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