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The feeding paroxysm allowed me to pass unnoticed a few moments. They were sucking with vigor, torsos heaving, bulbous heads bobbing with each pull and swallow. I crept backwards toward the door, toward the carbine.

A pair of alabaster eyes met mine. Its mouth retreated, making a sucking sound when it pulled free from flesh. I grabbed the door handle and pulled hard. The damn thing wouldn’t latch, the lock disintegrated by gunfire.

I backed up and grabbed the carbine. The door rattled. The buzzing grew in intensity. Then the door crashed open.

Only one aphid entered. It maneuvered through the room, its tiny pupils never leaving me. It hovered within reach, studied me. Curiosity kept me from squeezing the trigger.

The man on the floor moaned. The aphid cocked its head. Blood dripped from its jowls. Why wasn’t it going for the easy fodder? Was it sated? Or did it want a challenge?

It spread its pincers and thrust its chest forward. An alien pitch rattled through me. My spine tingled. Was it trying to unsettle me? Its jaw snapped between vibrational effects. Then it lunged toward my neck.

Pop.

A 5.56 round ruptured its eye. A kaleidoscope of matter poured from the cavity. The aphid dropped at my feet.

With the carbine still level, I walked back outside. Five trigger pulls. Five kills. Either I was getting better at it or the aphids were easier to kill during dinner time. Of course, knowing where the kill shot was helped.

Three human bodies contorted and sloshed in a dark bath. I knelt over one, blood soaking my jeans. His eyes glazed over, irises blanching, face twisted in pain. I wasn’t sorry about that.

His jaw hinged open. A gurgling scream erupted. Inhuman bits writhed in his throat. Christ, the beginning stages of mutation happened quickly.

I unsheathed a knife. Pressed the tip under his ear. Dipped the edge and sliced his throat. Then, sitting in the cesspool feeling strangely alive as blood and death clung to me, I watched his life slip away.

Early news reports said it took a couple hours to fully mutate after a bite. He bled out in less than a minute. Not surprising considering the donation he’d given the aphid. I stood. Then I sliced two more throats.

A rustling whisper came from the armory. I followed it. The stout brute crawled on his belly, a useless leg dragging behind him.

I crouched in front of him. “So easily submitted by a subordinate woman. What were you planning had you found my skills wanting?”

He hissed, “Ssstupid slut. You nasty whores brought this evil upon us.” Blood and saliva congealed on his chin. “I would have delivered you to Satan after ssspreading your filthy le…ahgg…argggggh—”

I sliced out his tongue.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes.

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs.

Emily Dickinson

I woke with my neck crooked at an uncomfortable angle. The military Humvee I upgraded to at Fort Leonard Wood made it easy to maneuver cluttered roadways and steep embankments. But the spartan interior was miserable to sleep in.

For three days, I just drove. No destination in mind. But always heading east. I didn’t know why and that scared me more than the hungry creatures that sniffed around my truck while I slept. Was the numbness a way of protecting myself against an emotional avalanche? If I forced myself to care, would the pain of recent events be too excruciating to bear?

Eventually, farmland turned to parking lots and the interstates became crowded with wreckage. The twisted remains of panicked evacuations forced me off road more often than not.

A jet had pulverized a portion of the highway. A helicopter stuck out of a skyscraper. Bridges gave way to gaping holes filled with freight trains reduced to chewed-up metal and soot. And the bodies. They slouched over steering wheels, splattered in boutique windows and hung from water towers. Dismembered flesh painted the concrete and blistered in the sun, evidence that death in the city came by human hands. Aphids didn’t leave human bodies behind.

I rested in a pasture along I-64 just outside Shelbyville, Kentucky, tucked behind a dilapidated barn. The glaucous blue moors rolled velvety ripples in all directions.

Under the Humvee’s .50 cal mounted turret, I stroked a hand along the black and tan coat that warmed my feet. My lips twitched at the memory of finding Darwin hiding under a parked car in the armory lot. I carried no regrets from Leonard Wood. The venture had been profitable.

Darwin dozed amongst the hand grenades, shoulder fire rockets, flash bangs, flares, smoke grenades, ammo, a portable siphon and diesel fuel. I had also acquired another bullet proof vest and sundry supplies at the commissary including boots, socks, maps, water, smokes, commercial food and medicine. I even found a battery hand drill with carbide drill bits for lock picking.

A rumble skipped over the hill. There hadn’t been a lot of traffic on that stretch of highway, but it wasn’t dead either. My body went taut with anticipation.