There was no response. Decker spoke louder—maybe the old woman was hard of hearing, because she continued to ignore them.

Decker shouted, “We’re police, ma’am! I want to tell you from the bottom of my heart how sorry we are for your loss.”

No answer.

“I heard from all your neighbors what a fine boy Luke was. How much he loved you and his pappy. You must have done a right fine job of raising him.”

She muttered something.

Decker said, “Excuse me, ma’am?”

The woman didn’t respond.

“I know you raised him with the fear of God and the love of Jesus. A fine Christian soldier—”

“Not fine enough,” Granny Darcy said.

“It wasn’t Luke’s fault,” Decker said. “It was that she-devil.”

Granny Darcy suddenly stiffened. She remained silent for a moment, then said, “You preach the word of the Gospel, but you ain’t to be trusted.” She faced them, then raised her veil. “Get off of my property.”

Hollander shifted his weight. Decker said, “We need to talk, Granny—”

“I said, get off of my property!”

With surprising agility, she leaped from box to box, banging on the hives, liberating swarms of agitated bees. As the dark funnels coalesced, merged into a droning black cloud, she began to laugh.

Hollander and Decker started running, but the cloud was quicker. Soon they were enveloped, hard nodules of fuzzy sleet pelting their face and skin. Hollander swore, tried to bat them away, but it only riled the bees further. Decker felt one sting, then another, and another, His brain fired into overdrive, trying to find a way out.

Think like Byron Howard.

Smoke!

Decker found his cigarettes and began lighting them. He screamed to Hollander to light his pipe, explaining that smoke confused bees. Hollander reached into his pocket and held a match to the bowl of his briar. Immediately, a thick cloud of tobacco swirled around their faces. A minute later, the bees were still upon them, still surrounded them, obscuring their vision, but had slowed their attacks.

“Now what?” Hollander asked, puffing out smoke. He had to shout to be heard over the one-note dirge of the bees.

Decker coughed, dragging on five cigarettes at once, blowing out without inhaling. He yelled back, “We could try walking away…slowly.” He heard more laughter in the background—Granny’s laughter, he thought. But another voice was screaming as well. Words he couldn’t understand. A moment later, a distinctly male voice shouted for them to stay in their tracks!

“I can’t see a fucking thing!” Hollander screamed.

Decker reached for his snub nose, and told Hollander to draw his weapon. A bee flew in his mouth. Decker spat it out.

“I can’t aim, if I can’t see,” Hollander cried out.

“Relax!” Decker yelled. But he was anything but calm.