Lynn plugged in the flash drive and typed a long security code. A series of folders emerged on the screen.

The cursor moved to one labeled “SWARM.”

Inside were dozens of photographs, and Lynn scrolled through them, clicking on one.

“These are from Tom’s camera. The lens is much better than my phone’s camera.”

Roxy put her glasses on and leaned in. A tree in the photo looked as if an infection had overtaken it; a red mass covered every inch of its trunk.

“Those are all ladybugs?”

“Yes. Look at this next picture. They swarmed up the tree. Covering every inch of it. Now, look at this.”

She closed the folder and opened another labeled, “IN THE SKY.”

Even taken with the excellent lens, the photograph just showed a mass of black dots against a blue sky.

“I don’t get it.”

Lynn pointed to the photograph. “They started to move, like a wind had blown them off the tree. They just kept drifting upward. Now, this is the picture I took when they resettled.”

She opened another photograph that showed the beetles had begun to make a formation, moving into clear curves.

“How can they do that? I know birds know how to fly in formation, but bugs? But it’s not like they’re forming an arrow pointing to the grove or anything. What is it?” Roxy asked. “And what are these other folders? Michigan, London, Argentum—”

Lynn opened another folder. It was an illustration, clearly taken from a scientific journal. She moved the graphic to sit directly beside the photo of the formation the beetles had made in the sky.

“My God,” Roxy said, covering her mouth with her hand.

“It’s what they did to us,” Lynn said. “It’s why I have to find William.”

TWO

Sweat surged down his face, soaking his T-shirt, despite the best efforts of the box fan from Walmart pointed directly on him. It was a fairly new purchase, given that he’d run the last one from Goodwill so consistently at night that it ultimately burned out.

With a temporal vein bulging across his forehead, he could not move, paralyzed by the kind of fear usually reserved for children caught in the throes of nightmares, crying out for their parents.

He, however, was twenty-two years old.

Rubbing his aching shoulders, he sat up. It was not uncommon for him to be unable to stand after the dreams, his calves burning and even his feet throbbing from his fiercely curled toes. When he woke, there was no part of his body that wasn’t tense.

He swung his long legs over the bed and gingerly touched the floor, anticipating pain. Instead his legs only trembled, which meant he could get the ibuprofen without feeling like he was walking on nails.