Hubbard said sympathetically to them all, “This is tough, but none of us can afford to be squeamish. I must repeat what you already know, that there are many insects capable of moving weights many times their own, especially when individuals combine. You have probably seen ants doing this with your own eyes. Given the size and muscle of these roaches here, they could handle very large loads, especially if they have developed some kind of organization that is not common among the roach species.”

Craig protested again. “I can see it with maybe an ear, a paw. But a whole body?”

Hubbard answered slowly, “Based on the behavior of related insects, like termites, I have to tell you that bands of roaches could, yes, chew and gnaw through tissue and cartilage and bone like a butcher’s saw or cleaver. Yes, they could separate pieces small enough to be handled by gangs that would join together for the purpose.”

Bonnie cried out, “Oh, please!” She ran from the room out to the beach with her hands to her cheeks.

Hubbard heard the expressions of consternation and continuing disbelief. His face hardened. These were seamen, used to the stink of bait and chum and the blood and guts of the big fish they disemboweled, the tuna, the sharks. It was no time for delicate stomachs. He gave Elizabeth a way out before he continued, “Elizabeth, do you want to check on Bonnie?”

The woman looked up at him and shook her head. Bonnie could take care of herself. She was staying to hear the worst.

Hubbard was unrelenting then, “Yes, roaches like these might well be able to cut through even a human body!” he certified.

Stephen Scott went paler.

“We have seen such behavior, I repeat,” Hubbard stressed. “As I said, it’s entirely possible that these insects can circle the limb, biting down as they go—”

“Good God!” Amos Tarbell groaned. “Like a bloody chain saw!”

“Exactly,” Wanda Lindstrom sighed.

“Until they cut right through. Bone and all.”

When the scientist stopped, the room was silent. Elizabeth and all the men were stunned. Peter Hubbard and Wanda Lindstrom had moved them into a world so alien, ogreish, and alarming that they had no way to formulate their reaction. The ghastliness was in the blood, beyond the reach of words or horror or comradely comfort. A strange, raw wind was blowing up from a biological nether world of phantasmagoric claws, fangs, and mindlessness. It would have seemed impossible anywhere; it was beyond all comprehension on Yarkie Island.

2

TWO

Elizabeth was no biologist, no scientist of any kind, but the awful logic of what Peter Hubbard had said must lead to another question, insane as it might sound. “Peter, what you and Wanda are describing—doesn’t that take a kind of, er, brains? I mean, all the insects working together in such an organized way . . . ?”