Page 7 of Drift
The first crawled from her nose, running down over her top lip, the second… breaking free and stopping, stuttering just under her nostril, like it was a mother mid-berth and… and—
Like charting the full bloom of a flower in a time-lapsed clip, a mass of legs and green bodies burst open from the belly, racing in all directions across Amanda’s face: cheeks, lips, jaw—back up to… into her nose.
“Christ. No.” Tucker pushed her into the sink unit. Water switched on to full, he shoved her head under the ice-cold rush of water. “Off.” He kept her head buried. “Get them fucking off.” He couldn’t let them infest her. Eat any of his plants, just not… her.
Amanda spluttered once, twice, the second one spewing three fast and furious bugs out of her mouth, bellies full and fat. They caught in Amanda’s hair, then scurried up, around the water, rushing for her ear.
Tucker cried out and forced his body against hers, sending gurgled cries into a grunt as he forced her face to the side, washing out her ear. “No no no no no.”
She kicked and fought against him, but he let out afuck yesas two bugs tumbled away from her ear and cried help all the way down the plughole.
That just left one.
It scurried out of the path of the flood coming out of her ear and raced up, back into Amanda’s hairline. Only… only—
Hundreds of tiny bugs broke from its belly.
Hair, ear, mouth, eyes—they scurried to cover it all.
Giving a snarl, he tugged Amanda up and pulled open a drawer to get his hand on the duct tape.
“Tuh-uck—” She tried to call his name, but he shook his head and covered her mouth with his hand, trying to keep the bugs out. He hated the fear in her eyes over being forced to ingest bugs, but he shared it, needed to make it stop for her.
Forcing her back down on the unit, an elbow digging into her throat to help her keep still, he covered it all with duct tape: nose, eyes—ears. Bugs tried to run out of the way, across her cheeks, down her shirt, most up into her hair, but he caught a few under the duct tape, stopping their assault at least.
That just left the infestation giving her hair an ill life all of its own.
Dragging her into the dining room and taking the duct tape with him, he tugged out the hair clippers. He needed to do this quickly, otherwise breathing… she wouldn’t be able to breathe, and the bugs would turn on her again, get access as she took a breath, and breathe. He frowned. Fuck—she needed to breathe.
Out of the clipper box, he grabbed a pair of scissors and jabbed a hole in the duct tape covering her left nostril. Bloodstarted to run free, but it was clean, not infected, and he kissed her wildly for the purity of it.
Clippers came next, and he started shaving her head as bugs shifted and moved, the clippers running front hair line to back, sometimes snagging on the chunks of hair and bugs. Amanda’s struggles started to stop, so maybe she knew… she knew what he was trying to do—stop the infestation. Just keep her safe.
Fuck, he needed to keep her safe. “Nearly done, nearly done, baby.”
The last strand of long hair fell, and he checked her scalp. “Gone… all gone,” he breathed quickly, then he took her weight, easing her down into a chair at the dining table. “You’re safe. So safe, baby.” The mass of bug on dining room floor he could poison in a moment.
He tugged the duct tape off her mouth and nose and a groan came, followed by more blood from her nose. He freed her ears last, so bloody relieved. Hair. Hair could grow back, and from how she drew in a heavy, dazed sob, it hurt her losing it, but the alternative?
Losing her?
Amanda stilled, and he followed her look down to her stomach to see why her eyes were so wide.
The knife jutted out close to her bellybutton, and something shifted for a moment, some sense over how he’d been peeling spuds, how he’d dropped the knife on the sink, and down… he’d pushed her face-first under the water… over the knife.
“No,” he started, but more bugs scurried out of the wound, racing her abs in a rush to taste freedom now they were part way through eating her insides. Pulling the knife out was suicidal,he knew that. It would only open more access to the bugs still playing through the hair on the floor.
He lifted her onto the dining table, then as she lay groaning and writhing, he started with the duct tape: pinning arms down first, feet, head, needing her to be—“Still.” He cupped her face. “Stay so, so still for me, baby. I’ll stop them. I promise.”
He shifted out of the dining room, through the kitchen, and out into his garden shed.
Paramedics were useless: they wouldn’t know how to handle a garden infestation. This was his job, his world. He’d get them off her, then the paramedics could fix the damage he’d done.
Tucker grabbed the cannister of half-empty winter wash. Mostly plant oil-based solution, it wasn’t dangerous to humans, and he needed that safe buffer zone for Amanda and—
Scurrying came at his hand.
He cried out, nearly knocking the winter wash on the floor as he grabbed a gardening shovel and clawed at the two bugs chasing each other over the back of his hand. Bellies were full, waiting to burst… and Amanda? Who’d be there for Amanda if he caught her infestation?