A Good Wasp Year
By
Paul O’Neill
“Dad?” said Dillion behind him. “What the hecken you up to, man? Pals at school will never let me live that one down. Can’t go screaming into my Home Economics class and tell everyone they’re gonna die.”
Hamish couldn’t stop his hand from shaking as he eyed the living room window. Had there always been that wide a gap in the frame?
Bringing his daughter home seemed like a stupid idea now, but what else was there to do? He didn’t have time to formulate. Just needed her with him. There was no going back to the installation – they’d taken that already.
“Dad?”
Where were all the cars? He prayed for some sign of life. Some sign that it wasn’t too late.
“Dad, you’re scaring me.”
Hamish watched Dillion tap frantically at her phone, fingers a-blur.
“Where’s my signal gone?” she said. “Can’t even get on the Wi-Fi.”
He took as much of her in as he could. A mousy, beautiful thing that had lit up his life in a whirlwind of laughter and teenage mood swings. When was the last time he’d just stared at her, marvelled at the fact he’d raised such a vivacious wee terror? He gulped away a brick of emotion. She’d be this age forever.
They’d ripped through a rat in his first experiment. The memory of it made a shudder convulse through him. He’d let them loose, and all that remained of the thick rat was a pathetic pile of picked bones.
He felt sick remembering how he’d laughed with glee at the success of it. All he wanted to see was the jealous look on his fellow scientists’ faces when he told them his plan had worked. They’d forced him out of Edinburgh, into this part of Fife where he could go about his business with no questions asked.
He didn’t realise what he’d turned his flying creatures into. How hungry he’d made them for flesh.
“All I wanted was for it to be a good wasp year,” he said. “The best wasp year yet. They could’ve saved the planet. That’s all I was trying to do. They’ve spread so fast. It’s too late, now. What have I done?”
Dillion moved closer. The grey light from the overcast day splashed over her sleek, black hair. “What you talking on about wasps for? Not making any sense.”
“We need to do drastic things to save this marble we call home. But the people in charge are going about it too slowly. I… I was doing my bit. Guess I crossed some boundaries. But I got close. So close to achieving my dream. You should’ve seen them. They were beautiful to watch, zipping in the air like purposeful machines. Doing what I wanted them to. Eating what I wanted them to.”
Her voice was a harsh whisper. “What did you do?”
He looked back at the unmoving world, ignoring his streaks of white hair shown in the reflection of the window. “They said it was unethical. That I was playing God.”
“Why can’t I phone anyone? What’s happened to the Wi-Fi?”
“That’s what happens during a cataclysmic event.” He eyed the wasp tattoo that covered the back of his hand. “Wasps are misunderstood. They could’ve held all the answers we were looking for. Do you know there are species that have evolved to only hunt one specific thing? A beewolf wasp only eats bees. So I… I theorised that I could train them. Given time and the right equipment. They were easy to train. Eager, even. You have to understand, I was just trying to fix the world’s problems.”
Dillion groaned, pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s that gotta do with anything? Why’d you scream your way into my class and haul me out?”
He felt the cold radiating from the glass settle on his skin like a mist. A heavy doom seemed to fall on his shoulders. They had no where left to run. Bright yellow mandibles would make short work of the walls. They could tear their way through anything. He’d watched them do it. He’d watched with a smile on his face.
“I… I made them hunt,” he said. “Started small. Mice. Rats. The plan was to move them to rabbits, deer, anything considered a pest. If I could weaponise wasps, I could make a boat-load of money. And that would fund the next stage. Maybe get them to eat plastic. It really is amazing what they can do. They can be the answer to everything, but they’re just picnic pests to—"
“You trained them to hunt big things?”
“They weren’t supposed to get a taste for it so fast.” He wrung his hands, dropped them to his side. “I’m sure you knew the girl that they got first. Georgina.”
“Georgina Dinkel?”
“It all happened so quick. Earlier this morning, my wasps had just flash fed their way through a rat. If only I’d gotten that grant I applied for, I could’ve built a more solid place to keep them.” The memory of rancid buzzing made Hamish scrunch his eyes shut. “I found her. What was left. I… heard Georgina’s screams as they swarmed, picked her apart like vultures at a carcass. When they were done, the wasps burst into the sky, flocked closer to town. That’s when I came to get you. Tried to phone people from the car. But I had to drag you out of school. There was no time.”
“You’re telling me your experiment killed someone I was at school with?”
“She must’ve been cutting class near my compound. They stripped her clean of everything. Not even her hair was left. Just a small collection of bones.”
Dillion huffed out a sour laugh. “Nah, you’re messing. Wasps can’t do that. You’re just having me on. Ha ha, Dad. Good one.”
“I changed them. My hives exploded in number as I… tinkered.” His throat dry-clicked when he swallowed. “It’s too late.”
“Wait? What? You’re not joking? Nah, nah. Dance is on Friday. This can’t be it. Stuck here with… you. Police or that will know what to do.”
“Some things just happen too fast.”
“You should’ve left me at school. I should be with Harriet and Jenna. Not sat here watching.”
“I was only trying my best. I could’ve saved the world, don’t you see? I did it all for you.”
“Don’t you dare put that on me. It was all about you, Dad. Dad? What is it?”
A wasp landed on the window. Its bright yellow stripes were magnificent, almost mesmerising. More landed on the glass, dimming the living room.
“They’re here,” he said.
“No,” Dillion covered her face, trying to hide her sobs. “This can’t be it. I’ve got so much I was supposed to do. And you’re not even trying to do anything.”
The wasps hit the window like black drops of pelting rain, covering it completely.
“I didn’t have time. I called some people. But they didn’t believe me. Put me on hold.” A nightmare vision of screaming carnage, flesh-flayed children covered in swarming insects, then nothing but machine-like buzzing made him suck in a wavery breath. “I couldn’t leave you at school without saying goodbye. Without saying sorry.”
The scritch-scratching of mandibles clawing through wood and plastic felt as if it originated in Hamish’s skull.
They were coming. He’d made them unstoppable.
He’d seen more than he’d let on. The workers in the field next to his makeshift installation. The random kids ticking school down by the woods. He’d found them all just like he’d found Georgina – bleach bone white. Not any trace of blood around them. Like death had flashed its horrid smile at them in a blink, everything that made them human simply gone.
“Come here, pet,” he said, rushing to Dillion’s side.
She shrunk away from him, eventually relenting to the hug. She squeezed him so tight he almost made the same joke he always made about not being able to breathe. He let the apple scent of her shampoo fill his lungs, take over.
It was going to be the best wasp year on record. And it was all his fault.
The wasps entered the home, pausing in the air like attack helicopters waiting on back up. He felt their alien attention, like a searchlight playing over his skin.
“I’m sorry, my baby,” he said. “This is how the world ends.”
As the air changed, as the swarm gathered, he held his daughter tight.
Paul O’Neill is an award-winning short story writer from Fife, Scotland. His works have been published by the No Sleep Podcast, Crystal Lake, Sinister Smile Press, Scare Street, Vanishing Point Magazine, Hell Bound Books, Grinning Skull Press, and many other publications and competitions. He runs Short Story Club on Substack where he and over 150 readers analyse the classics on a regular basis.
By
Paul O’Neill
“Dad?” said Dillion behind him. “What the hecken you up to, man? Pals at school will never let me live that one down. Can’t go screaming into my Home Economics class and tell everyone they’re gonna die.”
Hamish couldn’t stop his hand from shaking as he eyed the living room window. Had there always been that wide a gap in the frame?
Bringing his daughter home seemed like a stupid idea now, but what else was there to do? He didn’t have time to formulate. Just needed her with him. There was no going back to the installation – they’d taken that already.
“Dad?”
Where were all the cars? He prayed for some sign of life. Some sign that it wasn’t too late.
“Dad, you’re scaring me.”
Hamish watched Dillion tap frantically at her phone, fingers a-blur.
“Where’s my signal gone?” she said. “Can’t even get on the Wi-Fi.”
He took as much of her in as he could. A mousy, beautiful thing that had lit up his life in a whirlwind of laughter and teenage mood swings. When was the last time he’d just stared at her, marvelled at the fact he’d raised such a vivacious wee terror? He gulped away a brick of emotion. She’d be this age forever.
They’d ripped through a rat in his first experiment. The memory of it made a shudder convulse through him. He’d let them loose, and all that remained of the thick rat was a pathetic pile of picked bones.
He felt sick remembering how he’d laughed with glee at the success of it. All he wanted to see was the jealous look on his fellow scientists’ faces when he told them his plan had worked. They’d forced him out of Edinburgh, into this part of Fife where he could go about his business with no questions asked.
He didn’t realise what he’d turned his flying creatures into. How hungry he’d made them for flesh.
“All I wanted was for it to be a good wasp year,” he said. “The best wasp year yet. They could’ve saved the planet. That’s all I was trying to do. They’ve spread so fast. It’s too late, now. What have I done?”
Dillion moved closer. The grey light from the overcast day splashed over her sleek, black hair. “What you talking on about wasps for? Not making any sense.”
“We need to do drastic things to save this marble we call home. But the people in charge are going about it too slowly. I… I was doing my bit. Guess I crossed some boundaries. But I got close. So close to achieving my dream. You should’ve seen them. They were beautiful to watch, zipping in the air like purposeful machines. Doing what I wanted them to. Eating what I wanted them to.”
Her voice was a harsh whisper. “What did you do?”
He looked back at the unmoving world, ignoring his streaks of white hair shown in the reflection of the window. “They said it was unethical. That I was playing God.”
“Why can’t I phone anyone? What’s happened to the Wi-Fi?”
“That’s what happens during a cataclysmic event.” He eyed the wasp tattoo that covered the back of his hand. “Wasps are misunderstood. They could’ve held all the answers we were looking for. Do you know there are species that have evolved to only hunt one specific thing? A beewolf wasp only eats bees. So I… I theorised that I could train them. Given time and the right equipment. They were easy to train. Eager, even. You have to understand, I was just trying to fix the world’s problems.”
Dillion groaned, pinched the bridge of her nose. “What’s that gotta do with anything? Why’d you scream your way into my class and haul me out?”
He felt the cold radiating from the glass settle on his skin like a mist. A heavy doom seemed to fall on his shoulders. They had no where left to run. Bright yellow mandibles would make short work of the walls. They could tear their way through anything. He’d watched them do it. He’d watched with a smile on his face.
“I… I made them hunt,” he said. “Started small. Mice. Rats. The plan was to move them to rabbits, deer, anything considered a pest. If I could weaponise wasps, I could make a boat-load of money. And that would fund the next stage. Maybe get them to eat plastic. It really is amazing what they can do. They can be the answer to everything, but they’re just picnic pests to—"
“You trained them to hunt big things?”
“They weren’t supposed to get a taste for it so fast.” He wrung his hands, dropped them to his side. “I’m sure you knew the girl that they got first. Georgina.”
“Georgina Dinkel?”
“It all happened so quick. Earlier this morning, my wasps had just flash fed their way through a rat. If only I’d gotten that grant I applied for, I could’ve built a more solid place to keep them.” The memory of rancid buzzing made Hamish scrunch his eyes shut. “I found her. What was left. I… heard Georgina’s screams as they swarmed, picked her apart like vultures at a carcass. When they were done, the wasps burst into the sky, flocked closer to town. That’s when I came to get you. Tried to phone people from the car. But I had to drag you out of school. There was no time.”
“You’re telling me your experiment killed someone I was at school with?”
“She must’ve been cutting class near my compound. They stripped her clean of everything. Not even her hair was left. Just a small collection of bones.”
Dillion huffed out a sour laugh. “Nah, you’re messing. Wasps can’t do that. You’re just having me on. Ha ha, Dad. Good one.”
“I changed them. My hives exploded in number as I… tinkered.” His throat dry-clicked when he swallowed. “It’s too late.”
“Wait? What? You’re not joking? Nah, nah. Dance is on Friday. This can’t be it. Stuck here with… you. Police or that will know what to do.”
“Some things just happen too fast.”
“You should’ve left me at school. I should be with Harriet and Jenna. Not sat here watching.”
“I was only trying my best. I could’ve saved the world, don’t you see? I did it all for you.”
“Don’t you dare put that on me. It was all about you, Dad. Dad? What is it?”
A wasp landed on the window. Its bright yellow stripes were magnificent, almost mesmerising. More landed on the glass, dimming the living room.
“They’re here,” he said.
“No,” Dillion covered her face, trying to hide her sobs. “This can’t be it. I’ve got so much I was supposed to do. And you’re not even trying to do anything.”
The wasps hit the window like black drops of pelting rain, covering it completely.
“I didn’t have time. I called some people. But they didn’t believe me. Put me on hold.” A nightmare vision of screaming carnage, flesh-flayed children covered in swarming insects, then nothing but machine-like buzzing made him suck in a wavery breath. “I couldn’t leave you at school without saying goodbye. Without saying sorry.”
The scritch-scratching of mandibles clawing through wood and plastic felt as if it originated in Hamish’s skull.
They were coming. He’d made them unstoppable.
He’d seen more than he’d let on. The workers in the field next to his makeshift installation. The random kids ticking school down by the woods. He’d found them all just like he’d found Georgina – bleach bone white. Not any trace of blood around them. Like death had flashed its horrid smile at them in a blink, everything that made them human simply gone.
“Come here, pet,” he said, rushing to Dillion’s side.
She shrunk away from him, eventually relenting to the hug. She squeezed him so tight he almost made the same joke he always made about not being able to breathe. He let the apple scent of her shampoo fill his lungs, take over.
It was going to be the best wasp year on record. And it was all his fault.
The wasps entered the home, pausing in the air like attack helicopters waiting on back up. He felt their alien attention, like a searchlight playing over his skin.
“I’m sorry, my baby,” he said. “This is how the world ends.”
As the air changed, as the swarm gathered, he held his daughter tight.
Paul O’Neill is an award-winning short story writer from Fife, Scotland. His works have been published by the No Sleep Podcast, Crystal Lake, Sinister Smile Press, Scare Street, Vanishing Point Magazine, Hell Bound Books, Grinning Skull Press, and many other publications and competitions. He runs Short Story Club on Substack where he and over 150 readers analyse the classics on a regular basis.
