IV
The fish weren't biting. Lucas had spent the entire afternoon floating in his johnboat down the lazy stream that had the gall to call itself a river, his new two-hundred-dollar pole just spinning loose line behind. He'd even splurged for top-shelf lures in hopes of nailing a few prized bass to join his burgeoning wall of taxidermy. Suppose he scored a few panfish on the way; all the better. But that afternoon, the fishing gods had decreed that nothing would bite. And so it shall be.
Lucas wasn't bothered. He was just happy to be out of the house. The post-COVID-19 move to working from home had its perks, but its drawbacks eventually outweighed them. Though he loved his family dearly, he was growing to resent their being in his face day in and day out. The small house they rented near the north side of town had only two bedrooms, and his wife had taken over the small desk that occupied theirs. He was left to deal with clients from the kitchen table, struggling to hear over the sounds of interrupting family members or the carousel of friends who come over to hang out with his son and his video games.
So, Lucas had taken some of his not considerable savings and invested in an old, broken-down john boat and a top-of-the-line fishing pole. Every chance he got, he strapped the rickety green vessel to the back of his Ford F-250 and drove out to the moss-covered boat ramp at the edge of the Green Swamp. That afternoon was especially relaxing. Work was killing him slowly, while his son's braces were bleeding him quickly. Had he known the sheer expense of parenting a teenager, he would have pulled out with aplomb. When the orthodontist informed him that the boy's teeth were in "desperate" need of braces, he felt his wallet tense before his chest. Lucas was forced to take on extra hours in order to ensure that his son's teeth were put through the rigorous torture of realignment.
Normally, after a work week of the kind of volatile hell such as the one he had just emerged from, the fact that his cooler was only full of empty beer cans and not fresh fish would piss him off. That afternoon, he was pleased as punch. The sound of the swamp was soothing his weary soul. He loved the gently flowing water, the songs of the birds, the croaks of the bullfrogs and alligators, and the chirps of the crickets.
Yes, the chirps. He could really hear them today. It hadn't been noticeable at first, but now he was keenly aware that they were present and growing louder.
"That's funny," he muttered under his breath as he reeled in his line for yet another fruitless cast. The sound was unlike any chirping he had heard before, and Lucas was a swamp native, born and raised a few miles up the road in Webster. This was louder and more piercing than he was used to.
Ahead, the trees were dark and reaching their limbs over the water. Lucas put down his fishing pole and grabbed one of the oars sitting beside him. He dropped it in the water and slowed his already glacial progress. The chirping boomed from the darkness ahead. Even the water below was darker and more foreboding.
"Nope," Lucas said aloud. "Not today."
He thrust the oar into the water and started turning the boat around. The trees behind seemed darker than before. Hadn't the sun just been beaming down through their leaves? Lucas thought he was dreaming. He looked at his watch and saw that it was only a little after five in the afternoon, well before sunset. Yet, the trees were dark and rustling vigorously. Lucas picked up the pace, alternating his oar from side to side to fight against the stream. The darkness crept up on him quickly, bringing with it the incessant and deafening chirping.
"Holy fuck!" Lucas screamed as he caught sight of the first cricket breaking the canopy of trees and skirting the water's edge. It was about the size of a large wolf and had pincers that looked like swords. It was quickly joined by several more just like it, scurrying up and down the shoreline. Lucas could not believe what he was seeing. He wondered if he had fallen asleep in front of the television and was dreaming about some crappy monster movie from the fifties. Then, the crickets splashed into the water and swamped his small boat.
Lucas cursed the river for being low. The long, spindly legs of the creatures were tall enough to keep their large bodies above the peaceful water. When they reached the boat, they did not crawl aboard. Instead, Lucas felt the cold of the water as the vessel was violently tipped. The next feeling was intense pain as several of the creatures tore into his body with their razor-sharp mandibles. When they were done, there was little left of Lucas. What viscera that was not consumed floated aimlessly downriver into the swamp.
Meanwhile, the swarm continued onward.