An old woman sits on a bench at a bus-stop, holding an umbrella to shade her from the sun’s raping rays. A scout hornet flies by, hovers, and lands on the bench beside her.
At first, the old woman doesn’t notice the insect, until the orange headed hornet inches its way closer—as if it wishes to make friends. The old woman rolls up a magazine slowly, draws it back, and seems to have reflexes like a teenager as the magazine shoots down and pops the colorful hornet in ten different directions.
Before the old woman knows it, hundreds of worker drones swarm and alight on her head, stinging her, and stinging her again. She swings at them unsuccessfully, with the umbrella and a small purse. The blue haired woman refrains as much as she can from screaming, fearful one of the pest’s crawls into her puckered mouth.
Sammy drives up the street without his car’s T-top when he notices a dark swarm surrounds the old woman. After getting out of his car, he finds his mouth falling open in living wonder. Bruno leaps out of his own vehicle and approaches the woman, eager to offer her some assistance. But he retreats, rather quickly, because a Killer Hornet flies directly up his nose and commits harry carry.
Cledus pushes his toter phone on, only to find the handheld contraption dead as a wagon tire. He throws the phone onto the driver’s seat. He runs to a store across the street to call 9-1-1. Meanwhile, the hornets sting the woman, and sting again. Bruno watches now, from a safe distance, wishing he had some sort of body armor. He watches Sammy bend over and lose most of his lunch. Any Bystander trying to be hero is turned away by the group wrath of the maleficent swarm.
The old woman sits, helpless, until authorities arrive on the scene. Nevada is mysteriously inhabited by science fiction men in puffy yellow protective jumpsuits. The men carry a large container of water, which they dump over the elderly woman’s blue head, causing the hornets to disperse rather quickly.
The yellow suits help the woman into an awaiting ambulance. Police arrive, shortly thereafter, to ask eye witnesses a few questions. Neither cop recognizes the rock singer’s luxurious car, which costs as much as a small house. They come around, though, when they overhear the man’s name.
“Thee Sammy Moore! The dude that sings ‘Hate to die?’”
“Kind of fitting you mention that…Don’t you think? What a terrible way to make a die that would be.”
“If you say so, Sammy. What do you think sparked the attack?”
“Don’t reckon I know. Seed anything, Bruno?”
A microphone is thrust into the muscle man’s face. The bodyguard shakes his large head, because he had long gotten use to the nickname.
“One of the angry buggers flew up my nose. Boy does it smart!”
“Why don’t you step over to the medics, so they can take a look at it?”
Bruno shrugs it off. He thinks he can take it like a man. A channel 8 helicopter lands, nearby…Followed by 2 and 12. The Japanese Hornet becomes a growing story around the state of Nevada, further fueled by an added twist of Sammy Moore and other juicy, celebrity information. Cledus finds several microphones, including TMZ, thrust in front of his face, and various other cameras zero in on his long locks of hair.
He responds with his patented money smile. “Never seed a face look like that fore…Full of so many barbs and shit!” The last word is bleeped out; it only adds to Sammy Moore’s mystique.
“It was quite a sight. A Bruno?”
Another reporter arrives on the scene, only to ask a repeat question.
“You know what provoked such an attack?”
Cledus looks directly into the camera and offers up an old-west grin. “Haps they’re geriatric stingers.”
The reporter holds back a laugh, and returns, “Perhaps so.”
A cunning reporter tries to get past a police barricade to get a good look at the bench where the victim sat, only to get turned away. A hornet expert arrives on the scene, and finds the scout is the catalyst. He explains how Hornets are predictable when it comes to circumstance and their sense of smell. It is the first aggressive hornet attack in a rural area, after reported attacks in Las Vegas, where a queen backed hoard is said to have migrated—from a half a world away.
One inquisitive reporter hangs around the hospital, interviews the victim, and is shocked to discover that health officials planned to extract barbs out of the woman’s face with strips of duct-tape.
“Georgia, there’s a call for you; they say it’s an emergency. I’ll take over your window.”
My God! What now? I hope nothing has happened to Tawny! The woman’s voice is shaky, at the other end of the phone line.
“This is Tawny’s School. Your daughter was rushed to the hospital, when her breathing couldn’t be stabilized.”
Georgia is usually very cool and calm. But she loses it. Tears spew from her eyes. She blubbers, and suddenly feels feint. Her new supervisor helps her out to her own car, quite observant the woman does not have the capacity to operate a motor vehicle.
“I will drive you to the hospital.”
Besides a sniffle, here and there, Georgia remains quiet on the trip. That is until her supervisor gets her talking.
“Everything will be all right.”
“She was fine, when I dropped her off this morning!”
“Asthma can get pretty severe in some people.”
“Why does it have to be in my Tawny?”
The supervisor of the bank does not have an adequate answer for her younger passenger. Her own son is sixteen, and she can only imagine the pain the other woman is going through.
Georgia comes to think about Jeremiah, almost eight years gone, and the incredible void his absence left in her heart. She closes her eyes and bows her head. Please…God. Deliver my daughter a second time! Is the plea that runs through her mind.