Flies

"Ain't never seen nothin' like it," sighed Leo Sugden.

"I haven't either, Leo," Andy Lofton answered. "I haven't either. I guess nobody has."

Many said that the infestation was in some way caused by global warming. Scientists had been caught flat-footed by the phenomenon and hadn't had time to run any tests or experiments to determine the cause. The way things were going, it looked like they were never going to get the time they needed; civilization was collapsing at a rapid pace.

What they did know was this: spring had come right on schedule. Maybe it was a few weeks early, maybe it was a little bit warmer, but all in all, it wasn't all that different from any other spring. But then after a few sunny weeks, what followed spring this year was... flies. Millions and billions of flies. At first everyone thought it was a freak happening in their local area. Folks bought fly swatters, bug spray, and those sticky fly paper rolls. But a hundred people could swat at flies for a hundred hours without making a dent in their numbers. The noxious smell of bug spray hung in the air and seemed to make people sicker than it did the flies. And it took only five minutes and those sticky ribbons were completely covered with flies, looked really ugly, and were totally useless.

People quickly realized that stores did not have enough of the aforementioned products in stock and also that this was definitely not just a local problem. It appeared to be happening in every state in the country. It was probably worldwide. That wasn't known for sure. Television news stories carried very little information on the situation; many people thought the news was being censored. Stores put in orders for everyday staples only to be told that nothing was probably going to be shipped. The panic had depleted warehouses across the country.

The flies were eating anything left out in the open. In most places, they covered every level area, inside and out, sometimes a couple of inches thick. The constant buzzing, day and night, was mind numbing. People started to tie tight their pants cuffs, shirt sleeves and collars in an effort to keep the flies from getting in their clothing and biting them. The bites weren't vicious or deep, but most people sustained hundreds of bites each hour.

Buddy Simpson was wearing swimmer's goggles over his eyes and one of those disposable paper flu-prevention masks over his nose and mouth.

"How ya doin', Andy?" asked Buddy, his lazy drawl muffled by the mask.

"I'm getting by, Buddy, but just barely. I feel like a little more of this and maybe I'll just go crazy."

That's already happenin' to a lot of folks," said Buddy. "I saw Lester Martin walkin' down Main Street with flies completely covering every exposed inch of his skin; his whole face was covered with flies and he wasn't even tryin' to brush 'em away. The flies were all writhin' and crawlin' and..."

"Enough, Buddy, enough!" Andy shouted. "Geez Louise, just shut up!"

"I also talked to a guy who just drove up from Georgia," rambled Buddy, still not shutting up. "He said a lot of folks from the South will be heading up here 'cause they figger that our winter will more'n likely kill the bastards off, where as their winter probably won't do it. He just looked at me real mean when I asked him what he thought he was gonna eat up here this winter and what he thought was gonna happen next spring. Guess I rained on his parade a bit, huh?"

"Well, you're rainin' on my parade a bit right now, Buddy. Put a lid on it, will ya."

Andy decided to walk around town for a bit, mostly to get free of Buddy. It was 90 degrees in late July, most business had shut down weeks ago, and too many people were lying either unconscious or dead in the street. He thought that Buddy had asked a good question; what were all those people from the South going to eat? Crops were all ruined, livestock dead or dying, grocery stores already pretty much depleted. He wondered if money was still any good. There never had been much crime around here, but how about other areas of the country? What were they like? Andy made up his mind right then. He filled up his gas tank, took his money out of the bank, gathered together whatever he figured he could use and put it in the trunk. He was going north. Only he was going way north; he was going up to northern Canada. Maybe even up to the Arctic. It finally dawned on him what those folks from down south might have to eat to stay alive this winter. He thought he'd rather be eaten by a polar bear than some guy from Georgia or Alabama.

He was about ten miles out of town when the tire blew. He eased over onto the shoulder and got the jack and tire wrench out of the trunk. While he was loosening one of the lug nuts, the wrench slipped and he cut his hand on the fender. It wasn't a deep cut; it bled a little and then stopped. Andy went back to work on the flat. He was lost in his thoughts of going to Canada when he heard the buzzing. He stood up and looked over the top of the car and out across a corn field that was black with flies. Suddenly, like a flock of startled blackbirds, the flies rose in a cloud from the corn. Before Andy could even get into his car, the flies had swarmed all around him. He opened his mouth to scream and quickly closed it as hundreds of flies rushed in and gagged him. Choking, Andy fell to the pavement and then they were on him.

THE END

Bio:Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for over 60 years. In retirement, he is now also a voracious writer and he has had poetry and flash fiction published recently in a number of online literary sites.

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