Micro-Humanity. Lippi Daniele

siege went on for days.

      For weeks.

      The ants were joined by spiders and centipedes, but they too failed to pass. Last Flame inhabitants observed, intimidated by their seemingly endless number, yet proud that their city was holding the siege.

      Meanwhile, the attention of the insects had also turned to other settlements that — not being so protected and prepared as Last Flame — fell under their cruel pincers and this did nothing but increase the population of refugees flocking to the city.

      The rumor of Last Flame’s heroic resistance had spread throughout North America and many came from all over the former United States to contribute. After more than a year of continuous siege, the population and soldiers were practically more than doubled.

      The insects had tried everything, but ants, spiders, centipedes, and others had failed to break through. From the sky, wasps and bees fell to the ground intoxicated by the fumes of oil and were killed by the soldiers. Even swarms of thousands of mosquitoes and flies tried to attack them with the same result and Pedro finally had his longed for — as well as unexpected — revenge. Last Flame was impregnable.

      “We will hold out!” Jenny rejoiced while burning the eyes of a dying fly enjoying the distinctive sound — a gloomy ‘plop’ — they made when they exploded.

      Beside her, Pedro lingered in breaking the stinger of a mosquito — now charred at his feet — into several parts “We killed a lot of them!” he exulted elated.

      The two of them were completely taken by the unstoppable frenzy given by the awareness of winning a battle that everyone thought lost and that was how all the inhabitants of Last Flame felt.

      After six more months, the insects had crossed the first burning oil ditch by extinguishing the flames using the corpses of tens and tens of thousands of them.

      Jenny exulted observing them through her binoculars “Those fools will get auto-exterminated! Let them all burn! Damn!”

      After the second year of siege, Last Flame recorded that chemical fumes had claimed almost more victims than the insects. Neither masks nor underground shelters seemed enough to protect the weakest of health among whom, unfortunately, there were many children. The situation was such that the city committee ordered all children under fourteen to be denied permission to leave the shelters.

      The third year of siege passed without shakings. Insects went on assaulting the city but with much less force and frequency than the previous years — both from the ground and from the air. It was almost as if they smelled death, since, unfortunately, Last Flame was becoming this: an impregnable fortress that killed those it defended.

      At the end of the fourth year it was clear that staying meant succumbing to the toxicity of the resources that protected them, yet nobody wanted to leave and go away as suggested by health workers. Nobody wanted to abandon the safety of the fire walls and the sky constantly covered by a blanket of stinking black smoke. Nobody wanted nor dared also because Last Flame had lost contact with all the nearby communities and cities over a few thousand kilometers and this could only mean that such communities and cities no longer existed.

      The closest city was New Tawa — in the territory that was once Canada — but it was more than five thousand kilometers from Last Flame. This was no small problem since there were only two ways to safely reach New Tawa.

      The first one was using one of the giants’ era planes, but — in order to do so — it was necessary to reach the airport which was a couple of kilometers beyond Last Flame’s first defensive ditch and, even if someone could reach it, nobody knew what they were going to find.

      The second one was using the only heavy transport drone left capable of traveling such a distance. The fact, however, was that this drone could carry no more than three thousand people and Last Flame counted millions: so many had arrived so quickly that, by then, no one knew how many were surviving within its walls of perpetual fire.

      “Sometimes I think it would be better to try our luck and get to the airport.” Pedro complained as he was watching the toxic fumes rise towards the dark sky.

      Jenny sighed: sometimes Pedro’s defeatism exasperated her beyond the limit.

      He went on lowering his gaze “Better than staying here waiting for certain death from this unhealthy air.”

      Jenny sighed again but said nothing. She knew that Pedro was basically right, but she was not ready to accept it yet and, above all, she did not want the man’s plaintive nature to infect the rest of her men “Get back Corporal!” she ordered in her authoritative voice, whispering threateningly “Keep such opinions to yourself, the last thing I want is to have discouraged soldiers at my commands, got it?”

      Pedro straightened his back “At your command Captain.” He answered in a martial voice even though his gaze was clearly saying “You know I’m right.”

      Jenny let him be “Ready for the patrol!” She ordered and the twenty soldiers under her command got up, took their machine guns, grenade launchers, and flamethrowers and followed her. They were trusted men and women of whom she was proud — they would follow her anywhere and had distinguished themselves on the field several times fighting with courage and a pinch of recklessness against any threat the insects had thrown against the city, in particular when they had led the counterattack on the front line of the attack as the ticks, exploiting a forgotten ledge, were about to climb over the third ditch.

      The patrol — that is the scouting along the second protective ditch — began and ended as most current patrols: quietly. And the quieter the patrols, the more nervous Jenny became.

      Pedro, who knew her best, placed a hand on her shoulder “Our shift is over now, come on, let’s have a drink, it will do you good, it will help you relax.”

      She looked at the burning ditch one last time and then nodded, following him “Someday this will all end, won’t it?” she whispered to him.

      He nodded with a melancholy smile “Yes, as it started it will end, yes, it will end.”

      After the usual couple of rounds of beer, they collected their stuff and headed towards the barracks —nothing more than a large pavilion crammed with bunk beds with five beds on top of each other, but they were calling it ‘home’ at the moment.

      On the way, Pedro was still laughing at the bad joke that Jenny had played on the young bartender Jack who, having a terrible crush on her, accepted everything, blatant as few have ever been in the history of humanity, when she stopped abruptly.

      Pedro turned again laughing “What’s up? Feeling guilty? It would be high time!” he said, laughing even louder.

      She got to him with two quick strides plugging his mouth “Shut up! Listen!”

      Pedro immediately fell silent and tilted his head to one side trying to listen, then shrugged.

      “Don’t you hear a…” alarm sirens began to scream “strange hum?”

      Pedro instinctively took his flamethrower up, looking around in alarm “What’s going on?”

      Jenny pulled out her Captain binoculars pointing it towards the hum that she had heard.

      Pedro pointed a finger in the same direction “That cloud seems to move against the wind.”

      Jenny silently waited for the binoculars to focus and identify what was coming towards them and then turned pale “Grasshoppers!” She whispered, petrified “Grasshoppers!” She repeated and, putting her hands in her hair, she shouted “Grasshoppers swarm! All sheltered! Run to the shelters, quickly!”