All I hear is my breath. Almost raspy despite the fact I haven't literally been running away; it's distorted slightly from the feedback in my electronic earmuffs. All I hear is my breath, and my heartbeat. The rhythmic thumping just under my jaw, and what sounds like the marching of thousands of soldiers thrumming out in my head. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but my mouth is dry, dry like a sponge under a heat lamp. The air is cool, yet sweat beads my brow, then soon swells and, under its accumulated weight, slides down my temple, cheek, jaw, then down to the beating source of the marching in my ears.

One could argue all of these being symptoms of fear, but I'm not afraid, I'm mad. I've been afraid a lot today, but that's not the emotion that made me stop driving away. It's not what made me park my truck, and it sure as all fucking hell isn't what made me throw an arsenal on my roof and clamor up after it. I'm mad, furious, and this may not be a healthy state of mind, but for the first time in my life I can vent my anger on something and I don't need to feel guilty when they don't get back up.

I'm allowed to be angry, aren't i?

I'm pulled from my thoughts as I see movements in the treeline, shadows dashing through the dim rays my headlights cast on the foliage. That's it at first, just vague, blurry silhouettes dashing back and forth, soon more and more show, flitting to an’ fro. Rustling branches and leaves start echoing through the night at increasing intensity, soon joined by the hateful chittering of the beetles, the cacophony immediately setting me to grind my teeth in annoyance. I aim at the treeline, one of the more active openings I see creatures flitting past and try to find a pattern in their timing as they run out of the foliage. Muzzle flash and a thunderclap flare out and the noise stops before the spent shell hits the ground. That's right fuckers, I'm right here.

One high pitched screech echoes from The Woods, swiftly followed by dozens more, then accompanied by chittering, howling, and grumbling, loud enough to activate the sound damping in my earmuffs. Loud enough to feel in my chest, and the slight trembling of my truck. Loud enough to slightly temper my unrepentant rage. Slightly.

They break from the treeline, 130ish meters out, maybe fifteen beetles, a coincidence? They’re followed by a similar number of the moth mantises, which hop forward like crickets. Granted, I've never seen a cricket get almost five meters in the air, or crash back to the ground in a plume of dust. I'd rather not wait to see what else is coming out of the treeline so i tighten Eleah to the crook of my shoulder and sight one of the beetles on the far right of the line moving toward me. my breathing becomes deliberate, inhale, exhale, inhale, hold, aaand squeeze. Flash, pop, shove, splat, and crash. A smile blossoms on my face. There's too many to try and take my time for every shot, so I give the best rapid fire drill I can and I work my way down the line, one by one. At this range, these aren't difficult shots, even with moving targets, they tend to be larger than the torso sized papers I usually use at the range.

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

CRACK

Shot by shot, round by round, hit after hit, the insects emerged from the trees, fall, stumble, and pop on their charge through my headlights. Of course I don't hit every shot, one, two, miss, six, seven, graze, but the corpses stack at a steady pace and before I know it the trigger clicks and there’s no boom to comfort me with its light. Nothing louder than a click when you expect a boom as they say, but this time I already have ammunition ready to grab. I slide the bottom of my left hand under the trigger guard forward and press into the magazine release then continue pushing, easily ejecting and flinging the empty magazine out of the way. A small part of me laments the possible damage from the magazine clattering off the top of my truck and to the ground below. I'm already fishing in my ammo bag for the next box before the last hits the dirt, but as i try to rock the magazine into the gun something feels off and i start cursing myself out as i slap the stuck, inverted box in an effort to free it from the opening usually called its home but in this moment, its prison.

The rounds can't make it! Mag stuck, mag stuck! please! I beg you! You genu-ine dick sucker!

With one last desperate swat to the back of the stuck magazine it breaks loose and falls to the truck roof, so I scramble for a replacement, feeling the round in the opening of the mag, I use that as a guide and finally rock home a fresh 20 rounds of 308. Goodness. This wave is almost finished, only a few bugs hopping and skittering still, but they are a little close for comfort, the closest is a beetle halfway through crossing my headlights, and the others aren't far behind. I stand from my crouch to get a higher view and without delay Eleah is once again shouldered. Like fish in a barrel, I wouldn't miss if i wanted: CRACK. The nearest bug recoils away from me with a fist sized hole right where its head was resting not even a second ago, black sludge spewing in more directions than you'd think, and the feral grin on my face widening, to the point of hurting. Snapping to the next target, the next round is downrange fast as fast does, and a similar scene plays out, beetle juice spilling out of a brand new canoe-ized bug.

That's when things stopped going so well for me, as expected.

Vertigo, then once again I crash onto my back, this time slamming my head hard enough on the roof of my truck to see stars, and knock the earmuffs off my head. A deep groan ekes from my chest and I feel my right leg being tugged on hard, but I can't make out exactly what is throwing me around, though it's not hard to guess. I feel like a chew toy as I'm tugged toward the side of the roof, almost being pulled to the ground, but i have faculties enough to have held onto Eleah and jam her barrel hard into the bug and promptly fire four rounds into the jackass numming on my feetsies. The flash from the fired rounds show the culprit to be one of the moth-mantis bastards, now basically in a state that can be described as ground beef, laying next to the corpse that was already sharing the space up here. My poor ears.

A short breath to catch my… breath, and i clamor to my knees, already spotting the last of the beetles scampering past my headlights into the sea of darkness surrounding me from all other sides, then move to stand again. with a short yell, my legs collapse under me and I crash onto the oldest corpse on the roof with me. Ehh, it's fuzzy. What's wrong with my fucking feet gawdamnit. I slide my hand down my left leg and can't tell anything out of the ordinary, then do the same to the right and… oh. Oh that's really bad.

There's nothing below the knee.

The cocksucker ate my leg.

That wasn't supposed to happen?

I'm staring into the empty space where my leg should be when a clacking noise thrums its way into the forefront of my consciousness. No, I can't hear it, I can't hear anything; I can feel it in my chest, and the rocking of the truck. movement in the darkness shifts in front of me as the vibration grows and that's all the prompting i need to wing a shot at whatever sucking soul that wants to die next. They are obliged, violently.

The flash gives me a glimpse at three more already cresting the sides of my truck, without aiming, as many shots more ring out, then one more to correct a miss. The musky stench makes the air feel heavy, and the scummy lifeblood of the bugs splurge in all directions, coating my already sullied body with yet another layer of grime.

I lay on my back wondering if I'm not hearing anymore sound because I'm alone or deaf. I sit for a moment longer than I'm comfortable with, then fire another round in the air, looking around to see what I can see. After the flash i lay in the darkness and think about what kind of accidental magic trick i pulled to make it feel like i lost my own leg

‘You’re a wizard, Vasco.’

My aching cheeks numb as the grin masking my face stretches even further, a laugh from deep,deep in my stomach bubbles out, already i feel my sides taking off into orbit as Eleah slips from my hands and i roll onto my side clutching my abdomen to stave off the laughing pains.

Eventually my laugh subsides enough, that i feel safe to try wiping the grin off my face physically. I bring my hands to my face to force my cheeks into submission, but it's hard to do it comfortably because my hands are shaking so hard against my face I feel like I'm slapping myself ten times a second. My fingers are jolting, like placing ice cubes against my skin… i realize i don't have strength enough to hold my hands against my head, let alone sit up to protect myself. I'm cold.

I'm so cold…