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I decided that I’ll go all out this weekend in my effort to kill Glenn. If one way fails, I’ll have another as backup, and another, until something sticks. Because something has to stick. He isn’t invincible.
I’ll start with the food and work my way up from there. If he has a food allergy way out here, the chances of help arriving in time are nil. That’s why, without his notice, I pitched his EpiPen shortly after we arrived. The woods will swallow it up without a trace, and poor Glenn will have nothing to fall back on.
But what to trigger his allergies with…Glenn is allergic to many things, including bees, pollen, strawberries, nuts, and shellfish. Since I highly doubt shrimp will be found in the lake, I’ll have to figure out how to introduce one of the others.
And the little buzz I heard when I stepped outside the cabin earlier to hand him the cooler teases a devious smile from me.
Putting on my sandals, I return outside and turn in the direction I thought I’d heard the sound coming from. My assessment proves fruitful. As I slowly canvass the perimeter of the property, the buzzing grows louder and more distinct, until a bee buzzes by my face, followed by another a moment later, and another, until I find a small group hovering around a corner of the backside of the house.
I step in closer, eying the winged terrorists with interest, puzzling out what they are up to and where they are coming from.
When one of the bees lands on the siding and crawls inside, I have my answer. There, where the wooden shingles meet a long strip meant to bridge two sides of the house, is a small hole. I can’t be sure if they burrowed it out themselves or if it simply gave way to rot and they took advantage, but the bees are definitely inside the house, beneath the siding.
And where there is one, there has to be hundreds.
My thoughts start turning. What would happen if I start pulling that siding away? Will I disturb the nest enough to send them into a frenzy? Will they attack me, or if I can lure him close enough, will they attack Glenn? One sting is all I need, and I’d be home free.
A vision of my plan forms, and I decide that the bees are just the ticket I’ve been looking for.
Glenn doesn’t return for a couple of hours, but when he does, he doesn’t find me inside the cabin waiting for him. By design, he has to go looking…and eventually finds me out back with a crowbar in hand and covered in sweat from the noonday heat.
“What are you doing?” he asks with a ready smile that slowly vanishes as he swats away a bee that flies a touch too close for comfort.
I grunt as I pry at the boards, bits and pieces breaking off due to age and rot. We are long overdue for new siding. A few more years, and the place will need a major overhaul or risk total demolition.
“Just checking something.”
“Checking what?” His voice is closer now. I have to repress the evil grin.
“I hear a noise.” I pry another board, working the long nails that hold it to the side of the cabin free.
“What kind of—” Glenn’s question cuts off abruptly, and I know exactly why.
At that precise moment, the board wrenches free, splintering apart and crumbling to the ground. And revealing a colony of bees clustered against the cabin wall, their honeycombs well-developed and teeming with activity.
“Oh my…” I turn my head to see Glenn’s shell-shocked expression as if he is looking Death in the eyes. And, of course, he is.
“Faith…we…sh-should…go,” he stutters and steps back slowly as if any sudden movements might arouse their anger and send the bees on the attack.
“I can’t believe how many there are, can you?” I ask in genuine amazement. I’ve hit the mother lode. Hundreds of tiny, death delivering stingers, all ready and waiting for a target. And I have the perfect one to give them.
“Faith…” Glenn’s nervous warning grabs my attention, and I swing around to face him. In the process, the crowbar I’m holding “inadvertently” hits the side of the cabin, scraping across the length of the opening and subsequently the hive, and as Glenn’s eyes grow as wide as saucers and threaten to bulge out of his skull, I hear it.
The angry buzzing of hundreds of bees.
Knowing I’m just as much a target for their wrath as Glenn and having no desire to be stung myself, I grab hold of his arm and jerk Glenn’s frozen body into motion, shouting, “Run!” as I blow past him toward the front of the cabin.
I don’t look back. Not even to the horrified and pain-filled shouts of my husband, too busy watching out for my own ass to bother caring about his. It was my plan, after all. And if asked later why I didn’t stop to help him, I will simply say I had been in flight mode, thinking he was right behind me…until I realized—far too late—that he wasn’t.
Visions of poor, bloated Glenn covered in red welts, sprawled out in the side yard, dead as a doornail fill my mind as I leap onto the porch and burst through the door, swinging it shut behind me.
Only it doesn’t shut. Not right away. Turning, I see a frenzied Glenn enter in behind me and drive the door home in seconds. Sagging against it, he sucks air in ragged gasps that sound like a mixture of fear and relief mixed with a few sniffles and tears.
I roll my eyes and pound down the surge of anger simmering in my gut. How could he…be alive?
“Oh my God, Glenn!” I shout, flipping on the concerned wife routine I’ve grown so accustomed to. “Are you okay? You didn’t get stung, did you?” I race over, patting him down in a rushed examination, hoping for any signs of swelling on his skin, listening for wheezing or coughing, anything to indicate he’s dying.
Nothing.
