There is something in the air; a feeling every bit as dark as the ashes and soot floating there. Captain Brown can almost taste it. His lips feel greasy with the strange feeling but he can’t put his finger on it.

He was in the first helicopter that flew over St. Jim’s as she burned to the ground. He saw the grasshoppers, sleek and black giants, crawling amongst the burning trees as they fled from town only to have the fire catch and engulf them. He watched them dig into the forest floor and bury themselves. There was too many to count and he knew he would be given the task of hunting them down. Even more of the freak insects littered the city, grasshopper corpses that ranged from the standard size of an adult grasshopper (roughly three inches) to colossal giants ( measuring an astounding thirteen feet long) covered the blood stained concrete. The scientists would have a field day with the mutated grasshoppers. The three thirteen footers were hauled off on flat bed trailers, covered tightly with thick tarps, to be picked apart in makeshift labs two hours away. The scientists numbered, labeled, and cataloged the thousands of other dead grasshoppers they found before filling four refrigerated trailers with grasshopper cadavers for the ride to the lab. As Captain Brown walked the empty streets that first day, striding through a thin layer of blood that covered the ground and crunching grasshoppers’ bodies with each step, he knew they would find human flesh in them. They ate the towns’ people. And he was right; extensive searching found no survivors.

Now, he is walking the charred corpse of a forest service road while his men scamper about hunting the buried insects. Ash still floats lazily in the air and smoke still puffs persistently from small piles of bark and sticks all around him. Captain Brown has stood on countless battle fields but this is different. Trees still stand all around him, blackened by the flames. The uncountable gallons of water dumped on the flames to dose them turned the forest floor to mud, thick and ash-colored. As unnatural as it was the carnage of town made much more sense to him. Blood he has seen and dealt with, ash and the burnt path of the flames seemed much more primal to the life long soldier. And though he hasn’t said it out loud; the blood has a stronger sense of finality. The grasshoppers still lived under the mud and ash. His men, trained killers all, were slipping in the mud covered in soot and filth acting as glorified exterminators. And they are working along side CDC officials, dressed in their white jump suits and yellow helmets, and logging workers, dressed in jeans and flannel like some universal logger uniform, hardly the norm for Black Op units.

Captain Brown walks the road with his hands clasped behind his back, looking straight ahead but still seeing the blacks and grays of the devastated forest. Far behind him on the dirt road an army truck rumbles up the grade. The captain hears a voice yelling his name behind him but ahead of the lumbering all-terrain vehicle. He doesn’t slow his pace. The captain hears footfalls splashing in his direction and deep breathing to accompany the quickening steps.

“Captain Brown! Wait up, Sir!”

The Captain turns a corner and stands facing a large clear cut ridge, left virtually untouched by the roaring blaze that had consumed the forest around it. His breath catches in his chest as he looks down the ridge and he is awed by the cruel mockery of a breath-taking view. He imagines for a second how beautiful the view would have been when the trees were thick and green instead of sparse and black. He notices a dirty yellow pickup half way down the ridge and he turns on the balls of his feet to face it before descending down the mountain side. His boots sink into the mud and he twists his body to accommodate and control his slide, using it to his advantage.

Sergeant Long rounds the corner the Captain had moments before still shouting for his superior officer to slow his pace. The Sergeant notices the deserted road and a panicked look of confusion clouds his face before he sees the Captain sliding towards a broken down pick up. He rolls his eyes and follows Captain Brown. Sergeant Long doesn’t twist his body and he falls on his ass and slides down the ridge side yelling the Captains name as he slides. Captain Brown leans back and digs his heels into the thick mud stopping quickly. He leans back and steadies a sliding Sergeant Long. The Captain points to the rear of the pick up and the two glide through the mud to lean against the tail gate. The truck is a faded yellow covered with a thin layer of soot, in several spots the ash is darker and Captain Brown knows it is soot that has stuck to fresh blood. The soldiers rest against it and look up the hill the way they came. The Sergeant wordlessly offers the Captain a smoke; which he accepts after a moment of staring at.

“Two things, Captain,” the Sergeant starts, “first, does it smell like Christmas or camping to you?”

The Captain stares at him instead of answering.

The Sergeant stutters, “Y-y-you k-k-know, sir, the smell from t-t-the…”

“Don’t be an asshole, Sergeant.” Captain Brown interrupts.

The Sergeant looks at the ground while wincing slightly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“What else?” The Captain asks.

“Sir?” Long asks back confused and thinking he owes more to his apology.

“You said two things.” The Captain states flatly.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, sir. Major Bullock has found the remains of a make shift camp. In fact I believe down at the bottom of this ridge.” The Sergeant says refocused on the job.

“Any survivors?”

“No sir.”

“Any giant fucking grasshoppers?”

“Yes, sir, biggest one yet.” The Sergeant says proudly. “Heat readings show it to be as big as the three they carted off on flat bed. They just need your permission to toast it,”

The Captain turns and looks at the Sergeant with a look of disgust pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s start there next time, Sergeant.”

Long nods understanding and the Captain nods back. “Tell um to sink the bomb and kill the bastard.”

“Sir!” The Sergeant says before calling in the order to Major Bullock waiting below.

X

Down at the bottom of the ridge the walkie talkie on Major Bullock’s hip squawks to life. He effortlessly shifts his over/under M-16 to his other arm to answer it. He looks to the three civilian workers and nods for them to get the bomb rig ready before the Sergeant answers back. They nod and level the tripod above the head of the buried grasshopper as it was identified as by the heat scans.

“Sink it, Major.” Long tells him over the static.

“Yes, sir.” The Major answers back before clipping the walkie back on his belt. He nods to Major Avado, his only full time team mate, who nods back and takes his place opposite pointing his rifle at the buried giant. The two CDC workers take steps back and write on their clipboards as they try to ignore the upcoming explosions.

“Drill it!” Major Bullock yells.

A heavy set civilian thumbs a switch on the tri-pod and a six inch wide drill speeds towards the ground. Dirt and rocks fly as the drill digs at the ground and the beast underneath. The drill comes to a whining stop and the hillside gives a rumble.

“Shit, pull it out!” Major Avado yells at the workers.

All three civilians dive at the tri-pod flicking switches as the rumble under foot starts to grow. With a loud creak the drill lets loose of the buried grasshopper and starts back up. Before the drill is out of the earth the tri-pod tips from the tremors and the drill-bit snaps. Major Avado jumps forward and pulls up the broken bit by hand. The three workers force the tripod back up and into position and load the artillery shell in a matter of seconds.

“Sink it!” major Bullock yells.

The shell slams into the ground and detonates. The thrashing under foot increases at the explosion shaking all five men closest to it while the CDC workers stare motionless through fogged face plates.

“Sink another one!” Major Bullock yells and the workers fight the heaving ground to obey.

X

It is time. The sleeping human is awake. The ground next to her exploded and she woke from the blast. They found the grasshopper by its body heat, but she is cold. Her brain is almost too damaged to use but The Pulse can keep its self tied to her until she can spread it. It reads the remnants of her mind. It knows her name, Elizabeth. And it knows she is hungry and panicking under moving earth. Her mutilated brain ruins any chance of the Pulse in the Dark or even the more human-like Corn Eater controlling her flailing limbs. Elizabeth claws at the dirt until light blinds her dead eyes. Gray eyelids blink over rainbow colored eyes and she sees a human leg above her.

X

The worker closest to Major Bullock sinks waist deep into the heaving ground faster than any man can react. The other two workers rush towards him tipping the tri-pod as they do.

Avado screams, “That shell is live!” And he runs to tip the tripod upright.

The civilian worker half buried in mud screams in pain and terror as his friends tug to get him above ground. Avado grabs hold of the tripod just as the shell fires and Major Bullock watches his friends legs disappear in a cloud of blood and dirt. The civilians pull their man out and blood is flowing quickly from a massive jagged wound on his thigh. He jabbers gibberish as one man drags him a small distance from the hole while his life bleeds from him. One of the CDC workers unfreezes and moves to help the man tossing his bulky helmets aside as he runs. The heavy set man steps to follow but stops when Major Bullock points his rifle at him.

The man looks in Bullocks dark eyes, swimming with fury, and looks at the tripod and the remains of Major Avado around it.

“Our friends gave their lives to kill it. Sink another one.”

“The hole is gone,” the chubby man says trying to look past the large soldier and his gun to his dying friend. “The ground moved too much.”

“I said sink another one!” Major Bullock yells.

The worker grabs for the tripod but it sinks in the ground and he falls face first into the mud.

Major Bullock growls in frustration and reaches for the fallen worker dropping his weapon in the mud in the process. He grabs the man by his collar and pulls him away from the mud with a squish. A gray faced woman lunges up from where the man had been laying, snarling as she rises. Bullock looks to the man he had just grabbed, sees the torn muscle, flesh, and bone that was once the mans face, and turns back to the gray skinned girl. She stumbles and twitches in his direction with a snarl on her ashen face. Thick black ooze drips down her forehead from a days-old gunshot wound. His first instinct is to scream but when he hears a scream from behind him he snaps back to action. He rolls towards the dead girl grabbing his rifle in mid roll. He completes his roll and takes aim at the snarling girl’s skull. Past her he sees the man that was bleeding out seconds before attacking the men that were trying to help him.

The dead girl turns to face Bullock after his roll and he sees her eyes sparkle like a neon rainbow. She takes a clumsy step, still half sunk in mud. His finger is a feather on the trigger but he notices the barrel dripping the thick slimy mud and decides not to risk firing just as she charges him. He dives back the direction he came from, tucking his rifle as he does. Bullock rolls to his feet and swings the butt of the heavy rifle into the back of her head sending brains and black slime spurting out her fore head. He body falls forward slowly after her brains. He takes no time to celebrate and turns to help the men behind him. He faces them and realizes quickly he is the one in need of help. The first worker and the CDC man that tried to help him are both standing, covered in blood, staring at him with hungry rainbow colored eyes. The third man is twitching on the ground between them and the last CDC man is running up hill, clipboard in hand and helmet still on.

Major Bullock reaches for his sidearm but the faceless man next to him jumps up from the ground and bites off three fingers on his left hand. He pulls his hand away from the dead man with a grunt. He stares at the blood pumping, thick and dark, out of his hand as he stumbles back into the waiting arms behind him. The helmet wearing CDC worker miraculously makes it to the tree line before the major looks uphill with rainbow eyes for the flesh and fear he can smell. The man sees the Captain and the Sergeant leaning on the pick up but they don’t hear his screams under his helmet. He realizes his error and clicks the release notches just as the dead men grab him and pull him back into the trees where they tear him apart.

X

The rumble of the beat up Army convoy truck shakes the ground around Captain Brown and Sergeant Long. It still has a few bends before it is on the section of road visible above them. Captain takes a deep drag off his cigarette and flicks the butt.

Sergeant Long taps another out of his pack and offers it to the Captain. When he takes it Long asks, “Have you heard anything from town, sir?”

“Yeah, the flesh eating insects are gone but the soul eating kinds are dying to get in.” The Captain answers as he lights his smoke.

“The press?” A confused Long asks.

“Yeah. I’ll tell you for “Top Secret” I think there are more people sniffing around these hills now than there was before what ever happened here happened.” Captain Brown takes a drag and spits, “Vultures and fools.”

The rumble of the truck on the road ahead covers the sound of the five dead men with rainbow eyes running up the hill behind the two soldiers. Before he knows the Sergeant next to him won’t be able to hear him over the roar of diesel engine the Captain manages to shout his final words, “At least it’s the end of Grasshopper Season, Sergeant.” As the dead men attack them their screams are drown out by the sound of the army truck passing above.

Minutes later Captain Brown stands up. He is missing his left ear and most of his right cheek. His eyes open and they shine a bright spectrum of neon colors against the dismal burnt ground around him. In a small shack tucked against the ridge something malevolent stirs and the dead run towards the rumbling of the truck. The Corn Eater sulks around the shack. He doesn’t need to lead the dead physically; he feels each one and they feel him. He does need to dig the earth away from the Pulse in the Dark. He smiles and tears away a plank of weathered wood from the shack. He tosses it aside and grabs another. The Pulse will soon shine bright enough to light the forest. After that it will shine bright enough to light the world. He watches through the eyes of the dead as they reach the truck. He smiles when he tastes the flesh. He knows there is more near. He knows as their numbers grow they will swallow the world. He is hungry enough to eat it.