Upon entering the garage, Diana saw Mark's ingenuity on full display. During her time inside, he had attached an L-shaped metal bracket about 1 inch below the water gun's nozzle so that the flat metal came out parallel with the ground and stuck out a few inches in front of it. To the end he had stuck a piece of sticky tack. He looked up at his wife and silently took the items from her. He wrapped the nozzle with the tinfoil, leaving only the open exposed. He then took the candle and stuck it to the top of the sticky tack, allowing the nozzle's contents a clear exit over the candle.

"How does this help the water stream power?"

Mark replied by reaching behind him. He hoisted a lawnmower petrol container and poured its contents into the gun. He then lit the candle.

Diana's jaw dropped, and her mind started reeling at the potential next few minutes. But her mouth refused to cooperate with her brain. "Mark…Mark…Mark…" was all she could say.

Mark was too busy opening the door. Cradling his new firearm suited for mass destruction, his eyes pointed narrowly ahead as he stepped forward in growing confidence. Making his way towards the stairs, Mark kept both his gaze and weapon poised at the first sign of black animation. Diana shivered behind him and kept herself close.

They didn't need long to wait. The procession of beady-eyed insurgents began at the very top step, who were too enamored with the convention to notice the two skulking figures approaching from behind. The chanting chorus drowned out the sound of Mark aiming squarely at the most densely crowded clump and pressing with all his might on the trigger.

The effect was immediate. Orange spikes penetrated the cluster and sent roaches spiraling downwards onto the floor one by one in sizzling agony. Immediately, the voices stopped, and Mark and Diana had the disturbing sensation that over 20,000 pairs of eyes were trained on them. For one sickly second, the two parties eyed each other curiously. At that moment, Mark and Diana saw that only one surface remained largely uninfected amongst the entire room: Mark's pillow on the bed. Directly on top of it sat with royal pomposity a single cockroach, who faced his whole congregation. As its twisty little form twittered back and forth across the pillow, it gave the impression it was ruminating on the proper course for reaction. Finally, it stopped and faced Mark.

"Les hommes…"

Mark didn't wait to hear the rest. Squeezing the trigger, he burst forth waves of bright orange ecstasy directly at his pillow. But the flames showed no indiscrimination, and it wasn't long before the entire bed was up in flames. While Mark could hear the little foes crackling all over its mattress, he could also hear his wife behind him loudly berating his carelessness.  But it no longer mattered. "GAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" Mark could no longer control himself, sending firestorms in every direction that didn't include his wife. A blazing holocaust soon surrounded the couple, but Mark was too far gone to release his finger now. They were both too entranced by the spectacle of it all to recognize that the heat was driving sweat down their clothing onto the floor. It took a full minute before Mark finally released his grip on the trigger. Nothing could be heard anymore but Dante's Inferno and its million suffering residents.

Diana was hugging Mark from behind. "Thank you, Mark," she whispered.

Mark smiled to himself. "For incinerating everything within my sight?"

Diana shook her head. "No, for stopping."

Mark whipped around to face his wife. "I didn't stop." His eyes were swathed in panic. "I ran out of ammo!" He held up the water gun and shook it for emphasis.

"Well, it's fine, Mark, I think we got them all. Now we just need to find out if our insurance will cover this."

Mark's concerns were more immediate.  "Diana, where are we gonna sleep tonight?"

Diana stopped to think, but suddenly, the sound of something immensely heavy toppling and hitting the tiled floor came from downstairs. The fridge had fallen over. Diana and Mark's faces turned bright white. With reluctance, the couple began creeping fearfully down the stairs. Mark aimed his weapon in front of him, but no expression of confidence he forced on himself could help him forget its hallow contents.

The kitchen revealed their greatest horror come true: another set of fiendish foes awaited their arrival. An army of ready roaches stood on the fallen fridge, facing the approaching couple with an ardor that would have frightened anyone. Mark aimed his gun and shot out, "Anyone dares approach me or my wife gets sent straight to the great roach nest in the sky!!"

"Truce!"

Mark and Diana were taken aback. What? Did they hear that right?

"Truce!" came the entreaty for the second time.

Diana found her tongue and spoke to the insects. "Are you saying you want to halt fighting? Is that what you want?"

"Truce!" the roaches called a third time. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Mark, they want a truce!" She rubbed his shoulders in excitement. "I guess they can speak English after all!"

"Or, at least that one word, anyway."

Diana held her hand out to symbolize a handshake. "Okay, truce!" The next was said to her husband. "Okay, put your gun down, show you mean it."

Mark complied.

"Truce! Truce…truce…truce…truce…truce!" came a chorus of squeaky voices, clearly enamored with this new word in a foreign language.

"See, Mark, they can be reasoned with after all!"

“Hommes, préparez vos troupes. L’opération de déménagement commence dans exactement 30 minutes.”

Mark turned to face his wife. "See? They can't speak English at all. They still only speak French." 

Diana still wasn't sure. She called out "truce!" once more, but there was no reply this time. Instead, the roaches seemed to be moving en masse out the door, a giant procession of black heading into the night.

"We're not out of the woods yet, Diana."

"Yes, we need someone who can speak French. Do you think Margie can?"

Mark's eyes brightened. It was the first time he genuinely looked excited the whole day. "Maybe! Give her a call!"

Diana pulled her phone out and dialed Margie with a renewed zest. The phone rang for a full minute.

"Mark, it's only 3 in the morning. Do you think she'll be…”?

CLICK! "Hello?" Margie's voice came groggily. “It's the middle of the night, Diana. This better be good."

"Margie, you said you could speak two languages today. What's the second language?"

Margie didn't reply immediately. "What on Earth, girl? You wake me up in the middle of the night to ask me this?"

"Please, Margie, it's a life or death situation. Please, what language can you speak?"

There was a loud sigh on the other end of the line. "French."

Diana could barely contain her excitement now. "Great! Great! Can you be here at 7 tomorrow morning?"

The groan from the other end of the line shook the phone in her hand. "What kind of life or death situation is this? What else do you need?"

"Cockroach repellant," this came from Mark. He was still eying the door, which the roaches had been polite enough to close behind them.

"Can you bring some cockroach spray? Please?"

"Fine!! Fine!!" Margie was clearly exasperated. 'That better be it, I intend to get some sleep now!"

"Please Margie, please be here tomorrow morning. We need you now more than ever before."

There was a grunt of affirmation. The click affirmed her departure.

"Oh, Mark, we're saved! This nightmare is over!"

Mark allowed himself to smile. It really did seem as if the worst were behind them. But just as quickly, the smile disappeared.

"Diana, we forgot to put out the bedroom fire!"

Diana's hands went straight to her mouth. She was halfway to the garage door to fill a bucket with water when she stopped in confusion.

"Mark, what's that noise?"

There was indeed a sound, building all the time. Yes, the noise was clearly audible now. What had started as a simple scratching was spiraling into a gigantic mass of bustling activity. And was the house shaking?

"Where's that coming from, Mark?"

"I think it's coming from under the house," Mark was confused.