The Queen Bee

Melanie longed for decades to kill her mother’s bees or otherwise get rid of them. She did not want them to suffer; she just wanted them to die. Melissa’s older half-sister’s sentiments confused Melissa until bedbugs infested her university dormitory.

In one instance, Joan agreed with Melanie’s philosophy—when Melissa’s pet tarantula ran away, presumably afraid of the bees. Norman was fine with small bugs and found a few larger ones acceptable, like butterflies, but in general, the larger the bug, the less he liked it. He tended to place them outside instead of swatting them. Reluctantly, Norman allowed Melissa to buy Buttercup if the spider remained cozy and safe in the terrarium or on cleaning day, inside a designated tarantula jar. How, exactly, the tarantula escaped remained a mystery forever, but a family inquest determined it was not a malicious disappearance.

The honeybees surrounding the cottage meekly let Joan pass with her old lady cart and picnic blanket. A few scout bees followed her and peeked through the apiary and shed’s windows. She hid the necessary equipment under the blanket, but she worried the bees smelled it.

To the queen bee’s indignation, Joan caught her yet again and placed her inside a queen bee cage. From a human’s point-of-view, Joan handled the queen gently, but the queen bee felt jostled. Joan wrapped the queen bee cage in a clean hanky.

Ross’s ordeal frightened Melanie, but she would feel better after the battle. Over the years, Melanie thought of the anti-bee weapons and stored an inordinate number of bee killer cans. It distressed Joan, but she overlooked Melanie’s thirst for hemolymph until Ross’s ordeal was over. Melanie’s preparations and Joan’s apparent calmness about the bees’ behavior convinced Ross they expected premeditated bee attacks. The attacks were not necessarily on him, but on somebody, and not necessarily carried out by humans, but expected by humans who did nothing to prevent it.

When Joan returned, she instructed Ross through the cupboard door.

In the lavatory, Melanie removed anything possible, plugged the sink and tub, closed the toilet lid, and taped over the plugs and keyhole. She coated every surface with bee killer, frequently escaping to the hallway for fresher air. Joan had no need for insecticides, even organic ones, and the bees had never been inside her cottage, so she thought the bees would disregard the stench.

Melanie, Joan, and Ross worried a bit about extended skin contact with the pesticide, but they wore several layers under bee suits. Inhaled fumes hopefully caused fewer respiratory problems than anaphylactic shock. The other side effects sounded as pleasant as bee stings, but he, Joan, and Melanie had cleaned up many bodily fluids before. But at least the pesticide did not intend to kill him.

Meanwhile, Norman mixed sugar syrup and spread it over plastic food containers. He poured soapy water into spray bottles, water balloons, and plastic food containers with soapy water. He floated popsicle sticks in pots and bowls of plain water. Finally, he sprayed the sugar syrup, containers of soapy water, and plain water with bee killer.

Emma gathered miscellaneous supplies from around the cottage. With bee killer, she poisoned the bee brushes, the altered swarm box inside and out, and the bee vacuum’s interior, until they dripped. She carried tray loads of Norman’s ammunition upstairs to the lavatory. As Emma hauled up two old paint buckets of water balloons, the insecticide fumes wafted down the hall.

“Are you sure the bee spray is safe?” Emma asked, eyes watering.

“We will need extra oxygen after all,” Melanie wheezed. For Paige’s allergic reactions, Melanie bought very small, portable oxygen tanks, which included masks.

“Positive you feel all right?” Emma asked.

“It needs to dry.” Melanie coughed.

“Let me have a turn.”

Melanie shook her head and after a few tries, said, “No.”

Joan, Melanie, Ross, Emma, and Norman took extra-strength allergy medicine and slathered their faces and necks with hydrocortisone cream. Emma put on her winter things again and the adults borrowed Joan and Norman’s winter clothes. The group wore safety goggles, wellies, and rubber dishwashing gloves. Joan, Melanie, and Ross donned the oxygen masks, but Emma and Norman did not need them. At Norman’s recommendation, they covered the bee suits’ zippers and any gap between layers with duct tape.

Ross, Joan (carrying the queen), and Melanie filed into the lavatory and shut the door. Emma tucked a towel against the door’s crack. She stood on a stool to tape around the door with masking tape. Finally, she placed a chair under the door to prevent accidentally jiggling the handle open.

“Ready,” Emma called.

“Thank you,” Joan said.

Joan unwrapped the queen bee cage, held the cage to Ross’s eye level, and said, “Tell the bees to come indoors so that Ross can apologize properly. They can come in through an open window upstairs. I shall put you on the ledge.”

Ross quavered, “I’d like to apologize to the bees buzzing around the cottage.”

Joan opened the window. She set the queen bee cage down and opened it. Bees promptly clustered around the queen bee.

The queen bee steadily grew suspicious, but except for her nuptial flight, she had never been outside her hive before that day, let alone in a human’s hive. The humans smelled nervous and upset. However, the queen bee obeyed Joan.

The bees swarmed around the window. Ross whimpered and covered his face with his hands.

“Come in,” Joan said. “Come in so Ross can apologize. Have a bit of syrup and a drink of water. Rest your weary exoskeletons.”

The worker bees did not understand how humanhive worked, and they trusted Joan. 40,000 bees flew lethargically into the lavatory, bearding the countertops and walls, unless they collided with each other on the syrup trays and popsicle sticks. So much flying exhausted them and they desperately needed the rest, food, and water.

“Is everybody indoors?” Joan asked, looking out the window. Seeing no other bees, she shut it. She knocked on the door. “Are you there, Emma?”

“Yeah,” Emma said.

“You ought to begin now.”

“All right.”

Outside, Emma and Norman proceeded with their part of the plan.

Ross blubbered and whimpered an incoherent apology for a minute—the longer he talked, the more poison the bees absorbed. His tone confused the bees, who accustomed themselves to Joan’s quiet, steady voice, Norman’s cheerfulness, Emma’s teenaged tones, and Melanie’s temperament. The beekeepers who came and went were more comprehensible than the sweaty, mucusy mess of pheromones who attacked Paige. On the other antennae, Ross, Melanie, and Joan smelled scared. The bees wondered if the humans should be scared of the bees or if the bees should be scared of the humans or something else in the humanhive. It and others they occasionally saw through windows were very unusual places to live.

A bee dropped off the wall, paralyzed, and another struggled for a position on a popsicle stick, fell in, and found herself unable to swim out. Within seconds, other bees sent out an alarm signal.

Refreshed bees flew towards Ross, who shrieked. Melanie and Joan clamped lids on top of the food containers, trapping bees inside. She considered hunting for the queen but thought she made little difference to the bees’ tactics. Often through the slaughter, Melanie cackled.

“Vacuum up the bees, Ross,” Joan said.

Ross flailed with the vacuum, but Joan specifically instructed him to move calmly. Frantic movements provoked bee attacks. With one hand, Joan brushed bees from him, spreading bee killer across their bodies, injuring their legs and wings, and theoretically provoking them to attack her instead. With her other hand, she sprayed them with soapy water, which either drowned them or made them damp and heavy.

Immediately after Ross gained control of the vacuum, he fell over.

“Are you hurt?” Joan asked.

Ross whimpered and rolled onto his back. Joan turned off the vacuum.

“Ross! Are you hurt?”

He shook his head and spluttered something about the vacuum being off. Joan turned it on and he aimed at the bees. According to the plan, Ross needed to vacuum his entire body, but he focused instinctively on his face and neck.

It looked as if Ross’s bee suit was made of bees. The honeybees crawled over him, stepped on each other, or hit each other with wings, and pushed the dead aside. Altogether, the bees were surprisingly heavy. The bees stung Ross, but his clothing and the bee suit protected him. However, the sheer number of stings meant some penetrated his clothes. Others prepared to land.

The bees considered Melanie and Joan minor inconveniences. Bearding the bathtub and shower walls, they waited for an opportune moment to attack Ross and avoid the vacuum simultaneously.

A cloud of bees surrounded Melanie, but she sprayed them with one or two bottles of soapy water.

Joan wanted the bees to attack her. She hoped to distract them from Ross and especially Melanie. Naturally, Joan felt deeper concern for Melanie than Ross, but she prayed Ross survived. Panic-induced cardiac arrest seemed a more likely cause of death than anaphylaxis.

Joan switched off the full vacuum and took it from Ross, which was the signal for Melanie to barrage Ross with water balloons. Melanie’s water balloons drove bees into the air again and they landed on the ceilings and walls. Having emptied the vacuum into the swarm box, Joan suctioned bees covering the walls and ceiling; she assumed the ones on the flat surfaces were weaker.

The bees moved aside as Joan suctioned them and some regained their positions after one of Melanie’s water balloons, but they observed their attacks were ineffective. Though thousands of bees had stung Melanie, Ross, and even Joan, only Ross showed the slightest sign of a reaction. Joan had taught her bees the human’s scared dance—curling into a ball and whimpering—and Ross displayed it excellently.

Joan switched off the full vacuum.

“Are they dead?” Ross sobbed.

“I estimate about 20,000 bees on the walls and ceilings,” Joan said. “But, look, she fell off.”

Melanie happily said, “The pesticide worked!”

“Good. No offense, Auntie, Joan,” Ross said.

“Needs must,” Joan said.

More bees fell. Others flew to a flat surface, but some became paralyzed mid-air. Joan, Ross, and Melanie pelted the remaining water balloons at them.

“Melanie, I’m awfully hot,” Joan said, delicately moving food containers from the toilet seat to the counter as if a slosh was the only thing threatening the bees inside. “But I will feel better if I sit.”

“I’ll hurry up and kill them. Ross Andrews, do something before my mum has heat exhaustion.”

“They stung me,” Ross said.

“Is your airway closing?” Melanie asked.

“I don’t…think so?”

“Since you can’t tell, you are fine.”

“Melanie!” Joan said in her affronted mother voice.

Totally unchagrined, Melanie said, “Kill bees, Ross, before my mum has heat exhaustion. Use water balloons or spray bottles.”

Joan rested her head on the counter and waited patiently.

Melanie stepped into the bathtub and sprayed her last pesticide can over the bees. They cascaded down the walls and off the ceiling. Ross tossed water balloons or sprayed water at straggling bees elsewhere in the lavatory.

The thousands of living bees clustered into an irregular shape, and synchronized a flight at Ross. They stung him.