The Last Day

ONE

Outside Concord, North Carolina the third Sunday in August

Sitting cross- legged on the cool clay floor, the watcher used the tip of his survival knife to carve another letter into the wall of his hide. After he inspected the letter-an O — he ran the sharpening stone against the blade, holstered the knife, and set it down gently by his side.

The midday sun cooked the still air outside the hole. He looked out at the rear of a sleek, modern house through the four- inch opening in the trap door. When the interior lights were on, and it was adequately dark, looking through the large windows reminded him of peacefully watching fish in a tank. The house's two occupants-a man and his wife-swam from room to room like trout. He often watched their big TV screen through his binoculars, over the back of the leather sofa. Rarely were the residents together for more than a few minutes. Their conversations were short ones, and the obvious emotional distance gave the watcher great pleasure.

The sound of a motor's purr caught the watcher's attention as he looked up in time to see the wife's Lexus coming around the house while the garage door opened. He felt a rapidly growing sense of arousal watching the SUV roll slowly into its bay. The woman was not perfect, but nevertheless a beautiful and desirable creature.

Watcher switched off the iPod, opened his rucksack, drew out a jar, and held it up, illuminating six large dark- shelled beetles he'd found under a rotten log that morning on his way to the hide. In the sunlight, their ebony armor had the iridescence of raku pottery. The bugs ambled along, content, creeping like tanks over the bottom of the jar he had brought to urinate into while he was in the hide. The insects would walk around in circles, try to scale the walls, and climb over each other for the rest of their lives, constantly looking for a way out. The man knew this from experience. He knew a great deal about captive behavior. While it was true that the bugs were docile, he had experience with beetles and many other creatures whose demeanor seemed fixed… until outside forces intervened.

Finding a drinking straw, the man opened the jar and set the lid aside. He used the end of the straw to jab at the insects, prodding each once or twice before going to the next. After a few seconds a steady hissing sound, like a leaking tire, erupted from the jar's inhabitants. He smiled, knowing that before long the seemingly docile beetles would attack each other and begin using their powerful jaws to dismantle their mates, leaving severed appendages in the jar's bottom. And he would release the victor-the bug with the most limbs left-and crush the losers under his boots. His grin widened as he watched the garage door close, the hissing of the insects reaching a frenzy.