Earth Afire (The First Formic War)

had been destroyed. Maybe the Formics here in China were all that was left of them.
    “Mazer.” A whisper.
    Mazer turned. Bingwen was beside him, sitting on the floor hugging his knees tightly to his chest.
    “I am sorry for asking you to stay. That was selfish.”
    “You don’t have to apologize, Bingwen. I’d stay if I could. I’m sorry I can’t.”
    The boy nodded but didn’t leave.
    Mazer waited. Bingwen stared at the floor.
    “Is there something else you wanted to say, Bingwen?”
    The boy nodded, but he didn’t look at Mazer. “You must tell Grandfather something. Before you leave. I cannot tell him. I have tried many times, but the words won’t come.”
    Mazer waited. The boy said nothing.
    “What must I tell him, Bingwen?”
    In the moonlight Mazer could see tears running down Bingwen’s cheeks. The boy didn’t make a sound. He wiped at his face with his sleeve then spoke in a whisper. “My parents. They will not be waiting for us in the north. The day I came for you, I saw them.” He shook his head, ashamed. “I did not bury them. And now they are in the mountain of death, piled with all the dead things. I have dishonored them.”
    Mazer sat up and took the boy in his arms. “You have not dishonored them, Bingwen. Don’t think such a thing. You have honored them by helping me .” He didn’t know what else to say. The boy shook silently in his arms. Mazer could see Danwen’s silhouette in the doorway, looking in his direction. Mazer held up a hand to indicate that all was well.
    Sometime later Bingwen fell asleep. Only then did Mazer release him, gently laying him on his mat on the floor. Mazer lay down on the wood planks beside him, eyes weary and body weak. The rice and bamboo were filling his stomach but doing little more than that. His energy was down. He needed nutrients. Judging by how gaunt his body looked and felt, he guessed he had lost about seven kilos, or fifteen pounds. It was weight he couldn’t afford to lose—he had had almost no body fat to begin with.
    Outside, the night was still and quiet. It had taken Mazer a week to get used to the silence. No birds fluttered; no mice or small creatures rustled in the grass; no insects chirped in the darkness. The Formics had burned the land and everything with it, and left nothing behind but the wind.
    Mazer woke suddenly. He had slipped into sleep, but now a sound had awoken him. A soft noise that didn’t belong. He sat up and saw it, standing at the door, just outside, its wand leveled at Danwen’s face. The old man was asleep, completely oblivious. Mazer was up and running. The wand released a single puff of mist into Danwen’s face. The old man moaned quietly. The Formic looked up, sensing movement in the darkness. Then Mazer threw himself at the creature before it could raise the wand again.
    They collided and tumbled out into the yard, the creature flailing. Mazer ripped its hand from the wand. Its other hands clawed at him. A leg kicked him. It was strong, Mazer realized. Stronger than he had expected, like an ape. It was scrabbling for him, reaching for him, twisting, fighting, trying to bite at him with its maw. They rolled in the dirt. It struck Mazer on the back, a colossal blow that sent pain ripping though his upper body. The creature was desperate, kicking, bucking. Mazer felt his grip weakening; his strength was not what it was. He twisted and maneuvered himself behind the Formic then wrapped his legs around its torso, pinning its arms to its side. The creature thrashed, desperate, angry. Mazer thought the backpack of defoliant might break and cover him in the liquid.
    “Grandfather?”
    Bingwen was at the door, looking down at the old man, whose body had slumped to the side.
    “Get back!” Mazer shouted. “Cover your mouth!”
    Bingwen retreated back into the darkness. The creature kicked and thrashed. Mazer wrapped his arms around the Formic’s head and jerked it violently to one side. Something cracked. Mazer felt muscle and bone or cartilage tear. The Formic went limp.
    Mazer held it a moment longer, then released it, kicking it away. His heart was pounding. There was moisture on his arms and legs. He wasn’t sure if it was his sweat or the Formic’s. He gagged. But then he extended his neck and controlled the reflex.
    He heard the soft patter of feet. Footsteps. But not human ones. They were coming from behind the barn. Danwen’s sword lay in the dirt near the doorway. Mazer looked for any remnant