1

The sun had become crimson at the beginning of its' afternoon decent, casting an orange blanket upon the countryside. The spruce trees that outlined the road to the Scranton Estate along with its structures; the stables, workhouse, barn and residence with their red paint seemed to be on fire from the sky's hue and it made the mild spring temperature feel at least twenty degrees warmer. The farm hands were well tired from the long days endeavors but were relieved in knowing that they would be finishing shortly and within the hour their day would be over. A slight breeze from the north forced the grasses and branches its way while sending a refreshing respite from the dry Colorado air and with it a small sense of peace to the farmsteads' owner. Major Miles Scranton U. S. Army Ret. stood on the bedroom balcony surveying the land. The serene scene that had unfolded before him helped to ease his mind, also knowing that James West, an Army colleague and friend, would be arriving soon, aided in lifting the worry that was overtaking him. The Major put aside the urgency he asked Jim to help him with; the Major had not seen his friend in years and it felt good to be seeing him again. The Major pulled his evening coat over his barreled chest as he exited the bedroom and started to descend the staircase recalling the last time he and West was together; New Orleans, three years after the War, they had ran into each other, found a saloon, and drank themselves into a stupor. West could not believe that Scranton had wanted to retire and become a farmer. "Retire!?! Losing a talented officer such as you will leave the Army without claws," West was to say.

"Miles dear," The Major was upsettingly pulled from the past and placed into the present, "Are you certain that you want to visit your company in that dusty ol' library?" Elva, his wife of six months asked.

"Why not?" the Major inquired as they stepped into the room.

With a wave of her hand to ward off the dust, she answered with a little cough, "I know how cautious you've been lately, and rightfully so, but it is such a wonderful day. You should consider entertaining outside."

The Major grunted.

"I have already made lemonade and…" she moved toward him, realizing the pressure and tension the Major was experiencing, Elva cradled his hardened face in her hands and continued, "…everything's going to be alright."

The Major explained, "Darling, what I have to lose is so much greater than myself, my land, or my money…"

Elva's assuring expression changed to curiosity as the Major went on, "During the war, I had very little to lose. No home, roots…" He pressed her hands with his and locked his gaze into her eyes, "…now I have you. 'The greatest and most precious piece of my life."

Without blinking, Elva gently swept some of the Majors' graying locks from his brow, and reassuringly told him, "You will always have me."

Elva pinched his lips into a pucker and kissed him, afterward she broke away and with a wink, said, "If you insist on remaining here in this dustbowl of a library, do not waste this beautiful day…" she motioned toward the wall, "… you can at least open the curtains for some light and a window, or door to ventilate some of this stale air while I fetch the refreshments."

The Major wryly smiled, clicked his heels and with a salute declared, "Yes, Ma'am."

The glow from outside did resurrect the room as the curtains were opened, revealed was the rich earthly colors of the furniture. The affect of the rug and its intricate design carried warmth and energy, revitalizing the dark and dreary room as the Major opened the tall patio doors letting the outside cascade in.

It had been a wearing four months since he had started receiving the disturbing letters, and he hadn't stepped outside for weeks. He stood at the opening; feeling the warmth of the sun, it surprisingly relaxed him. And while he was absorbing the calm of the moment he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath to enjoy the refreshing air.

A shadow slowly descended over his face. He felt the gentle wind caressing his skin, moving about his tousled hair. The shadow grew ever darker and he opened his eyes only to see blackness. The Major tried taking a gulp of air, his gasp cut short by tiny hooks and needles filling his mouth. Not understanding what was happening, panic swept over him, lightning shot across his eyes and his skin screamed as waves of burning barbs washed over his head. Scranton clawed at the entity that had swallowed him only to realize that his attempt was futile, scalding pain was the only thing his hands could come away with. The shadow was alive and unrelenting.

**********

Elva was on her way back to the library when there was a knock at the front door. She was somewhat befuddled; as she wanted to answer the door but had both hands occupied with the tray of refreshments. There was another knock; Elva placed the tray on a side table, and was able to reach the door before the third knock was delivered.

James West' smile broadened even more as Elva's beauty took him by surprise, to the point of almost stammering, "Good afternoon, is the lady of the house in?"

Elva flashed a smile and answered, "I am the lady of the house, Mr...."

"West… James West." He added to her sentence while removing his hat.

After exchanging pleasantries, Elva retrieved the tray and started to escort West to the library. Elva continued their conversation as they walked, "We are so glad you could call on such short notice."

West almost forgot to respond because he was still taking her in. She had marvelous hair; the color was a rich auburn and even with it pulled up, it ebbed and flowed with her every move; her face seemed to shine from the inside out, with eyes of such a deep and brilliant blue that, West felt a man could get lost in them and never come back. Her shoulders fell beautifully into the ruffles of her dress, which captured the exquisiteness of her figure. West noticed the she seemed to effortlessly float as she walked, graceful and confident.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he answered, "the Major is a fine man and a good friend."

West reached around Elva, to get the library door since she was still toting the tray. With a 'thank you' nod, the delightful Elva preceded West into the room. There was a tremendous crash as the tray belonging the refreshments and goblets tumbled to the floor. West darted passed the horrified Elva, her hands to her mouth to cover a shriek that could not come, and a cold shudder ran through his body. In the middle of the library floor, convulsing in the light of the setting sun, laid the Major. West recognized the bulky, barrel-chested form of his friend; it was his face he could not see. It had been replaced with a gruesome, living shroud of insects. Disbelieving, West adjusted his eyes only to come to the horrifying reality that the mask was a churning and garish swarm. From the open doors came a steady flood of creatures, mostly flying, but also hopping, scurrying, and crawling upon the Majors' face and upper torso. A mountain of wasps, yellow jackets and bees in a violent, frenzied attack replaced the Majors' upper body. A veil of living death and the buzzing from their wings had the sound of fury. James West could swear that the insects were screaming.

2

It had been hours since the horrific and bizarre incident that left Miles Scranton precariously hanging on to life, struggling for air through constant, excruciating pain; battling to breathe while thousands of stings and insect bites continued to poison and swell his face, mouth, and throat. The Majors' appearance changed dramatically, the pressure from the distension, stretched the once leathery wrinkled face, neck, and hands into surreal, shimmering balloons, glistening from a mixture of sweat, venom, and watery discharge. His complexion a mixture of purple, blue, and green hues, covered most of his face and hands. Scranton was rushed to his room with cold compresses applied to his injured areas. The doctor from down the way was sent for, only after West, with some farmhands who were alerted by Elva's screams, tried removing the mass of insects but to no avail. Armed merely with curtains torn from their posts, West and the other rescuers had attempted to strip off the possessed wasps, hornets, bees, and other insects that had joined in the attack. Ants and spiders were also among the masses of insects removed, only to return and continue their frenzied assault. Buckets of water had finally been used to wash and strip away the majority of the insects long enough to spirit the Major to safety.

Downstairs in the living room, West along with the others who had tried so feverishly to save the Major was getting their wounds tended to by the house staff. Most of West's stings were on his hands; some more dotted his face and neck. Immense pain shot through his hands even though heaps of ointment and salve was being applied. He had never felt so toxic; over the years he had been subjected to a wide variety of drugs; by injection, gassing, and by the occasional 'mickey' slipped into a drink, and had never experienced illness at this level. He could not believe that the Major was still alive. West was nauseous and exhausted; after his bandaging was finished he slumped into his chair. So many thoughts were racing around his head and he couldn't concentrate due to the pain and dizziness from the insects' venom. The beating of wings and the struggled gasps of the Major haunted him. Wests' hands pounded against the tautness of the bandages, the immense burning and pain subsided somewhat and West concluded that he was probably experiencing so much pain that his body must have momentarily shut down, it would only be a brief mechanism of his system, so he figured he'd better try to wrap his brain around what had just happened before the pain returned.

Three days ago, West had received an urgent telegram from an old friend and fellow army officer; Major Miles Scranton; now husband and farmer. The Major had pleaded for assistance. Not only was his life in danger but also that of his beautiful bride's. With the telegram was a package containing seven letters the Major had been receiving the four months prior. Each note contained a threat to his life plus details of his daily routines and that of his wife's as well. West knew that if a man as capable as the Major had asked for his help the situation must be dire. So, being granted a furlough, West had the train re-tracked and left from San Francisco only to arrive, it seemed, a moment too late.

West had to steady himself, for the pain was returning. His fingers felt as if they were searing on hot coals while sharp flashes of fire shot through his palms and up his forearms. Biting his lip he closed his eyes to try and stable himself and ward off the pain, before he knew it he was fast asleep.

*********

When West had awakened he found himself in bed and not in the Scranton living room, with a glance out the window, not at the same time either. The room was dark and West wondered how long had he been unconscious. Was it the same night or did he sleep through a day, maybe more? The pain buzzing around his head and hands had to wait; he needed to gather his bearings first before he could let that distract him. He slowly rose from the bed and noticed that he had no clothes on, save underwear. Jim sat on the edge of the bed and adjusted his eyes to the dark; Jim started to realize that he was not at the Scranton farm at all, and it smelled like a stable for a brief moment until he became aware of how much he had perspired; he smelled and the bed sheets was soaked with sweat. West found a robe draped over the brass footwork of the bed and slipped it on while shutting the window. Looking outside, it appeared to be the main street of a town; horses were posted along the buildings, people moving to and fro, and the sounds of a saloon piano and people in song was lofting from down the way. West' attention was grabbed when he heard a noise and saw light peeking from under the door to an adjoining room. West took a quick glance around the area searching for a weapon only to find a vase with some two-week-old posies in it. With his hands injured and his gun nowhere in sight, West wasn't going to take any chances. He grabbed the vase and slowly turned the doorknob. Easing the door a crack he peered into the other room. Not being able to make anything out he decided to attack first and ask questions later. West flung the door wide with vase held high ready to strike as he entered the room.

"Flowers, for me James…" Artemus flung at West, "…you shouldn't have."

West breathed a sigh of relief, "Artie, I'm glad it's you."

"James my boy, it is I who should be relieved," West' partner continued, "I thought you might be pushin' up daisies instead of threatening me with them."

Artie opened the table by pushing a chair out for West and motioned for him to have a seat, the table housed the letters, a map and a pencil.

"How long was I…?" Jim asked not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Out?" Artie finished Jim's question, "Two days. I had you brought here, I felt that caution was in order and I wanted to make sure you were safe, instead of staying in a possible vipers' den."

West turned a brow.

"Take a look at the envelopes Jim," Artie went on, dismissing West' reaction to his comment, "the first few have post marks, and the remaining four do not."

"Artemus, show me something I haven't noticed already," West said setting down the vase and pulling up the chair to hear what Artie had deduced.

Artemus started opening the letters and displaying them on the table, "The letter writer is very meticulous; look, each and every word the exact same size, also the placement, spacing and format of all the letters are the same."

Jim acknowledged what Artie was saying, "And…"

Picking up his 'cue' Artie presented one of the letters to Jim, " The content is almost like a sermon, take this line for instance: The plague will swallow your body and soul, given the sins you have bestowed upon your brethren."

West studied the script, Artie displayed the envelopes around the table, and followed it up by, "The letters were sent from different towns but all are basically in the same general area in the region. Jim, if the writer is this narrow and compulsive, he might have written and mailed them at the same time each day."

West started to understand where his partner was going and moved the map toward Artemus to carry on with the thought.

"Lets assume that our writer does mail his letters at the same time everyday, say one o'clock," Artie grabbed a pencil and started doing calculations on the map, " Which town does he leave from in order to send his letter by the required time?"

Artie continued scribbling on the map and taking measurements, after a few moments he concluded circling a small area on the map, "There's your mystery writer's whereabouts."

Jim interjected, "Artie that's a stretch, what if he had them delivered, it could be any of those towns." Jim continued, "What of the letters that had no post marks?"

"He either had someone bring the letters or he left them off himself." Artie answered.

"Or…" West said, stepping from the table and over to his belongings.

Artie had folded Jim's clothes and set them on a chest of drawers, along with his hat and gun belt.

Jim began dressing and concluded, "…or the writer was there already. It's possible that the writer could be any one of the Major's farm hands."

With that, West recalling the Major asked, "Artie did the Major… how long?"

Artemus grew somber, "He passed a few hours after the attack Jim."

West stood still for a moment absorbing the bad news; he then pulled himself together, slipped on his boots, clamped on his gun belt, and whisked out his revolver, flipping open the chamber to check if it was fully loaded, he asked, "What time is it Artie?"

Looking at his pocket watch Gordon answered, "Almost ten thirty."

West put on his hat and made his way to the door, turning to Artemus, "I think its time for some answers. You coming?"

3

West and Gordon arrived at the Scranton farm a little before midnight; both men having doubts about the innocence of the Major and Elva's house staff. The home had been cheery and bright in the daytime but it seemed sinister and unsettling at night. West shook off the feeling, telling himself that it was the circumstances and the night chill creating his reaction. When they reached the house the duo dismounted and tethered their horses to the porch banister.

Again, Artie asked, "Are you sure that you want to disturb the widow at this late hour?"

"I want to rattle whomever our assassin might be and disturbing their sleep will give us the edge with our questioning." West explained as they approached the door.

West had rapped on the door and when there was no answer, he and Gordon silently agreed that something was amiss. Finding the door locked, Gordon produced a long, flat, notched metal file from his jacket pocket and started to pursue entry. As Artie went to work with his picklock, Jim tried the nearest windows to see if they were unlatched. A few moments passed and Artie disabled the lock and opened the door a crack, "Jim…" he called out in a whisper. He called for Jim a second time. Glancing around and not finding West, Artie deduced that Jim must have circled the house to find another way in. Just then a set of fingers slipped eerily from behind the door startling Artie. He straightened from his crouch and started to scramble for a justification about his being there at such an hour as the door slowly inched open. A million excuses flooded Artie's mind but they seemed to quickly fade as he unnervingly tried to retain one. The door was suddenly pulled back revealing West inside flashing an obnoxious smile, "An open servant's window," he answered, knowing what Artie's upcoming question was to be.

"I want a new partner," he hissed at West.

West stepped aside and let his relieved, yet irritated friend pass, "The servant's rooms are empty, I haven't checked the upstairs."

As they approached the stairs Artie stopped West, "Shouldn't we examine the murder scene?"

West silently agreed and they entered the library, closing the door behind them. Jim lit a match and then used it to find and light some lamps nearby. Jim gave Artie a brief account of what he had experienced, where the victim lay and where he and Elva were as they entered the room. Artie scanned the area as West exited the library via the patio doors and stepped outside. Jim extended his lamp above his head to gaze upon the roof; only wooden tiles stared back at him. He thought he saw something from the corner of his eye and slowly and inconspicuously scanned the area but was interrupted by Artie calling for him, "Jim," he motioned for West, "help me with this armoire."

Artie had set his lamp on the floor and took up a side to move. The men slid the piece forward.

"What do we have here?" asked Gordon as he got on his hands and knees, bringing his lamp to illuminate what he had found.

Near the floorboard was a small pile of insects, apparently dead.

"Interesting," West commented as Artie separated the pile with his picklock.

"What is it Jim?"

West picked up a piece of glass from the middle of the scattered insects.

The light from the lamps made the shard glint and shimmer, West answered, "It's from one of the goblets Elva was carrying when we found the Major," he swept the floor with his eyes, "it must have been missed during the clean up."

"Why the bugs?" Artie wondered aloud, not realizing he had his makeshift insect remover resting in the corner of his mouth.

Artie gave a little spat on discovering that he had the picklock used to move the dead insects resting on his lip as West answered, "Maybe Elva should answer that, Artie."

West slipped the glass in to his jacket pocket, becoming evermore concerned of the mysterious questions popping up, like; how can wasps and bees be turned into a murder weapon; why would it be used to kill Scranton; and the worst question of all, to what extent could this weapon be exploited.

With their lamps in hand West and Gordon left the library and ascended to the second floor. Finding the master bedroom, both men slipped quietly inside hoping to find Elva and some answers for those questions.

The moonlight shone through the shears and glass doors of the bedroom balcony, which gave the space an eerie and unsettling atmosphere. There was iciness to the air and it felt as if every article in the room was frozen. On the bed was the distinct shape of a woman lying on her side, under the covers, facing West and Gordon; the moonlight from behind cast a shadow over her face and across the blankets. Unable to see the woman's face both men leveled their lamps as they made their way to the edge of the bed.

"It's not her," said West, "it's not Elva."

"Your right," Gordon affirmed. He had met Elva Scranton when gathering West almost three days earlier, "I distinctly remember the hair to be lighter on Mrs. Scranton."

Jim agreed as he finally recognized her, "She was one of the servants who helped tend to my stings after the attack, Artie."

"Did you get her name?" asked Artie.

"There was too much confusion and panic going on," West answered.

Artie reached for the carotid artery along the young girls neck, he shook his head to West, confirming what both men already knew, she was dead.

**********

As West and Gordon were upstairs trying to comprehend the events of late, shadows moved in the stillness of the rooms below. Two men were pouring kerosene around the first floor, moving silently while strategically dumping the flammable liquid to and fro. Across entryways and window curtains. With wide splashes placed over the walls, and zigzags throughout the hallways. They had already prepared the outside of the house while watching West and Gordon's every move inside, after igniting the outside fuel, they then enclosed themselves within the burning house, and pressed on with their suicidal mission.

********

The clock at the top the stairs struck its first chime to announce midnight, startled, West and Gordon went for their guns. They had stopped drawing their pistols by the second chime, having recognized what had pierced the stillness. Just then Artie raised his nose and took a sniff from the air, not truly believing what he thought he smelled, he asked his partner, "What's that smell?"

Jim caught a whiff, the odor was distinctive and West recognized the tang, "Kerosene…" he paused a brief moment then continued his observation, "…and smoke."

4

Both Gordon and West knew that they had just walked into a trap, but they had faced situations like this before, each of them knowing and respecting the others abilities during dire circumstances. West had an inert sense of survival and a perception that there is always a way to escape; wrapping himself a cold, sharp, and resolute cloak of stone while his reflexes and movements become direct and focused; his senses heighten, taking all in.

Gordon being just as alert and conscious as West, yet his nature is to overcome adverse situations with wit and humor, "And me without marshmallows."

West started toward the balcony but stopped when he saw flames licking the sky outside, "Has to be another way out," he stated to Artie as he headed for the bedroom door.

Two bullets punched the door and archway, sending splinters into West' cheek, he spun backward into the wall while withdrawing and cocking the hammer of his revolver with a single, fluid motion.

"You gotta be kidding," Artie asked in disbelief, "They're inside the burning building with us?"

"Apparently killing us by fire isn't good enough, Artie," West answered, "Whoever it is wants to shoot us as well."

"Great." said Gordon sarcastically as he un-holstered his gun and took position opposite West on the other side of the doorway.

Peeking out, West noticed how illuminated the downstairs was. He figured that the light was from the fire outside but it would not remain outside for long. From behind the curtained entrance to the living room appeared a gunman who let loose another shot that made West pull back.

"We're pinned in," Jim informed his partner, "and with his vantage point we don't have any cover."

Artie set his gun back in its holster and grabbed the lamps, "Since the house is already alight, how about fighting fire with fire," Artie turned to Jim, "how's your gun hand?"

Jim readied himself as Artie stepped alongside the doorway and threw the first lamp, arcing it high and far giving him a brief moment to release the second lamp a split second behind the first. Before the lanterns reached the floor, West, almost effortlessly, shot both and a blast of flame and glass scattered across the foyer. Simultaneously Gordon, with West close behind, had started to make their way to the adjacent room. As they ran the entire ground floor erupted with an immense flash. The fireballs created from West and Gordon's makeshift cover ignited the kerosene that had already been distributed throughout the ground floor. Caught off guard by the surge of light and heat, Artie and Jim bounced off the wall, half-falling-half-diving into the other room, ending up in the den.

Embers spun in frantic circles and intensified within the room. West and Gordon started to have difficulty breathing as smoke and soot eked from the corners, fissures and cracks rapidly overtaking the space. West opened the nearest window and had to catch his balance as the structure suddenly shifted and the floor began to seethe flame and ash, like a topsy-turvy sifter.

Staying low Artie peered around the doorway and even with his eyes tearing and burning, he could make out the image of two figures within the flames. A couple of more rounds shattered the still chiming clock that sat along the upstairs wall.

"They're still with us, Jim."

West looked out the window and saw the fire climbing up the wall, the blaze making the area outside glow with a dancing brilliance, illuminating the barn across the way. West reached into his jacket pocket revealing two pitons, he inserted one into the barrel of his .45 and from under his vest he pulled a cord, which he then fastened to the spike at the end of his gun. West reached from the opened window and discharged his weapon sending the strung spear well into the wall of the barn. Without thought he spun around, already having the second piton in firing position, West sent this one into one of the ceiling braces. Leaping onto a loveseat West retrieved the remainder of the cord and as smoke engulfed his arms and hands he secured the line to the piton lodged in the ceiling. The loveseat under West gave a bit as the floor dipped again as the fire continued to destroy it from below.

"We have to go, Artie." Jim barked.

Artemus fired a couple rounds down the stairwell and turned to West in amazement, "You're not going to believe this…" he said, "…they're advancing through the flames, Jim they're on fire!"

Artie made his way through the rising rush of heat and flame grabbing the zip line apparatus that West had waiting for him. Gordon then crashed through the remainder of the window, skimming on the line to the barn, hitting it with a thud.

West unclipped his gun belt and tossed one end over the line, just as he started to follow his friend to safety one of the assassins came around the doorway with gun in hand.

West was caught off guard and was frozen, getting a good look at his attacker; Artemus was right, the man was on fire. Most of his clothes had fallen away and a great percentage of his body was scorched; West could see waves of heat coming off the assassins body and his eye's shone brilliantly against the blackness of his charred skin. Expressionless, the man raised his revolver targeting West and had started to pull the trigger when the floor gave way. West leapt for the window as the floor fell, the killer disappeared into the inferno below.

West had made it out and was halfway down when the support beams gave way as the house began collapsing into itself, snapping the zip line and sending him crashing to the earth. He hit the ground hard but managed to roll with his momentum, coming to rest next to Artie who was rubbing the shoulder that had taken the brunt of his collision with the barn wall at the end of his descent.

"I didn't think you was coming out," Artie said.

Coughing, Jim responded, "For a second there, neither did I."

Both men sat against the barn watching in awe at the gigantic blaze before them, the raging firestorm with its trails of thick, black smoke billowing into the night sky, taking with it any clue to the mystery. At that moment all they could really do was to watch, while the inferno consumed what was left of the Scranton farmhouse.

* *******

From atop a hill overlooking the Scranton spread, Elva sat on horseback observing the devastation below. She had watched as her two colleagues prepared and set her home on fire. She had heard the gunshots as the blaze grew. She could still see the barn's roof over the flames and smoke. She could make out the figures of West and Gordon and was disappointed that their demise was not forthcoming. Realizing that her companions would not be joining her and not knowing whom else might be showing up to investigate the fire, Elva pulled the hood of her cape over her head and kick started her horse, disappearing into the night's darkness.