I walked home with Ben as usual on Thursday after school. We always took the same way. I was trying not to think about Erica, so I concentrated instead on the mechanical sound that Ben made when he moved.
Through the short concrete path, overgrown with thistles, leading to Acorn Park. Step ssshhh, step ssshhh. Along the side of Mr Dover’s house. He was always at home limping around the garden, while his wife was out at work. Step ssshhh, step ssshhh. Past the old stump which all the kids avoided because it had a huge nest of nasty-tempered wasps inside. Step ssshhh, step ssshhh, step ssshhh.
I was just about past the stump when I saw Blocker and Phil Domane standing amongst the massive oak trees of the park, half hidden from view, and I instinctively knew what they were going to do.
‘Run!’ I shouted, and Ben, although he hadn’t seen them, obeyed automatically. We sprinted into the park away from the danger.
I saw the blur of Blocker’s arm. The rock that he chucked – on reflection I think it was a broken-off chunk of concrete – seemed to hang in the air almost indefinitely as it flew towards the nest in the old stump.
Mr Dover was out watering his garden and he glanced up, his eye caught by the movement. I looked back and saw Caitlin Howard, Johnny Howard’s little sister, enter the other end of the concrete path. She was six-years-old I think, still young enough to let her mum put her hair in pigtails, and she went to a nearby primary school. Usually she walked home with her big brother. Not today though, he must have had sports practice.
I caught my breath, unsure of what to do. Somehow, behind me, I was aware that Ben had also stopped and turned back to face the impending disaster.
Caitlin walked. The rock flew. Mr Dover watered. I froze.
The rock smashed into the stump with a muffled woody thump and cracked off, rolling over the grass to end up against Mr Dover’s back fence.
The wasps’ nest exploded into a hurricane of hurtling furious yellow and black shapes, writhing around the stump. I involuntarily took a couple of quick steps backwards, even though I was well clear of the danger zone. The cloud around the stump spread, seeking targets, but not moving too far from the nest it was defending.
Mr Dover was looking at the stump with a horrified glare and walking backwards as fast as he could, the hose in his hand spraying uselessly over his lawn.
Little Caitlin Howard kept on walking. Her head was down. She was lost in some private world, oblivious to the escalating whine of the swarming wasps.
As she neared the end of the path I heard someone shouting, ‘Caitlin, go back! Caitlin, go back!’ and realised with surprise it was me.
It was too late by that stage, though, far too late. She looked up as she wondered what was wrong. The wasps were already buzzing all around her.
Any kid would surely have run backwards out of danger, but she didn’t. Maybe six-year-olds think differently or, more likely, when faced with such terror, she instinctively headed for a place of safety – home. The problem was her path home lay right through the seething cloud.
I watched, helplessly, as she took one tiny step after another, her arms waving frantically around her head. I am sure she screamed the first time she was stung, and maybe the second and third but, after that, it just became a long drawn-out wail, a single long breath until she was well past the stump. Thinking she was out of danger, or just unable to run any more, she dropped, hunched over, legs splayed on the grass, bawling. That was the second mistake she made and it was a bigger mistake than the first.
She was well within range of the nest and the wasps followed her, gathering in a cloud around her as she sat on the ground, stinging her again and again as she wailed and squealed in anguish.
Mr Dover had turned his hose on the nest. I think he thought that would help or maybe he just didn’t know what else to do, but even I knew that it is smoke that calms down angry wasps, not water. Water makes them angrier. As he poured, more wasps came spraying up out of the nest.
Caitlin just sat there. I wanted to run up to her, to grab her and haul her out of there, but I couldn’t – or maybe just wouldn’t – move. I simply wasn’t brave enough to run into a swarm of angry wasps. Phil and Blocker, like me, were frozen, horrified, petrified.
Without thinking, I looked back at Ben. The single bizarre thought in my mind was that he should go and save her. What did a few wasp stings matter to a robot anyway, even if they could sting through his rubberised robotic skin?
He looked back at me, right into my eyes, and it was as if he could tell what I was thinking. He took a few faltering steps forwards, dropped his schoolbag and then began to run.
Ben Holly, the new student councillor and my best friend, ran into the storm.
He didn’t stop, he didn’t change direction. He just scooped Caitlin roughly up by the arm and pulled her, dragging her away from the swarm, to the far corner of the park.
The wasps chased for a little while, and a few of the nastier ones followed for quite a long way, but they soon all retreated to their nest and resumed circling and threatening.
I hadn’t seen Mr Dover disappear, but he was gone. Stupid fart. Maybe he’d been stung too. If so, he deserved it.
I circled around the park to where Caitlin was, giving the nest a wide berth. Her face was a red raw mass, and her arms and legs were already rising into a wilderness of pain.
‘Where do you live?’ Ben was asking, over and over.
She said nothing. Maybe she couldn’t. Her eyes were waxy and she was leaning against his arm as if she couldn’t hold herself upright. She had stopped crying, but I sensed it was a bad thing, not a good thing.
‘I know where she lives.’ It was Phil, behind me. ‘I’ll take her.’ He looked at me and flinched, and I knew that my thoughts must have been reflected on my face. Blocker picked up her school bag, and Phil picked Caitlin up, carrying her in his arms like a baby. Then they set off at a half-run, with just one backwards, guilty glance.
Ben and I stayed where we were as they disappeared around the corner. I found I was staring at the raised welts on his neck and the back of his hands. He hardly seemed to notice.
We stayed there for a long time, watching the gradually diminishing swirls of wasps, before heading off home.