It was Saturday, June 4. The temp was already well over eighty degrees and it was not yet 8:00 A.M. Being unseasonably warm, it was just another typical spring day in Illinois.
Or maybe it wasn't so typical. After all, it was the year of the Magicicada. The thirteen-year brood had made it's appearance right on schedule, filling the woodlands with an eerie buzzing that reminded Circe Gregor of horror stories about aliens landing and taking over the world.
She laughed at herself as she dodged another large, flying insect. She had collected several specimens for her friend, Dora. Dora was a good person, but being an entomologist, bugs were her life. Inconvenienced by a medical condition that kept her wheelchair bound, she often conned Circe into collecting samples. So now Circe was battling the brutal sun, the heavy, humid air and the overpowering roar of cicada song.
She stopped under the shade of a sugar maple to rest. Her feet were hot in the old hiking boots. A rivulet of sweat trickled between her breasts. Her water bottle was empty. With a sigh, she tucked it into her pack and continued on her way.
This was not how she had planned to spend her twenty-sixth birthday. Still, it was better than the mindless little garden party her mother was throwing for her. It wasn't that she minded spending quiet hours with her mother, her grandmother and their friends; she was more inclined to do something physical, something more demanding of her body than sipping watery punch from little crystal cups and eating finger sandwiches. Circe, much to her mother's chagrin, had turned out to be more like her father—a rough-and-tumble man who was more comfortable in jeans than a suit. Her parents were the original odd couple.
It wouldn't be long now. Just another half mile or so and a special treat would be waiting. Over the next rise was a stream and at the head of that stream was a cascade of water falling into a deep, green pool. The waterfall wasn't very big, but it was ice cold, coming from a spring deep in the bluff. It was pure, too, pure enough to drink.
Her thirst drove her onward. No water anywhere quenched her need like a limestone spring. It was sweet and cold, nectar of the gods. She smacked her lips and hoisted her small pack a little higher; thanking those same gods for the day her grandfather purchased this land more than forty years earlier.
Her mother was not of the same frame of mind. That sainted woman was never comfortable with Circe running wild in the hills. She often cited stories of how Grandpa Gregor had walked up here one day and simply disappeared. All that was found of him was an empty shirt and a hat. That was long before she was born, though, and it had nothing to do with today.
As she topped the rise, she could hear the water over the din of locusts. "They're not true locusts," she heard Dora declare in her brain.
"Shut up, will ya?" she said aloud. "A bug is a bug, for crying out loud."
Pulling the pack from her shoulders, she dragged it down the steep incline. All she wanted was to shed her boots and wade into the marvelous water. When she got to the edge of the pool, she did just that before sitting on an outcropping of rock and dipping her toes.
The water was freezing, sending fingers of icy chills up her legs. It was colder than she remembered from her last visit, and deeper, too. It was the spring rains, she decided. It hadn't been such a typical year, if she stopped to think about it. The winter had been long—too long—and too cold. The amount of snow it brought was unusual for the area, as were the spring rains that seemed to go on forever—until the day the Magicicada emerged, that is. With them came the hot weather, the end of rain and the endless drone of the buzzing song.
The bugs seemed to grow louder in the tree limbs overhead. As she listened, she could discern definite patterns in the sound. There was a full octave of sound, a chorus of chirps and hums that drowned out the sound of the falls. Reaching down, she cupped water and splashed it over her face. The chill was startling, reviving her spirits enough to draw her in.
With a grin, she stood, shucked her clothes and stretched. There was something deliciously wicked about being stark naked in the bright sunshine. The cicadas seemed to agree as their song took on a more joyful tone. She batted at an errant bug when it flew too close. It landed on the rock next to her clothes. It didn't move, only stared up at her with its glowing red eyes. Another soon landed next to it, joining its fellow in staring at her nudity. A third soon perched on the rock, and a fourth. It was unnerving to be watched, even if it was by a bunch of bugs.
Unsure if it was her desire to be cooled by the chilly water or her need to get away from the prying, faceted eyes, she took the Nestea plunge, falling backward into the water to let it wash over her body. When she came up for air, another insect dive-bombed her head.
"Hey," she said, sputtering as she swatted at it.
It hovered just beyond her reach for a moment before joining a small swarm circling overhead. An uneasy feeling started as a flutter in her breast. It spread through her body when the drone in the trees changed its pattern. It swelled and rose to a crescendo that sounded like a stage whisper of her name.
The scene had gone from eerie to frightening. She ducked under, swimming away from the growing swarm. When she surfaced again, it was to see the cicadas flying in the opposite direction. They moved as one, a black cloud swelling, collapsing upon itself and swelling again. They landed as one, too, right on her clothing and backpack. So many bugs, it seemed, had the strength of men. Lifting in unison, they carried her belongings away into the summer sky.
"What the . . .?" She swam toward the big rock, trying in vain to get there in time, but it was too late. Her clothing was gone on a large black cloud.
Naked in the frigid water, she wondered how she would possibly get home. Her thoughts quickly changed when a new swarm began to collect overhead. She moved toward the center of the pool, away from the burgeoning swirl of insects. They followed with the occasional insect swooping low over her head. She didn't give ground this time as she treaded the water's surface. With a cautious eye, she watched as they circled ever-closer.
Her name became clearer in the trees. The swarm moved lower. Despite herself, she drifted backwards toward the waterfall. The cicadas were driving her back, directing her movements. She splashed water at them, waved an arm in their direction, and went under. When she surfaced, they attacked as one, aiming at her head.
Circe dove, digging deep for the bottom and swimming for the falls. When she sputtered to the surface again, she was behind the protection of a watery wall. Still, she could hear the drone of her name over the roar of the water, could see the black cloud of bugs on the other side. When a few found their way inside her haven, she ducked under again.
The creatures appeared to have a conscious thought process. Maybe they had taken exception to her capture of some of their fellows. Perhaps they sensed the fate of those imprisoned insects in her now-missing backpack. The last time she had encountered the emergence, she was thirteen. At the time, they seemed magical to her, befitting the name given them by scientists. She sat at this very pool drawing pictures of them and wishing she could grow wings like theirs. Now she just wanted to be shed of them.
When she poked her head up for air, the slippery, wet surface of the rock wall behind the falls was dotted with clinging insects. All had their fierce red eyes turned to her, watching her every move.
She dove again, wondering how she was going to find her way out of this mess. The creatures were supposed to be harmless, non-biting and non-venomous, but she couldn't be sure with the way they were intent upon attacking her. She couldn't stay down forever. Soon she would have to find her way out of the water and back home. With no clothing, it was going to be tricky.
Something touched her leg. She whirled in the water to see a strange, colorful fish. It watched her, turning on its side to have a better look. A second one arrived, almost glowing as the sun glinted off its rainbow of colorful scales. She swam up for another gulp of air, heard her name in the breath of the wind, in the rumble of the water, the song of the Magicicada. When she dove again, she saw the strange fish head away into what appeared to be a cave.
Every summer since she was little girl, she had been coming here. Never, in all that time, in all the swimming she had done here, did she remember seeing a cave. But there it was, waiting to be discovered. The two fish stopped just inside the entrance and turned to watch. It seemed as if they waited for her.
She surfaced for another deep breath of hot air, saw the growing numbers of cicadas on the wall and dove straight down to the waiting fish. They moved deeper into the mouth of the cave and turned to watch.
