Camping Trip

"On your left, on your left!"

"No, damn it, get off of there!"

"Watch it, here comes the hand!"

Skeeter buzzed around, trying to make sense of all the chatter. The attack had been planned perfectly. They were just supposed to wait by the lake until the enemy came.

And the enemy always came. They came every year, and it always started at this time of year, just when it started to get hot.

This year was different though. The enemy had come, just like they always did. They had set up their camp and begun preparing their food. The plan had been to wait until dusk, then attack.

And the attack had begun much like it always had. The first scouts had gone out, landed in enemy territory undetected, and most had come back. (There was always a casualty or two.)

Then the attack began in earnest, and Operation Swarm was in effect. The enemy had begun flailing about.

But then, without warning, the scouts had started dropping. They just...fell.

Skeeter watched, horrified, as his best friend Moe started twitching in midair. He beat his wings furiously to get to him, but it was no use. Moe's wings sputtered and stopped, sending Moe plummeting to the earth.

"Moe!" cried Skeeter.

The fleet was in chaos. Entire squadrons that had landed among the enemy were down. Skeeter was in the rear and hadn't set down yet.

"Abort mission! You hear me? Abort! Abort!"

The screeching in Skeeter's ear crackled and cut off as he saw the captain issuing the order get swatted. When the hand moved, the captain was nothing but guts on the skin.

Desperately, Skeeter maneuvered away from the cluster and settled down on a strand of the enemy's hair. He didn't dare make a move to land on the skin, as sweet as it smelled. He had learned, from watching his wingmates, his friends, spiral out of control, that touching the skin meant death.

"Copy..." came over his headset. "Does anyone...me?"

Skeeter buzzed his communicator. "Go ahead. I hear you."

"They...ready for us," came the garbled voice. "Poison. Damn humans poisoned...source."

Skeeter understood. It was clear that their attack had been preempted. They had been ambushed by the enemy instead of the other way around. This was the first time he had heard of a passive ambush.

"What are our orders?" he asked whoever was still talking.

"Get out," came the voice, still crackled. "Avoid...spray."

Skeeter took off from the hair, only to see a red metallic object raised into his view. A nozzle was aimed directly at him. He could make out four letters on the aluminum.

"Raid..." he whispered as liquid death took him.

---

Okay, I have to admit, this one was fun to write, but I'll be damned if it wasn't hard to come up with a story.

Thanks to Thomas Snooks, Chris Salazar, Christopher Ty Reagan, Rebecca Coneby, Heather Petty, Ashley Crowder, Bobby Prachar, Amber Ruff, James Boski, Adam Haggerty, Angel Glass Gray, Stephanie Doo, Jim Reader, Cyndi Prachar, Chris Koenig, Heather Fontenot, Chuck Naffier, Ryan Pride, Celia Hall Castro, Leslie Ward Campbell, Harold Estel Sprouls, Jennifer Hatton, Travis Pollard, Jeri Birdwell, Amy Hefner, Susan Stone Reifert, Renee Beasley, Shaun Danford, Richard Flores, Gary Brock, Alan Chez, and Denise Ebersole for their responses. Mosquitoes turned out to be overwhelmingly popular (to get rid of).

In the same vein as this one, what is one (material) thing you don't think you could live without? Please omit responses like God, your family, friends, etc. Be as trivial as you like. Put your responses in the comments section below by Thursday at 6 pm CST, and don't forget to subscribe!