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The Firefly Warriors

By Susan Count

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“I t was right here. Where did it go?” Twelve- year-old Davy searched through his back- pack. “Mike!” he yelled.
From Davy’s closet burst his little brother dressed in Davy’s Wilderness Scout shirt. Davy’s insect collection net flew like a banner above Mike’s head. His brother’s other hand clutched Davy’s Insect Field Guide.
Before Mike could escape, Davy stepped between him and the exit. “Hand ’em over.”
Six-year-old Mike pouted. “Do I have to?” With freckles and red hair, he looked like a younger version of his brother.
Davy’s fierce glare hid his half smile until Mike offered the book. “I’ll only be at Grandpa’s for a week.”
“Can I come? Can I?”
“When you’re older, you can come. Ruthie will leave for theater camp in two days, and you’ll have the parents all to yourself. You’ll have a great time. Movies and ice cream.” Davy stuffed the field guide into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and gently pried Mike’s fingers from the collection net. “You’re in charge of my tadpoles, buddy. You can feed them a piece of lettuce sometimes.”
“I can?” Mike asked, bouncing from one foot to the other.
“Guard my room while I’m gone. I’ll give you a candy bar if you can keep Ruthie from getting into my stuff before she goes to camp.”
Mike thrust up two fingers. “Two candy bars.”
“Deal.” Davy moved his new Lego project to the top shelf. “But don’t touch my insect collections. Insects lost their lives so researchers could learn.” Anything Davy caught live, he’d release again after he examined it. The bug-apocalypse wouldn’t be his fault.
The blanket on Davy’s bed looked like sparkly beetles marching in a line. One wall held masses of insect posters and charts. A photograph of a glowing firefly hung next to a shelf stacked with nature magazines.
“And I’ll give you a tip on the parents. Follow Mom around everywhere. Ask her questions, ask for snacks, ask for chocolate milk—you get the idea. You’re good at it. Before I even get to Grandpa’s, she’ll give you the code for the computer games.”
“You know all the tricks, Davy. Thanks.”
A handheld microscope occupied a small desk of its own in the room’s corner. When Davy hooked it to his laptop, he could see the tiniest details. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a box and packed the micro- scope to go.
“Want your Scout shirt too?”
“You can wear it. I’m not a Wilderness Scout anymore. And here. Would you like to look at some magazines?”
Mike nodded, holding his palms up.
Davy layered magazines into his waiting hands. “Here’s one on the arctic fox—isn’t he beautiful? You’d love this one on the bald eagle—he’s a symbol for our country. Have you ever heard of a narwhal? It has a tusk that looks like a unicorn’s horn. Amazing, right?”
“Wow. Thanks. You’re the best.”
“Here.” Davy piled on several more nature maga- zines with big colorful pictures. “These are about insects. Read all these, and I’ll be back before you know it. Learn everything you can, and someday you can be my assistant.”
Then Davy scanned the room. He flipped his Wilderness Scout cap from its hook and stuffed it in a closet cubby before he firmly shut the closet door. And he was off. Off to the best insect observation site he knew—Grandpa’s farm.
The closer to the Texas farm they got, the fewer cars shared the road. When a train whistled in the distance, Davy asked, “Can we wait for it?”
“Sure. There’s no traffic out here. The last vehicle we passed was a tractor.” Dad braked at the crossing. He climbed out and stood beside the car, leaning on the fender.
Davy slipped out the window and balanced on the edge of the frame. His thumbs drummed the hot roof. As the train approached, its whistle blasted every few seconds. Soon after the crossing arms dropped, the earth rumbled, and the car shook. When Davy waved his arm, his whole body rocked from side to side. The engineer waved back and let out one long whistle blast. As Davy admired the bright-colored graffiti artwork covering the sides of the boxcars, the train wheels’ deaf- ening clicky-clack mesmerized him.
“Look!” he shouted to Dad. A giant cartoon firefly covered a freight car’s side. Would it be the only firefly he’d see on this trip? After the train thundered past, he slipped back inside the car. He loved the country life.
“Is a whole week with Grandpa too long?” Dad asked as he steered around a pothole.
“I could stay the whole summer, even if he makes that awful boiled stuff for breakfast.”
“Grits?” Dad chuckled. “You’ll survive. I did.”
Davy scrunched his face and held out his tongue.
“Anyway, I’m gonna explore the woods. For sure, ride the horse. Mostly, I want to hunt for insects and read.”
“When I was a kid, I used to love catching fireflies.” Dad sounded wistful.
“I’d love to catch some, but there are hardly any left.” Davy crushed an empty chip bag. “All kinds of insects are disappearing.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess that’s right.” “Look at the windshield.” Davy pointed.
“Looks fine.”
“It should be splattered with insects. First insects
disappear, then birds starve.”
“They should eat more roaches. Cockroaches will
rule the earth,” said Dad.
“Did you know they can live for a week with their
head cut off? The only reason they die is if they can’t drink water for a month.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“One roach—its body is six inches long. Its wings are a whole foot long.” Davy turned the book so Dad could see.
Dad shook his head. “I’m driving. And I don’t need that visual. I can imagine the decibels of your mother screaming if she saw one.”
“They live in South America.”
“Did you remember to bring your EpiPen?”
“Mom checked my suitcase three times. It’s in there.
I haven’t been stung in two years. Maybe I’m over it.”
“Once allergic to bees, always allergic to bees. Keep it handy, okay?”
With a quick nod, Davy was soon absorbed again in his entomology book. He hardly noticed when Dad turned the car onto the gravel driveway leading to Grandpa’s farm. But when they stopped in front of the house, Davy bounded from the car.
Grandpa stepped onto the wooden porch with his hand up in greeting. “Hey, Davy! Walka-thisaway and give your ole Grandpa a hug.”
Davy’s answering wave froze midair when trouble in a black cowboy hat appeared beside Grandpa. “Ander- son.” He groaned and dragged his backpack full of books out of the rear seat. With his microscope stacked on top of his laptop, Davy marched up the path to the farmhouse. As Anderson leapt off the porch to greet him, Davy resolved not to let anything get in the way of his week of peace and quiet to research insects. Espe- cially not his pesky cousin. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait to get here so Dad took off work to bring me early. We’re gonna have so much fun. I brought Frisbees and a new game. It’s like tic-tac-toe only harder.” Ten-year-old Anderson rattled on. “I brought Uno. I played a lot so I could beat you this year. I’m really good now. And Dad bought me a cow head with horns so we could practice roping. Isn’t that great?”
“Great.” Davy’s sarcasm didn’t seem to affect Anderson.
“And I learned a new card game called Trash. I could teach it to you.”
“Great.”
While he waited for dinner to be ready, Davy read. With his leg draped over the hammock’s side, he pushed against the porch boards keeping the swing in a slow rhythm. A spider clung to the rope edge, and the hooks holding the frayed hammock squeaked as it swayed. A cow bellowed in the front pasture, and a tractor chugged in the distance.
“It’s almost dark.” Anderson interrupted Davy’s reading for the millionth time. “Want to play hide and seek?” He rested his hand on the rock head of his Apache tomahawk. “Come on, Davy. All you’ve done since you got here is read. Aren’t we at Grandpa’s to have fun?”
“Not now. I’m researching praying mantises. They fold their front legs up looking all innocent, but they use martial arts moves to capture hummingbirds. Then”— Davy dragged out the words for emphasis—“they eat... its brains.” He folded his hands like a puppy begging. “Just like I’m gonna eat yours if you don’t leave me alone.”
“Cool.”
He picked up his book hoping Anderson would get the idea, but the younger boy got right back on mission. “We could catch fireflies.”
Davy didn’t even look up. “There aren’t any.”
“Something flashed in the woods a minute ago. Too small to be a spaceship.”
Just then, a pinprick of light blinked in the bushes and vanished. Davy scrambled from the hammock, dropping his science book. He sprang off Grandpa’s porch. In eight running strides, he dashed to the wood’s edge like he’d seen an overflowing pot of candy.
“Wait for me!” Speeding after Davy, Anderson stum- bled over his sleeping dog. Chester yelped and jumped away, then stood alert and ready for action.
“I saw a light.” Davy slipped like a scout into the forest to investigate.
Anderson’s short, zippy haircut suited his intense approach. “You need warrior backup.” As he crouched and scanned the woods searching for an enemy, a slight breeze kicked up. “It might be dangerous.” After tugging his weapon from his belt, he held it high. “I’ve got my tomahawk.” He twirled it with a practiced flourish.
Davy scoffed at his silly idea. “Get real. A play tomahawk.”
“Sorry you grew out of your imagination.” With his finger in the groove, Anderson traced his initials branded onto the tomahawk handle. “I hope that never happens to me. Anyway, it’s not a toy. I made it just like the Apaches used to. Even tied the stone on with real rawhide.”
Anderson rested a hand on the brown and white hound’s head. “And Chester can help us.”
“Sure. If we need to lick up bacon grease.” Davy examined the thick leafy plants. His voice quieted, talking to himself. “There it went again. I can’t believe it. It’s a firefly. It must be.”
Anderson dropped to his knees to search under the shrubs, then stood on his tiptoes to inspect the upper branches.
“Where’d it go?” Davy lifted a branch, jumping back when a mottled stinkbug winged past his ear. “Yick.” He flailed one arm. “It’s the brown marmorated. They invaded from China. See how his shell looks like a shield?”
“That’s got to be the ugliest bug ever, and even I know it’s not a firefly.” When the stinkbug landed on Anderson, he flicked it off his blue pearl-snap shirt.
“Whatever you do—don’t crush it,” Davy urged. “It smells worse than a garbage truck. Worse than dead fish.”
“Stink’s not gonna hurt you. My motto is ‘act brave even if you aren’t.’ Are you sure you’re a Scout? You’re brave like a bunny.”
Davy turned away. “I’m careful is all.” He returned to searching for the flash. His fingers brushed along the
delicate fern tops. “There must be a firefly here. I’ve got to find it.”
“My dad said he used to catch hundreds of fireflies when he was a kid.” With the tip of his tomahawk, Anderson lifted the leaves to search every branch.
“Mine too. I want to hold a real, live one and let it walk on my hand.”
“Me too,” Anderson echoed.
“A firefly can kill ya, you know.”
“No way.”
“It’s true. There’s this scientist who works at the
Natural History Museum. He put a firefly between his lips so he could open a collection jar.” Davy widened his eyes as he described the danger. “His lips went numb. He said his throat constricted, and it tasted awful.”
“What’s constricted?”
“Your throat closes up, and you can’t swallow or breathe.”
“That’s crazy, Davy. Just sayin’.”
“You don’t have to believe me, but don’t put one in your mouth.”
“Do I look like I eat bugs? Well maybe, if they’re dipped in chocolate. I ate a chocolate-covered grasshopper once. Legs and all. It was crunchy good.” Anderson smacked.
“Grasshoppers are super-leapers. They have knees that compress like a spring and can catapult them three feet away.”
“Can’t you talk about anything except bugs? You’re boring, Davy.”
“My research is important.”
“Chester’s way more fun than you.”
With a huff, Davy returned his attention to hunting.
“Fireflies are endangered, you know? Either help me look for the flash or go back and hang out with your dog.”
Anderson’s eyes widened. “Our dads caught them all?”
“You make no sense.” Davy pointed through the forest toward Grandpa’s white farmhouse. “I’m on a serious science mission. You’re distracting me. For the last time, go back.” Frustration with Anderson tightened the muscles in Davy’s jaw as he recognized his mother’s tone in his own voice.
’“You’re the one doing all the talking. Besides, if anybody can find fireflies, it’s me—and Chester.” Anderson waved his tomahawk. “He’s got the best sniffer ever. He found peanut butter cookies in the bottom of Mom’s purse, and we shared. There it goes. Charge!” Streaking past Davy, he ran after the little flasher. “I see it!” As he tripped over his own feet, his tomahawk flew into the underbrush. He skidded on his belly in the pine needles. With his grungy fingers clasped together, he said. “It’s in here. I got it!”
“Prove it.” Davy elbowed him.
Easing his fingers apart, Anderson peeked. “Where is it? I know I had it.”
Davy nodded with every word. “You—got—noth- ing.” He slapped his hands on his hips. “Quit playing around.”
Anderson scowled at his oversized feet that always tripped him. As he felt under the bushes for his weapon, he warned Davy, “You’re gonna wish I had your back when the coyotes start hunting.” Anderson whirled and chopped air with his tomahawk before shoving it into his belt.
“I’m not worried.” Davy and Anderson grew up playing hide and seek in the woods of Grandpa’s farm, but Davy was a full two years wiser. “Pest,” he huffed under his breath. He hiked away on the familiar path heading deeper into the forest. When Anderson called, Davy lengthened his stride. Pressing his hands on his ears, Davy ran. “I can’t hear you.”
A ruckus thundered behind them, and Chester hurled past. Black nose to the ground, the dog raced headlong down the trail, and the boys picked up speed. They followed the sound of his hunting howl as he disappeared down the trail.
“We can’t lose him.” Anderson stuck with Davy, pounding his fists down on air as he ran. “Something might eat him.” Tucked in his belt, the tomahawk slapped his hip.
The dog’s howl grew faint. They ran faster and faster, but couldn’t catch him. Davy screeched to a stop next to a side trail. “I don’t hear him,” he panted.
“Chester!” hollered Anderson.
“I told you to take him home.” Davy sucked in air and glared at his cousin.
Puffing out his chest, Anderson stood firm and glared back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A long, deep howl followed by an even louder yelp caused the boys to gasp.
“Chester’s hurt! I know his voice. He found the fire- fly, and it got him bad.” Anderson spun all around as if listening for the direction of the yelp.
Davy leaned toward him. “Only your dog could get hurt by a firefly. Besides, we don’t know for sure we even saw one.”
“You gotta help me find him. Sounds like he’s that- away. Follow me,” Anderson commanded. He raised his tomahawk in warning to the unseen foe.
“This far from Grandpa’s, we should stay on the path.” Davy planted his feet wide in the soft soil. “You’re a pest, but I’m trying to look out for you. It’s getting late. We should go back.”
“I’m going after him! You and your Scout rules can stay on the trail.” Anderson plunged into the brush toward the howl.
Davy hung back. “It’s got nothing to do with Scout rules. It’s just a bad idea is all.” He peered into the growing darkness. “It’s spooky way out here at night. And whatever got Chester could get us next.”
“We can’t go home without Chester!”
Davy mustered his courage and envisioned holding a Viking shield in front of him. “I will be strong and brave. I will extinguish all the flaming arrows,” he mouthed. The deeper he pressed into the forest, the darker it got, and the more courage he needed.
After blindly stumbling along, Anderson finally stopped. “I haven’t heard any more howls.”
“You don’t think he’s dead, do you?”
“He’s not dead!” Anderson clenched his fists and stiffened his shoulders. “He’s a warrior, just like us.” Bunching his upper lip on one side, he displayed his best tough-guy stare.
“Hey, look!” An explosion of light swooped through the tree branches. Davy craned his neck to follow its erratic movements. “Outta this world amazing.”
“Is that a firefly swarm?”
“That’s nothing like fireflies.”
Anderson frantically tugged on Davy’s arm. “Some-
thing got Chester! It could be attack drones or evil invaders or flying tigers.”
“That ball of fire looks like a huge, angry mob.” Davy’s mouth dried out, and he swallowed hard. “Or bees?”
“What if it is bees? Bees could kill you. Do you have your allergy pen thing?”
“Not with me.” Davy shook his head with a tremor. “It’s spotted us.”
With panic all over his face, Anderson’s voice squeaked like a trapped mouse. “It’s streaking right at us. Run for it!” He spun and ran madly through the trees.
Davy raced after him. His heart pounded like a jack- hammer. Branches slapped their faces as they charged through the bushes. He glanced over his shoulder at Anderson, and beads of sweat broke out across his fore- head. His eyes widened with terror. “Incoming. A shape- shifter.”
In that instant, Anderson tripped, crashing on his side.
As Davy flipped in one smooth martial arts move over Anderson, he tucked and landed flat on his back.
With the air hammered from his lungs, Anderson raised his hand weakly. He pointed at the eerie, red- yellow glow. The lights scanned around them like searchlights from an alien spacecraft. For a long moment, the beam focused on their faces. “It’s gonna fry us!”
They froze.
When the beam of the light intensified, Davy gasped. “They’re gonna sting us to death.” This will be the day—the day that I die.
The fireball swooshed over them and gathered itself into a tight orb shape. Too terrified to speak, Davy gestured toward the bushes. He rolled onto his stomach and scrambled under the brush cover.
As the mysterious light pivoted, making another low pass, Anderson struggled to his feet. Afraid his younger cousin wanted to make another run for his life and blow their cover, Davy grabbed his ankles and tugged him to the ground. “Hide.”
They covered their heads with their arms. Davy hardly dared to breathe. Please don’t sting me.
The orb hovered over them, pulsing like a concert strobe light. Davy crushed his eyes closed until he sensed it lift away. Its fury went dark, and it vanished. He heaved a relieved breath. Scared to move and attract attention, he rotated his eyes in their sockets watching for the danger to return. His hands searched his body for stings. “They didn’t get me anywhere.”
In the quiet of dusk, Anderson sucked in deep gulps of air. “Whoa,” he panted. “I thought we were goners. That was close.” His head popped up over a low branch like an alert rabbit. “Did you see it morph shapes? One minute it waved like a flag, and then it flew like a cannonball.”
“It’s outta this world.”
“Was it a comet?”
Davy crawled on his belly from underneath the
bushes to where he could see the sky. “Nah. Comets are rocks and gases. That ‘whoop swoosh whoop’ sounded like wings.”
“Scary awesome.”
“Electric,” Davy agreed.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Anderson
called, “Chester!”
Davy delivered a half-hearted punch to his arm. “Shh... They’ll hear you and come back to finish us off.”
“You want me to be quiet after the girly screeching you just did?” Anderson returned Davy’s jab. “What did it do to Chester? And why is it swooping us?”
Davy massaged his arm and shrugged. “Whatever it is—it hates us.” He studied the surrounding area. “We gotta get outta here.” He turned and took deliberate careful steps. “This way... maybe. I’m not sure.” He hesi- tated and struggled to think. He stepped in a circle, one way and then the other.
“Get out your compass, Scout.” Anderson poked him. “Quit poking me. It hurts.”
“You started it.”
“I was trying to tell you I don’t have my gear. I wasn’t
ready to go on a wilderness hike. I was reading!” Davy stomped his foot and shot daggers at Anderson. “We’re lost out here with a super-mad, flying fire-dragon, and it’s your fault.”
“You think everything is my fault. Anything is better than bees, and I think it’s definitely an alien. Aliens might be shape-shifters.” Anderson slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “If it is a dragon, we can make friends. He could give us a ride home.” He slapped his neck when he felt a bite. He snapped off a beautyberry branch and swished at the mosquitoes gathering around his head. “So how are we going to find our way home? You always have a compass.”
“We aren’t. We’re stuck out here. Maybe for the whole night.” Davy held up empty hands, then pulled the big pockets of his favorite cargo pants inside out. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Anderson slashed at the bloodsuckers with the plant stalk. “The mosquitoes are gonna make a meal out of me. If there’s anything left after that flying thing picks my bones clean.”

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