A Glint of Exoskeleton

By Robinne Weiss

For over hundred years, humans have battled mosquitoes with pesticides. Now, the mosquitoes are fighting back. When their newly developed disease, leopard spot fever, is perfected, it will wipe out the human race.
Thirteen year-old Crick and her best friend (a cockroach named Peri) embark on a desperate mission to stop them. Their mission takes them to tropical Panama, where the mosquito leader is marshalling her forces.
But more than just mosquitoes await Crick and Peri, and soon they are running for their lives from the evil Dr. Dirk, in league with the mosquitoes.
They must use all their wits and draw on a host of insect allies, but will it be enough to survive and stop the mosquitoes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robinne Weiss
• Release date: Apr 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9780473351779

Robinne Weiss

Over the course of my career, I have been pleased to call myself an educator, entomologist, heritage interpreter, and an agroforestry extension agent, among other things. Through it all, I have written stories and poetry for my own pleasure. I published my first writing as a child in the 1970s, and used to confound my science teachers with poetry, scribbled at the end of essay questions. Now, after completing several novels, I'm happy to call myself an author. My first love was the natural world, and it plays a large part in most of my stories. I have been fortunate to be able to explore the outdoors in much of the eastern United States, Canada, Panama, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Honduras, Bolivia, Peru, and New Zealand. I currently live in New Zealand with my husband, two children, four goats, three chickens and one evil cat. I blog about food, gardening, the natural world, and rural life at https://robinneweiss.wordpress.com/. You can also follow me on Twitter (https://twitter.com/ RobinneWeiss) and Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/ CrazyCornerFarm/).

Book preview

Four

Crick peered into her dollhouse, though she didn’t much like dolls. She was looking for something.

Oh, there you are! she exclaimed in her sing-song, four-year-old voice. You don’t have to hide. I won’t hurt you.

The object of her attention crept cautiously out from under the loose carpet in what Crick called the yellow bedroom. Its antennae waved busily in Crick’s direction. Crick cocked her head to one side and furrowed her brow.

Are you some sort of beetle?

Not a beetle. I’m a cockroach. An American cockroach. The animal had a raspy voice like an old transistor radio with bad reception, but the scratchy sound was cheerful and friendly.

Hi Mister Cockroach! My name’s Crick. That’s short for Cricket, and that’s short for Christina Marie Stolzfus, which is my real name. But you can call me Crick. What’s your name?

"Pleased to meet you, Crick. I’m Periplaneta americana. I suppose you could call that a nickname, too."

What’s your real name?

It’s hard to say. Cockroach names are actually smells.

Smells? Crick laughed. That’s weird!

Not for us. We have very sensitive noses, and not so good ears. Smell is easier for us.

Oh! Well, I think I’ll call you Peri.

Peri chuckled. That would be fine.

Do you like my dollhouse? Crick asked. I saw you in it yesterday.

Yes, it’s quite nice, particularly this loose yellow carpet.

Crick frowned. I don’t really like it. I’d rather have a hamster, but mom says I’m not allowed. She says they stink and remind her of rats. Gramma gave it to me for my birthday. That’s when I turned four! she continued proudly. How old are you?

Well, I’m a lot older than four! chuckled Peri. I’ve been alive since 1943. That makes me…let’s see…fifty-three years old.

Whoa! That’s old, replied Crick gravely. Then her brow furrowed. I didn’t know insects lived that long.

Most of us don’t, but I’m…special.

How?

I’m a leader for my species—something called an über. It’s a bit like a…like a president.

Are presidents really old, too?

Compared to most insects they are. But insect leaders don’t get old like other insects. We just keep on living.

You won’t ever die?

I can be killed—I’m not invincible. But I won’t die of old age.

Just then, Crick’s bedroom door opened and her mother poked her head in.

Who are you talking to, dear? she asked. Oh! You’re playing with your dollhouse! That’s nice.

Well, not really. I was talking to my new friend, Peri. He’s going to live forever, she said brightly, unless he’s killed. He lives in the dollhouse. He likes the yellow room ‘specially.

That’s nice, responded her mother, a little uncertainly. Which one of your dolls is Peri?

Oh, he’s not a doll. He’s a cockroach.

Within minutes, Crick’s mother had hauled the dollhouse out onto the lawn and sprayed it with fly spray. Crick kicked up such as fuss about it, screaming and crying, that her mother had to lock her in her room until the deed was done. Crick was screaming and pounding on her door so loudly, it was several minutes before she heard Peri’s voice.

Crick! Crick! Don’t worry. No harm done. I’m over here.

B…b…but you were in the dollhouse, she sniffed, tears streaking her face.

I scuttled out as soon as you mentioned I was a cockroach.

Why?

I’ve been around long enough to know that when most people hear the word cockroach, they don’t react well.

The dollhouse was returned to Crick’s bedroom a few days later, but Peri didn’t return to the yellow room. Crick made a house for him from an empty cereal box and hid it under her bed. Peri declared it to be the nicest house a cockroach could want.

Six

Steve, Donnie, and Carl, were hunched over something on the playground. They were laughing.

Get ‘im, get ‘im, get ‘im! squealed Carl.

Look how fast he runs! exclaimed Donnie.

Got it! Look! screamed Steve.

Crick, walking by the cluster of boys, heard a fourth voice—a metallic, wheezing wail of pain. She knew that voice! She whirled around and stomped back to the boys.

What are you doing? she demanded.

Nothing, replied Steve, whipping his hands behind his back and standing up with the others. He was holding something, and Crick was pretty sure she knew what it was. She looked down where the boys had been crouched. The ground was swarming with ants.

You were burning ants, weren’t you? she accused.

No. We were just looking at them, responded Carl.

Anyway, it’s none of your business what we were doing, added Donnie.

What have you got behind your back, Steve? Crick asked.

None of your beeswax, he responded.

Crick lunged around him, grabbing for his wrist. Steve twisted, and she missed. She lunged the other way and managed to pull his hand from behind his back. She snatched the incriminating magnifying lens from him.

Ha! You were burning ants, you liars!

What’s it to you, anyway? sneered Steve. Are these ants your friends?

"Probably—she doesn’t have any real friends," added Donnie, giving Crick a little shove as he said it.

"They are my friends. Real friends, too!" cried Crick. The boys laughed.

Yeah, ‘cause no one else will play with you, jeered Carl.

Shut up! Crick pushed Carl into the dirt. As he struggled to get up again, Steve gave Crick a shove toward Donnie who lashed out with a punch to Crick’s face. Before long, the four were engaged in an angry tussle.

Out of sight of the teacher on recess duty, there was no one to break up the fight, and it was going badly for Crick. Though she was bigger than Steve, and stronger than Donnie, she didn’t stand a chance against all three boys together. They had her on the ground, now. Carl was kneeling on her chest, Donnie had her legs pinned, and Steve was clinging to one arm while Crick pummeled Carl with the other. Carl spat in her face.

Now what are you gonna do? he taunted. Where are all your friends now?

His question was answered by the pain of thousands of simultaneous ant bites. The ants were pouring out of their nest and swarming over the boys, biting viciously. Forgetting Crick, the boys jumped up screaming, beating at their arms and legs, and running from the scene. Crick sat up, tenderly testing her bruised face where Donnie had punched her, and swiping away Carl’s spit in disgust.

Thank you, she said quietly.

Not a problem, came the metallic-voiced reply. It was the least we could do, since you were standing up for us.

Crick saw the teacher striding purposefully toward her, the three boys trotting beside her, talking animatedly. She knew she was in trouble. No matter what her story, it was still three against one, and the ants couldn’t help her out in this fight. She sighed and got to her feet.

Eight

Crick was on the garage roof, a pair of crudely cut cardboard wings taped to her arms.

You sure this will work? she asked, though nobody was visible on the roof with her.

Absolutely! came the response. Just remember to flap hard and use that figure eight motion I showed you.

Crick still looked worried, It’s a long way down. What if I fall?

Aim for the pile of leaves. That’s why we put it there, right?

Crick backed up along the peak of the roof. She took a deep breath and began to run, cardboard wings swinging wildly at her side. She reached the edge of the roof and leapt into space, flapping her arms furiously. For a moment she thought she was actually doing it, actually flying! Then she reached the top of her arc and plummeted to the ground. She missed the pile of leaves and instead landed on her bicycle, parked on the lawn nearby.

Hours later, as the doctor was carefully winding plaster strips around the cast on her right leg, he chuckled.

So, you were trying to fly, eh?

Well, yeah. Most of my friends can fly, and Buzz said she’d worked it all out. She taught me how to flap my arms right, and…

Who is Buzz?

Oh, she’s a bumblebee. Her hive is under the front porch, and she’s the queen! replied Crick proudly.

The doctor raised his eyebrows at Crick’s mother, standing grumpily nearby.

I don’t know where she gets these ideas, her mother sighed.

Ten

Hello, Christina. I’m Dr. Phillips. I’m a psychologist—that’s a doctor who takes care of people’s brains. We’re going to play a few games together, and I’m going to ask you some questions. How does that sound?

Um…okay.

First, tell me how you broke that arm.

Climbing a tree.

Are you a good tree climber?

Yeah, pretty good.

But you fell.

I fell because the hornets were stinging me.

Oh dear. Was there a hornet nest in the tree?

Well, of course. That’s why I was climbing up there. I just wanted to say hello, but they wouldn’t listen.

The hornets wouldn’t listen to you? Did you expect them to?

Other insects do.

I see.

But Crick is my name!

No, dear. Christina is your name.

But Crick is the special name you gave me! ‘Cause I’m such a cricket, chirping all day! At this, Crick hopped up and down, smiling her most beguiling smile.

Crick is a name for babies and little girls. You’re a big girl now, you need a big girl name. Christina is your big girl name. Isn’t is a lovely name?

Crick made a face. But it’s not my name.

Her mother soldiered on. Big girls have big girl names, and they have real friends, not imaginary ones.

But I do have real friends! Crick stomped her foot and crossed her arms, glaring at her mother.

Do you? What are their names?

There’s Buzz, and Leafy, and Jumpkin, and of course Peri—he’s my best friend.

Those are imaginary friends, dear. They’re nice, but…

They are not imaginary! Buzz lives under the porch, and her favorite flowers are thistles, Peri likes to ride in my pocket and eat chocolate chip cookies, and…

Christina, interrupted her father sternly. Dr. Phillips thinks it’s time you used your big girl name and spent more time with your classmates. He thinks you spend too much time alone.

But I’m almost never alone!

Crick’s parents shared a meaningful look, and Crick shut her mouth.

Twelve

Crick and Carl were armed with a sweep net and an empty peanut butter jar. As the rest of their class scattered across the playing field, Crick steered Carl toward a small patch of weeds at the back of the school gym.

Wouldn’t we find crickets and things in the grass? asked Carl, looking toward the other students.

Yes, but there’s more interesting things over here. Trust me.

Crick dropped the net to the ground and knelt among the weeds.

Can I use the net? asked Carl.

We don’t need the net. We just need our eyes. Look! Crick tapped a leaf, and a large green stink bug dropped into her outstretched hand.

Ew! A stink bug! Carl pinched his nose.

It won’t stink unless we scare it. Oh! And here’s an assassin bug!

Assassin bug? Carl crouched down beside Crick, peering at the half-inch long rust-colored animal in Crick’s hand.

Yeah, these guys catch other insects and then suck their blood out. Some species even suck the blood of people!

Vampires! Cool! Carl peered closely at the bug on Crick’s hand. Do you vant to suck my blood? he asked in a corny Dracula accent. Crick giggled.

This one doesn’t eat people—just other bugs. Crick gently put the assassin bug back where she found it and lifted a scrap of plywood left on the ground. Oh, hey! What about this one?

Whoa! What’s that?

Carrion beetle.

Carrion? Does that mean it eats dead animals?

Yep. A pair of these beetles can bury a dead rat in just an hour or two.

No surprise—it’s huge!

Wanna hold it? Crick held out her hand, but Carl recoiled from the two-inch long black and orange beetle.

No thanks. Here, put it in the jar. He unscrewed the lid, and Crick gently dropped the beetle into the jar.

And here’s a crab spider! See how well camouflaged it is in this flower?

Crick, how do you see all these things? I look at this and all I see are a bunch of weeds. You come over here, and just start pulling insects out like they’re in your pocket!

Crick shrugged. It wouldn’t do to tell Carl she visits this spot a couple times a week. That the carrion beetle they’ve placed in their jar is named Botley, and is the great great grandson of a beetle Crick used to chat with on the elementary school playground. That she specifically asked the assassin bug, whose name is Melana, to be here today, knowing that Carl would think it was cool.

I don’t know…I suppose I just look for a glint of exoskeleton. An insect can try to hide, but nothing shines quite like exoskeleton.

Chapter 1

Where are you going tonight, Jeff?

The movies, he replied, wetting his comb in the bathroom sink and unsuccessfully trying to flatten his cowlick.

Are you going to see the new Star Wars movie? Crick leaned against the door frame, half in, half out of the bathroom.

None of your business.

You are! Oh, take me with you, please!

I’m going with my friends. I’m not taking my little sister to tag along like some yip dog at my heels.

But, Jeff, you know I want to see that movie! Mom said you’d take me.

Well, Mom was wrong. I’m not taking you.

But she said…

Get out! Jeff shoved Crick out of the doorway and slammed the door in her face.

Crick fought back tears. She was too old to cry. But as she slumped into the dining room and dropped into a chair with a sigh, her mother knew something was wrong.

Christina, what’s the matter?

Jeff is going to see Star Wars tonight.

Is he? Her mother obviously didn’t understand the significance of this statement, because she turned back to the papers she was grading, spread out on the dining room table.

He said I couldn’t go with him.

Well, of course not, dear. He’s going out with his friends. She didn’t even look up.

But, Mom, you promised he would take me to see that movie!

Did I? She set down her pen with a sigh. Yes, I did.

And now he says he won’t. Crick could hear the whining in her own voice, and she hated it. Whining would not make her seem like the mature almost-adult she wanted to be.

You know I can’t control what your brother does, dear. He’s eighteen, he’s in college now, and he is entitled to go out with his friends without his sister.

Crick harrumphed and left the room. Once again relegated to the child category. She went to her room.

Peri? she called quietly. There was no answer. She peered into the terrarium on her desk. Peri? Are you here? She sighed in the continued silence. Figured. When she needed someone to talk to, Peri wasn’t around. Now she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him yesterday either.

Must be away on business again, she muttered, wondering for the umpteenth time what Peri’s business was. He had always been evasive about his absences. What business could a cockroach possibly have?

Crick slouched out of the house, screen door banging behind her. The air was still and muggy, even this late in the day. Though the school year was already a month old, the summer weather lingered. Crick glanced down the street—a few kids were out on their bicycles, but the street didn’t interest her. She was glad her family lived right at the edge of town. Though suburbia stretched out in front, around the back of the house was rural Pennsylvania in all its glory. Fields and meadows all the way across the valley, then wooded hills beyond. The corn field behind the house was lush, and the tasseled stalks towered above Crick’s head as she pushed her way through the first few rows. She breathed deeply—corn was one of her favorite smells. In the dark green corridors of the corn field, she already felt better. She pushed through a few more rows, so that the house was completely hidden from view, then sat down in the green silence. Within a few moments, she noticed a fat black jumping spider stalking a fly on one of the arching corn leaves. The fly was basking in a bit of dappled evening sunlight, oblivious to the spider inching its way closer. Suddenly, the spider closed the gap between them in one mighty three-inch long leap…and missed the fly as it buzzed off.

Oh, good try! cheered Crick. That was an amazing jump! The spider cocked its head and looked at Crick, but didn’t reply. Typical. Most spiders weren’t very talkative.

Then Crick heard a low hum she recognized in the next row. Wending her way haphazardly through the corn was Buzz, a bumble bee who Crick had known for years.

Hi Buzz!

Oh! Crick! I didn’t see you there, hiding in the corn. What are you doing here?

Just sitting. Thinking.

The bee chuckled, though it was more of a vibrating wheeze than a laugh.

That’s exactly what you told me when I first met you. Do you remember? That day on the roof?

Crick smiled. Yeah. I was sitting on the garage roof, trying to work out if I could jump all the way to the willow tree. And you came along and convinced me I could fly. What a disaster that was! Crick smiled ruefully at the memory.

Uh, yeah, well. Sorry about that. It was good in theory…So, what are you thinking about today?

Crick liked Buzz, but she wouldn’t understand Crick’s current problems—she paid little attention to people, and didn’t understand at all how people thought and felt things. She answered Buzz’s question with her own. Have you seen Peri lately?

Yeah, we spent the last two days together.

Really? What were a bumble bee and a cockroach doing together for two days?

Yeah, we were at the…um…never mind.

Was this one of Peri’s business meetings?

Um, yeah…look, I’m not supposed to say anything about them. But Peri should be back soon. He flies almost as fast as I do. And speaking of which, she added hastily, I’m only just back myself. I should be getting to the hive to check up on the babies—nurse bees never do a good enough job cleaning behind the children’s antennae. Good to see you! Stop by the hive later—you know you’re always welcome. And with that, she was off, angling toward the house and her hive under the porch.

Crick waited a few minutes. She wanted to talk to Peri, but she knew that he didn’t fly as fast as Buzz, and if Buzz was only just now back, Peri wasn’t home yet.

She hated when Peri was away. He was her oldest friend, and she was always lonely without him. Crick had first met the cockroach when she was just a preschooler. She would spend hours happily arranging her dollhouse furniture for him, setting out banquets composed of bits of cookies and crackers she saved from the snacks her mother gave her, and chatting merrily with him.

It was Peri who had explained Crick’s abilities to her. After her parents had dragged her to the psychologist and stopped calling her