I exhaled holy shit as a cloud of drones erupt and swarms toward our direction. The hive that dangled off a tree, now a remnant pile on the bottom of the gulch. Randall ran yelling, I think I have one in my shirt. Fuck I do! Brah, i think it’s on your neck, I reply trying to keep up with Randalls pace. Shit they’re everywhere, Tony screams behind me. We hastily scramble up the embankment of the gulch and into a backyard. I yell at my two friends scurrying behind a derelict house, Hurry up and find the hose!
I slap myself silly attempting to shoo bees away from my face and spontaneously breaking into interpretative dance. Randall now shirtless, frantically tries to find the end of a coiled up garden hose with his mouth closed and lips tucked in, hoping to avoid a former traumatic fat lip incident. Tony, busy defending the onslaught with one hand while the other hand turns the spigot. Picture Three Stooges doing an Abbott and Costello routine while Benny Hills intro plays in the background. With a bit of stinging profanities whizzing by, Tony gets the water running. Randall gasps for a breath of air as jets of water spray around us. I stop wishing for time to rewind five minutes and check my baseball cap that had slipped my mind during the chaos. Wow, a bee without its stinger. My forehead begins to hurt but is quickly subdued by the infectious laughter of three idiots.
I was the expert of adding salt to a wound but if shit ever hit the fan, I would somehow end up as the fan.