The Nest by Kenneth Oppel

Author:Kenneth Oppel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2015-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

I pulled the covers over my head and wrapped myself up like a cocoon.

Inside the nest it was dimmer than ever, but my focus was the clearest yet. Suspended from the ceiling was a big gauzy bundle of white that looked like silk and spit and cobweb. It took up nearly half the nest and gave off a fierce heat. When I peered down from my little ledge—had it been built just for me?—I could see, just outside the circular exit, a swarm of worker wasps hovering and beating their wings, angling cool air inside the nest. I felt the breeze against my face.

“The baby’s pupating.”

It was the queen, her antenna grazing me. I hadn’t even heard her coming. Her wings were noiseless.

“He’s not a larva anymore,” she said. “The baby’s eaten all he needs for now. He’s spun a little nest around himself, and he’s just concentrating on growing.”

I tried to peer inside, but the baby was sealed away within its white cocoon. I thought of myself asleep in bed, all wrapped up in my blankets.

“I didn’t know if you’d come back,” the queen said to me.

“I don’t seem to have a choice.”

“Oh, of course you do, my dear. Of course you do. You want to come. That’s why you’re here.”

I wasn’t at all sure about this. But I felt differently now. If Dr. Brown was right, this was just a dream. It felt real, but it wasn’t. It had no power over me.

“So, what happens next?” I asked.

“Well, the baby will grow, and then he’ll be ready.”

“To replace our baby.”

“Goodness me, you’re doing it again. This, right here, is your baby.”

“Our baby needs a heart operation.”

“He’s in the hospital right now,” said the queen. “I know. He’ll be home in the morning. Your mother will be very sad indeed. She’ll try to be brave, though. They’ll have told her they can’t perform their surgery until the baby’s stronger. And very crude surgery it is, if you don’t mind me saying. They do their best, don’t get me wrong, best intentions and all that, but it’s still primitive. Be loving to your mother. Because the fact is, the baby won’t ever be strong enough to have the operation.”

“You don’t know that!” I said, and had to remind myself none of this was real.

“He doesn’t have long. The doctors will be vague. They’ll say, ‘Oh, when he’s stronger.’ Maybe they’ll even believe it themselves.”

“You’re sure?”

“It’s very sad. But he doesn’t have long. How are the others bearing up?”

I felt like my head was being crammed full of crumpled bits of paper, and I was trying to unfold them all to read the answers, but the printing was too small and the paper too torn. Nothing made sense.

I muttered, “Nicole doesn’t really understand.”

“Merciful. And your father?”

I thought of him sitting on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sadder.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Who’s taking care of you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Who’s looking after you? Who has a tender word for you?”

“They do; they’re just tired.

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