Aerial Attack

I was lifeguarding. I do that sometimes. It’s a nice change of pace from being the one to sound intelligent non-stop. Five guys were doing freestyle drills: Jake, Mike, Alex, Ethan, and Will. Ethan had the smoothest stroke, he’d been working on it weekly for over a year. Mike and Alex were pushing to keep up with him, although they were early in the upgrade from dog-paddle. All three were tall, thin, and barely buoyant rowers. Mike and Alex were swimming with us as part of their off season cross training. Will was older and trying to get active again. He had learned to swim last year, but it was coming back slowly. Jake was a runner who needed an non impact cross training option. He was reluctant to admit he wasn’t exactly an intermediate swimmer.
Brit was teaching. She was talking to Jake in the shallow end, encouraging him to stop breathing the pool. She’d given Ethan a set of drills in 100 meter increments, looked at Mike and Alex panting after the first one, and gave them the same drills in 50 meter increments. Will was doing modified drills for 25s. All five were doing just fine, as were the two extremely dedicated swimmers doing laps. It was a football playoff night; the Pats were possibly playing the Jets, watched avidly by football fans and those betting on the season. Mr. Robinson was doing his mile of elementary backstroke, his airborne arms lethal to anyone within his lane, his kick propelling him more vertical than horizontal. He wore a nose plug, ear plugs, and the requisite swim cap. Bella was the other lap swimmer: fast, precise, and doing a distance workout. Her headphones were occasionally heard when she stopped to check her workout card. The tattered remnants of her outermost suit flapped with every turn as her flip sent a wave of water cascading out to drain back into the gutter.
I heard a whirring noise. Something brown flew past my face. There was a dramatic splash, and then softer splashing. It was as I feared. Still counting seven heads and sweeping the bottom of the pool, I ran for the net. Yes, I know, I’m not supposed to run on deck. I should even know better than most, given how my volume of wipe outs. I returned. A renewed attack was imminent. The attacker was making a renewed attempt for the gutter. It was Periplaneta americana, a cockroach of doom. I smacked the net atop our attacker and resumed scanning. Brit saw the net go in and quickly turned her would be distance swimmer around. The next lane over, Ethan stopped to investigate. Mike and Alex finished their lap, panting and flushed, and joined him staring over the lane line at my battle.
The cockroach of doom escaped my net and went flying towards the surface, six legs and two wings all swimming. I swung the net up, over, and down to force it underwater again. There were still seven swimmers, one teacher in the pool. I used the net to push the beast deeper.
“What is it?” Ethan asked. He’d been swimming with us the longest. He knew you never knew what to expect when when we got out the net. He’d heard our stories. The other guys were cautiously approaching, possibly to verify class wasn’t canceled.
“A failing attempt at evolution to survive the unlikely aquatic apocalypse.” I recaptured the swimming bug. I still had eight deliberately moving bodies in the pool. “Periplaneta americana.”
“Oh, a bug.” Ethan pulled his goggles up to see better.
Mike submerged, and then shot up and backed away. “Damn, that’s huge,” Mike must’ve bobbed underwater for a face to tentacle view.
“A palmetto bug?” Will stopped. He was flushed and breathing hard.
“Are you gonna pull it out?” Alex was leaning closer.
“Only after it stops moving. It’ll be at least five minutes.” I knew from experience. Zombie cockroaches of doom mustering a renewed, if slightly slower, attack were not fun. Never again would I fail to eliminate that threat.
Ethan shrugged, pulled on his goggles, and pushed off the wall. I still had eight swimmers. Ethan was doing a drill, one arm at his side, one arm in front, face in the water, kicking. It was a favorite drill. Brit assigned almost everyone to it, almost every class. Mike and Alex quickly hurried to attempt to keep up. Will shrugged, but grabbed his kickboard.
“It’s your first day back to swimming. You’ve already gone further today than you did in a class last spring.” I didn’t look at him or my still moving bug as I checked the swimmers, one through eight.
“Thanks. It’s my New Years resolution.” He adjusted his goggles and pushed off.
I counted five of Ethan’s laps instead of bothering to check the clock. “Brit?” I hollered. “Can I take the bug outside?”
“Won’t you just squish it?” She was staring intently at her class swimming the length.
“I hate the crunch and the mess! Will you?”
“No! Keep that thing away from me!” She indulged in a full body shudder. “Fine. I’ll guard.” She hopped backwards up to the edge of the pool and stood. She picked up a guard tube.
“Seven swimmers,” I told her.
Her eyes swept the bottom and surface of the pool and she nodded. “Seven.”
Gingerly, I lifted the bug. It remained legs up, wings half furled, body crumpled. I jiggled the net over the pool. Our attacker remained inert.
Getting out the fire door was a problem while keeping the bug far away from me. I inched closer to the bug until I had only a few feet of safety. I kicked the handle of the door and thrust the net out and away from me. Eight feet away, it felt safe to dump the bug onto the cement surrounding the roof overhang. I turned the net, and then smashed the edge of the net onto our inert invader hard enough to feel the net to cement impact in my shoulders. I wiped the net on the grass straight away from the door. I slammed the door against any other potential pests, leaned up the net, and resumed guarding.

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