Jason trudged back to the camp site whistling. "You know you're out of the city when you have to bury your own sh..."

He stopped, listening to the soft rustling of the pines. "Gayle?"

The last of the embers sparked in the fire. Jason kicked dirt on the stragglers.

"In here!"

In the small shafts of moonlight breaking through the canopy, Jason could just make out the shape of their new North Face Tadpole tent. A present from Gayle's parents, accomplished campers themselves, Jason couldn't help thinking it was a not-so-subtle suggestion that he needed some "naturing-up."

He unzipped the mesh door and climbed in. "Seems a little early to be turning in, doesn't it?" A long shape from the sleeping bag rolled and sighed.

"I thought it would be romantic, this being your first night au naturale." From under the bag's thick shell Gayle's blond head peeked out. Her hand reached up, fingers dangling a pair of small, sheer panties. "What do you say, nature boy? Wanna frolic in the woods?"

Jason dropped to unlace his boots while Gayle removed his breaker. "Yes, ma'am, I think a frolic would do nicely."

'Damn boots, camon! CAMON!' he thought struggling with the triple-knotted laces. A slim hand reached around his face and took hold of his cheek.

Jason gasped and slapped at Gayle's hand. "Ouch! Jason!"

"Sorry, there was a tick on your hand. I thought this thing was suppose to keep out the bugs." He pointed at the fancy tent.

Gayle cradled her slapped hand in her other. "Well it can't do much about the ones we bring in. Must have come along for the ride."

Jason regrouped and kicked off his loosened boots. "Ah! Speaking of rides..."

He rolled onto her, caressing the smooth skin of her face. Moonlight briefly flashed through the netting of the tent.

"Ugh, Gayle, another one. Hold still."

She smiled as he carefully plucked another plump tick from the edge of her hairline. "I think we should check each other, just to be sure we're really alone." He said, not without a smile.

She rustled under him. "Oh Jason, don't spoil the mood. Come here."

He drew close, her hot breath steaming his skin. He kissed her, once lightly, then deeply, moving his hands up into her hair.

"Mmmm, Jason," she breathed in his ear. "Don't stop."

Jason froze. Passion flooded out of him, replaced by a paralyzing chill.

Her head was covered in ticks.

His first, insane thought was 'it's like someone beaded her entire scalp.'

Jason pulled back, unable to take his hands from her hair, her beautiful blond hair. How many times had he'd buried his face there, smelling the light scent, feeling the world just slip away in those silky strands. His overloaded senses let nothing else in but those tiny, glass-hard bumps.

Gayle swept her arms around her husbands neck, forcing him closer. "Jason, darling."

The ticks chittered and like a flock, moved over his fingers and hands toward his wrist like an icy stream.

"Jason, come closer, come to us."

They skittered down over her brow, down her cheeks, thousands of miniature soldiers taking position. Jason inched forward, unable to tear away from her hold. They covered his forearms, like a fluid of armor and he fell closer.

Her face was completely enveloped now. They swarmed in and out of her mouth which each whisper. He caught a last glimpse of blue before the mass swallowed her eyes. "Jason, my love."

'Like someone beaded her scalp...' he thought and she kissed him.

Easter Sunday, Sandy landed on her elbow when she crashed her bike. It hurt a lot and needed surgery to screw the bones back together, but it only really ached for about a week and not that much with the medicine the doctor sent home with her. Ten days later, once the stitches were removed, she scrambled through the hedge to run next door, showing off her hot pink cast for Randall and the others.

“I told you it was broken, Randall T. Mitchell.” She stuck out her tongue at the boy, a nine-year-old flirt. “My mom says I could come show you, but I gotta go now” she said after everyone had drawn and written all over the cast. She scrambled back through the hedge and went home.

Sandy’s mom sat her down on the couch and started picking twigs out of Sandy’s bushy hair. “No more of this scrambling around” she said. She looked at the cast, checked Sandy’s knuckles for swelling and pulled another twig or two out of the top of the cast. “You’ve had surgery sweetie, you have to take it easy. Do you hurt?”

“No mom.” Sandy rubbed the spot where the twig had been in her cast. It itched a little, but further down than she could reach. “I can’t get it mom” she whined.

“Leave it be Sandy. Just because the stitches are gone doesn’t mean you can go digging down there.”

“But it itches mom!”

“That means it’s healing.” Her mom put in one of the DVDs they’d stocked up on for Sandy’s recuperation. For six weeks Sandy tried to somehow soothe the itch and ache but nothing worked. She tried to ignore it like ignoring a mosquito bite, but it was really hard.

Finally came the day to have the cast removed. “I can’t wait to get this off. It smells” Sandy said. “And I get to scratch!”

“Well, you can’t do that right away. After I take off the cast we have to take x-rays again to make sure everything’s fine.” The PA told her. “We’ll have that cast off in a second and the pictures should only take a few minutes.” He got down to business and deftly cut open both sides of the cast and spread it an inch on one side. With big funny looking scissors he cut through the batting then pulled open the cast more, just enough for Sandy’s arm to easily slip through the slot. He looked at Sandy’s elbow and gasped.

“What is that?” she cried. “Why is it so dirty?”

“Oh my god!” Sandy’s mother took one look and jumped backwards to the door.

“Don’t touch it” the PA warned her, picking up the phone and saying “Could you send Dr. Dahl in here?” He took the cast over to the sink and opened it all the way to look inside. From across the room they could see it was littered with specks.

“Oh man, it itches even more now” Sandy started squirming. She looked closer at her elbow, realizing it was not dirty skin. The specs took on shape, tiny ticks, hundreds of them no bigger than the head of a pin, each latched into her inflamed little arm. “Mommy! Mommy! Get it off me! NO!” she wailed, waving her arm as if it were on fire. Her mom tried to approach but kept gagging, having to turn away.

The PA tried to quiet the flailing child and yelled “Can I get some help in here?” Two nurses arrived, not knowing what was wrong but it was obvious that the child needed some restraint and support. “Is the doctor coming?”

“He’s on his way” said the older nurse, instinctively coming around behind Sandy and holding her body and trying to soothe her. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Look at her arm” he said. The nurse peered closely at the squiggly mass of baby ticks nursing on the child’s arm.

“How did that happen?”

“Good question” the PA said. Sandy was no longer hysterical but still crying and frightened. “We’ll take care of it sweetie, you’ll be okay.”

Once the x-ray showed that her elbow was healed, the nurse hung a drape so Sandy didn’t have to look at it. Before they got to work they took pictures of the colonized elbow. Both nurses and the PA all worked over the tiny arm with tweezers, removing each and every immature tick, over two hundred of the little suckers.
After treating the tiny wounds with antiseptic and wrapping the arm again, the doctor sent her home with a prescription for antibiotics, in case she’d been infected by the little disease vectors. Upon examination, the empty cast held the debris of a tick nest. Mamma tick had chosen Sandy as her last meal and laid her eggs in the warmth of the casing.