HIVE

by Taylor, Dan

  From the behind the ring of soldiers a man was shouting orders. This must have been the captain. Abel was about to leave and regroup when from the back of each Land Rover and truck stepped out a soldier with a big silver backpack which was attached to a stick. Although he had never seen a real flamethrower, Abel knew that was what these men had. This was very wrong. Too real and far too extreme which dropped a pang of dread in Abel’s stomach. Abel had dealt with some crazy things in his career but this topped it tenfold. The Army Captain shouted “FIRE” and the ring of soldiers simultaneously squeezed their triggers and shot all the remaining Policemen dead where they stood. “FIRE” shouted the captain again as a barrage of bullets flew into the building. The ring of soldiers then made way for the seven men with flamethrowers to walk through and begin to torch the building. The flamethrowers made an awful blowing noise as they destroyed anything in their path.

  Abel’s face was frozen with fear and disbelief, his hands had the opposite reaction and were instinctively making haphazard notes, ‘Duchess - Murder’. He had just witnessed the Army murder both civilians and Police. From the back of one of the ambulances Abel was half relieved to see his sergeant leap out and start shouting at the Captain. He was restrained by three soldiers and dragged back into the ambulance. Abel kept a cool head. What was he supposed to do? There was nothing in his training which could have prepared him for this situation. He had no time to grieve for his colleagues who had so brutally been shot down. He had to think. On the one hand, Sergeant Green was alive so maybe there were others that were also alive. What could the police offices have done to deserve be coldly shot down. If he did go back to the hotel would he succumb to a similar fate or would they take him to his Sergeant for more orders. If he fled the only way he could possibly make it without being seen would be to run through the woods. The same woods that beast of a man ran into. Abel didn't really have much of a choice. He turned around fled into the woods and did not look back. He prayed he would not run into the bald and scarred man.

  Chapter 16

  Klutz had been lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the cellar stairs for some time. His breathing was short and raspy but he had regained movement of his arms. He felt over his body and felt his ribs. They didn't feel so broken now. Maybe he hadn't broken as many as he thought. It was pitch black in the cellar. He had been down here many times and had slipped on the wooden steps before but never quite as bad as the tumble he had most recently taken. With great effort, he tried to move his legs but they refused to budge.

  The cellar went down one full flight. At the bottom of the steps led to a small grey concrete hall which had the chilled keg room to the right and the wine and bottle drinks storage to the left. Klutz knew there was a light switch on the wall to his left which lit up the hallway. There is also a light switch at the top of the stairs to light the stairway but he had not managed to hit it on his way down. Klutz rolled onto his belly and suddenly had a strange sensation. He could feel. Not the cold concrete on his stomach or the pain of several broken ribs, but he could feel the texture of the smooth concrete below him. This was the first time he could feel anything since he had woken up on the black and white lino floor. He dragged himself over to the bottom of the stairs and stroked the coarse wood feeling every ridge and knot with his fingertips. Was he getting better? Maybe in time he would get all his senses back. Klutz started to drag himself up the stairs using all his might to pull. He knew he needed to get upstairs and help people evacuate. Suddenly the sound of the smoke alarm echoed from under the cellar door and down the stairs. Now he definitely had to help everyone evacuate. He hoped that someone had just set off the alarm to get everyone out but his hopes were diminished when thick black plumes of smoke started to creep under the cellar door above him.

  Klutz managed to climb six steps before ungracefully slipping down to the bottom. It was hopeless. Without the use of his legs he just wasn't going to make it. Klutz tried to picture the room. He knew at the far end was a wooden shelf with various cleaning products on and also there would be a mop and bucket which the bar staff used to mop behind the bar. If he could get the mop, he could use it to hit the light switch so he wouldn't be in complete darkness. Steadily he crawled dragging his limp legs behind him. When he was three feet from the back of the room, he reached out in front of him with sprawled fingers until he felt the hard plastic of the mop. In a quick swoop he snatched the mop and banged it onto the wall. It was a direct hit onto the light switch and the sole light bulb which dangled above him flicked into life.

  A smile crept onto his face as this was literally the first thing that had gone right for him all day but it quickly disappeared when he realised just how little it helped his current situation.

  He lay on his back staring at the dangling light bulb above him wondering if he was going to die down in the cellar. He enjoyed his job but he certainly was not so dedicated that he would die for it. His only hope was that he would soon regain the use of his legs and be able to climb the stairs to freedom. Suddenly Klutz had a warm feeling in his brain and his body turned cold. His senses were returning. He could now feel the coolness of the floor and there was a draft hitting him from his right. This gave Klutz confidence that he would heal but more importantly it gave him an idea. The draft was coming from the keg room as it used a cooling fan to chill the beer. On Monday mornings, there was beer delivery which went straight into the keg room via a keg chute. That was his way out. With a new-found purpose, Klutz dragged himself over to the door on his right with the mop still clutched in his left hand. He strained to reach the door handle but when he did it swung open with ease. He used the mop once again to hit the rooms light switch. It took him several attempts this time but he managed.

  The room was painted white and the brown water stains on the floor stunk of old beer. The thermostat on the wall read fourteen degrees Celsius which was a little high but then again, the hotel was on fire so Klutz could accept that. Two of the walls were lined with Kegs hooked up to the hotel’s beer lines. Four different lagers, two ales, a bitter and a stout. On the wall to Klutz's right was a pile of empty Kegs, the large cooling fan attached to the ceiling and a white glossed door. Klutz dragged himself over to the white door and pulled the handle. It was much trickier as years and weather had warped the door so it stuck stubbornly. He used all the strength he could muster and the door moved inch by inch until it was fully open and exposed the keg chute. A rush of damp air blew in through the door.

  Klutz looked up the Keg chute to the door which could be his salvation. The keg chute was dirty and full of dead leaves. If Klutz could smell he would have smelt rotting wood and wet stone. It had a steep stair way to the top with two long tracks ran either side of the chute which were used for the kegs to roll down. At the top of the stairs was a big iron door and attached to the iron door was a big steel padlock. Klutz was trapped and the realisation that he would die down there was all too much for him to bear.

  "No" he groaned. It was the first decipherable thing he had said since being bitten by Mr Smith. There was no hope. Above him he could hear the cooling fan buzz and the crackling of the hotel being burnt. A small part of him wished that Clive hadn't called in sick today but he pushed these thoughts away as being spiteful wasn't in his nature. The realisation and acceptance that he was going to die brought out some rebellious thoughts.

  'if now is my time, then I am at least going to go out in style.' Klutz thought to himself as he remembered the bottle of Remy Martin Louis XIII Champagne Cognac in the room next door. And with that thought he grabbed his trusty mop and dragged himself back into the hallway and into the bottled drinks room. It only took two attempts to hit the light switch. He was getting rather skilled with the mop. This room was lower down than the others and Klutz had to drag himself down two steps. It was only slightly larger than the keg room but far mustier. Wine racks filled three of the four walls and were filled with various vintages and styles from around the world including the hotel owner�
�s private collection which was probably worth thousands. On the far wall buzzed a champagne fridge and a built-in cupboard with shabby pine doors which was where the spirits were kept. Clive always left this cupboard unlocked. It was pain to remember the key whenever the bar had run out of a particular liquor. It was against hotel policy but he always figured the cellar was locked anyway so that was enough.

  Klutz pulled himself along the cool concrete until he reached the cupboard. Smoke had started to hover above the room and the sound of crackling flames was even more intense. With a flick of the broom Klutz whipped open the cupboard. The round bottle of Remy Martin glistened like a star in the dim room. He wasn't particularly fond of cognac but this was the most expensive bottle of alcohol in the hotel, hell, probably the whole of Bayhollow! He was just about to try to sit up when something else caught his eye. On the bottom left corner of the cupboard, hidden half behind a box of Captain Morgan rum, was a black grate. Klutz pushed the box of rum out the way to inspect closer. It was a thick black rectangle similar to size and shape of grate used as a storm drain. It was covered in cobwebs and pitch black. With surprising ease Klutz pulled the grate open exposing a deep dark shaft. There was a slight breeze and fresh air, or at least it was fresher than the room he was currently in which was slowly filling up with smoke. Klutz uneasily put his arm into the mouth of the hole and it disappeared into the blackness. A sick terrified feeling swept over him. It was like something from a horror film and he half expected a monstrous hand to grab him and pull him in. The air gave an ominous whistle from the hole. With the smoke making it harder to breathe Klutz had no choice but to grab his trusty mop and crawl onto his belly into the complete darkness and hope it did not lead to a dead end. He crawled for ten feet commando style before the hole twisted to the left. From here the light from behind him in the cellar was no more and he was in complete darkness. The hole continued for what seemed like miles. At points it narrowed and widened and twisted and inclined then declined, swooped left and right. It was impossible to turn around but there was a faint breeze which spurred Klutz on. He hoped everyone at the hotel was alright and the place hadn't completely burned down. He was not looking forward to searching for a new job but he was almost certain he had lost his. Klutz was beginning to panic when he saw the faint light at the end of the passage. He hastened his speed and met a black grate similar to one he encountered at the start of the dark passage. With ease, he pushed the grate open and crawled out onto a wooden floor.

  He had made his way to the boathouse. The boathouse was more like an old large wooden shed with wooden decking around the edges and a small wooden pier which housed a row boat at each side. Why there was a passage from the boathouse to the cellar Klutz wasn't quite sure except he knew the hotel was old and did have a few secret passages. Maybe this was a bit like a priest hole which was used as a means of escape in case of intruders or was a way to smuggle goods in and out of the building. Either way Klutz was glad to be out of the burning hotel and in what he assumes was safety. The boathouse was a good two hundred meters away from the hotel after all.

  Klutz found that after his long crawl, his legs were feeling a lot better. By this it is meant he could now move them slowly and feel the crude wood beneath him. With considerable exertion, Klutz rolled onto his back and sat up. The waters lapped gently against the boats and the wind gently creaked the old wood slat walls. In the distance the fire was audible and the sound of engines roaring and people shouting. Klutz rubbed his legs and then eased himself up. He stood up straight and got ready to walk to the hotel. People must have been worried he was still inside. For all he knew firemen were risking their lives to try to rescue him. He tried to take a step forward but his newly recovered legs were sluggish and gave way. Klutz topped backwards straight into one of the row boats knocking rope attached to mooring post as he went and gently floated out into the lake.

  Chapter 17

  Abel had been running for a solid twenty minutes through dense forest, kicking up undergrowth as he went. As far as he could tell he hadn't been followed and fortunately he had not run into the massive, scarred man. He could no longer hear the commotion from the hotel and knew he must be about two miles away. He wiped the sweat off his brow and tidied hid golden hair, ‘time for a quick break.’ Abel whipped out his mobile phone. Only one bar of signal. Enough to make a call, but to whom? It looked like the whole police force had been wiped out with exception of Sargent Green and he had been dragged into the back of an ambulance by the army outside the hotel. Abel paused to collect his thoughts to see if there was something he missed. The whole of today's encounter had been like a bad dream. First the hotel had been taken over by some devil worshipping cult. One of the cult members, the large man, had escaped and was somewhere in the same forest as him. The Army had turned up to save the day but had instead decided to murder the entire police force. Abel's nose for trouble told him that the large man was somehow responsible for today's events. He needed time to think but also knew he had to move. The forest would be crawling with soldiers to find anyone else and he imagined that his disappearance would not have gone unnoticed. If he managed to get out the forest and went home to his flat, someone would definitely be waiting for him. Abel stared at his phone wondering who would believe his crazy story. No doubt the British defence would have warned emergency services to look out for his call. Then he had an idea. He pulled out his wallet and flicked through the card sleeve until he reached a tatty, off-white business card. It had a clip art emblem of typewriter to the left and on the right read 'Lydia Sato - Journalist'.

  Police and journalists always have a relationship that balances on the knife edge. Both distrust the other but will often need one another. The reporter needs information for their readers and police need to release information to the public to help with their investigations. Sometimes this relationship would tip either side of the knife edge with journalists unscrupulously gaining information illegally, sensationalising facts or printing lies and police being paid off for restricted information. This was something Abel knew all too well. Six months earlier he had been in a romantic relationship with Lydia Sato, a reporter for the Hampshire Echo. They had what he thought was the perfect relationship until one day he found some pillow talk about the identity of a suspected terrorist cell end up in an article on page six. He then quickly but kindly ended the relationship. Her journalism would always come before him and his police work would come before her. As much as it pained him, he fumbled in her number knowing she was possibly the only person who he could call and would listen.

  After three rings Abel heard the familiar voice. "Well hello PC Abel. It's been a long time. Or is it Sergeant or Detective yet?"

  "No still PC," replied Abel bashfully. He started walking, deciding the risk of him losing signal was better than the risk of him getting caught. "Listen Lydia, I'm in a bit of a pickle. Something crazy is going on and I think you are the only person who would understand."

  "It's not something to do with the Royal Duchess Hotel, is it? " Lydia replied hopefully.

  "Errm well yes, it is. How did you know?" replied Abel.

  "Everyone knows Abel!" Shouted Lydia excitedly down the phone. "It's not every day the Army are called into little rural Bayhollow. I'm stuck just off the A272 on that little road which takes you to the gates of the Hotel. The Army has cornered off the entire grounds and smoke can be seen above the tree line towards where the hotel is. There has been shouting and gun fire. I'm not the only one here too. We have BBC, CNN, ITV. It looks like every journalist in the country is here to find out what's going on. Someone from the military is going to give a press conference here soon but if you have a heads up on what's really going on, I would sure appreciate it."

  "I can tell you all about its Lydia but I need your help. I'm lost in the woods and there is a maniac and maybe the Army after me. The information I have will be one hundred times better than anything from that press conference but I need to find a way to you and I may need to
go in hiding until I figure out exactly what's going on," pleaded Abel.

  "OK well you’re using your mobile, right?" she asked.

  "Right," Abel replied quickly.

  "And your using a smart phone, right?"

  "Right," replied Abel trying not to sound annoyed.

  "Well open up your maps. Your GPS should tell you where about you are."

  "Oh yeah," Abel blushed at his own stupidity, "Hang on, my mobile is just searching the location. Got it. I'm in Smuggler Wood about half a mile from a dead-end road called Woodbine Lane."

  "Okay Abel, you get yourself to that road and I will meet you there and Abel, this information better be worth it! If I'm missing this press conference for a wild goose chase my boss will have my arse!" Lydia hung up.

  Using the Maps feature on his phone Abel managed to make his way to Woodbine Lane. It was more of a mud track than any sort of road. At the end of the track was a small cottage surrounded by miles of woods. It had a faded whitewash outside and rotten flaky single glazed windows. Whoever lived here clearly did not care about the houses upkeep. One look at the fresh chopped logs outside and the black bags of rubbish on the doorstep told Abel that someone probably did live out here, but the state of the property told him they were probably a loner. Next to the house was a small garage sized barn which was in a similar condition to the house. In between the house and the barn was a Silver Ford SVT lightning pickup truck. Lydia's pickup truck. Around the corner of the house Abel could hear voices. Cautiously with one hand on his belt by his trusty truncheon Abel made his way round to see who was there. To his relief, it was Lydia and who he assumed was the owner of the property, although for a second his scruffy appearance made him think it might be one of those crazed hotel guests. Lydia turned and smiled sweetly ushering with one hand to Abel, beckoning him towards them. That sweet smile flooded Abel with a thousand pleasant memories and then filled him with sorrow when he thought about the betrayal that ended them.