Hive

by Griffin Hayes

  “These are the dark ages.” Ret jokes.

  Oleg laughs.

  “Azina, you okay?”

  It’s Ret. I shove my pant leg down and hope to hell he didn’t see anything. I mean, I’m not a danger to the group. Not like Pennies. He hadn’t been able to fight the chemicals surging through his body. They had started changing him immediately. During the end times, there must have been others exposed to the chemical who managed to pull through. The death rate couldn’t have been one hundred percent, could it? My hands begin to shake and I shove them under my armpits.

  “You don’t look so good.”

  I brush past Ret and address the others. The noise outside is completely gone, and I’m hoping to high hell those things aren’t smart enough to circle around and box us in.

  “History class is over,” I say. “We’re leaving.”

  -20-

  We creep through a second set of doors and find ourselves in a room where the walls are covered in mirrors. Before them are dozens of iron weights.

  “We’ve entered a gymnasium.” Oleg informs us. “An exercise room. Most Dusters didn’t do much manual labor. So to keep themselves in shape they’d lift heavy weights and run on machines.”

  I’m surprised to hear Oleg use a street term like Duster to refer to those living before the end times.

  Jinx snickers. “Computing machines that did their thinking, mechanical doors that opened and closed on their own, all the food they could eat. I’m surprised they weren’t all eight hundred pounds.”

  “Some of them were.” Oleg furrows his brow.

  My foot snags on something and I nearly fall flat on my ass. Ret reaches down and comes up with a weapon. “Warden’s rifle.”

  Everyone knows the Prior’s personal bodyguard are tough sons-of-bitches. There isn’t a damn thing that’ll frighten them. Oleg hardly looks at it.

  We find the gymnasium reception area and an access door leading to the rest of the complex. The exit is blocked by a hastily erected barricade made from weightlifting equipment, tables turned on their sides, and even the body of a dead horse.

  “How the hell did that get in here?” Jinx asks.

  Sneak’s face blanches.

  It’s a perfect choke point. The bodies of dead Zees are piled at the door like cords of firewood, blown away as they tried to surge through. I can see the mound stirring slightly. Some of the Zees are alive, pinned beneath the wave of bodies.

  We enter the reception area and I feel my attention being drawn behind a desk opposite the barricade. That drone in my ear is getting so loud that it sounds like the buzzing of an insect.

  Zees are piled around the desk, and most of their skulls have been cracked open with blunt weapons. I peer over the edge and make another gruesome find – half a dozen Wardens, huddled together in death. Most of their flesh has been ripped off. Except for one of them.

  “Azina.”

  I turn around, annoyed. “What is it?” Everyone’s eyeing me like I’m the town drunk.

  “We didn’t say anything,” Ret says.

  He has that ‘are you okay’ look on his face again, and I’m not liking it one bit. I hear my name again, but this time I know it’s coming from the pile. That one Keeper whose face hasn’t quite been completely eaten. His eyes are open and glowing and it looks like he’s trying to climb out. He’d make it if his arms and legs weren’t trapped. “Azina...”

  But what I hear in my head is, “Asssseeeenaaaahhhhh.”

  The edge of the Katana hits him right between the eyes before he has a chance to say anything else. All I see are the dim confines of his mangled features as I hack his face off. Contaminated blood sprays close to my mouth before I can stop myself.

  Ret rushes over to me. The Keeper’s head looks like a bowl filled with gore, and Ret curses under his breath. He’s seen the Wardens. He turns to Oleg, his eyes ablaze. “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Ret grabs him by the collar of his robe and drags him over to the barricade. Oleg peers over and his eyes close with resignation.

  “Don’t insult my intelligence by trying to tell me The Keepers sent in an elite hit squad and you knew nothing about it.”

  Jinx removes a shiny blade from his vest. “I say we feed him to a pack of Zees.”

  “And what will that accomplish?” Oleg asks, the fear in his voice unmistakable. To him, we’re looking more and more like a bunch of savages.

  “Accomplish?” Bron says. “Not much, but it’ll feel damn good.”

  I'm worried that if this crew gets their way we’ll prove him right. “Back off, all of you! Get back!” I turn to Oleg, who’s fixing his robe. “You’ve been bullshitting us from the start. Now start talking or I won't stop Bron from ripping your arms and legs off.”

  Oleg’s eyes are flitting between me and Bron.

  Bron has a twisted little grin on his face as he stares the Keeper down, making tearing sounds.

  I collect myself for a moment. “This mission has nothing to do with rescuing a team of lost Prospectors, does it?”

  Oleg doesn't answer. Bron comes forward and I signal for him to back off. “You’ve got the next ten seconds to start talking, or so help me, I’ll feed you to the first pack of Zees we find.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” His frantic eyes reach out to Glave for support. Glave is still wearing the same half-dead expression he’s had since his wife came shambling out from that apartment.

  “Glave’s not going to help you, Oleg. Start talking.” I see in his eyes that no one’s ever spoken to him like this. There’s hatred there, plain as day. But he knows he doesn’t have a choice and I’m about to break his face a bit to get his lips warmed up when he begins.

  “The Order has been searching for this complex for decades. We told you that a small group of our Prospectors stumbled upon it, and that was the truth. What we neglected to mention was that there weren’t four Prospectors. There were five, and the fifth made it out alive, but barely. At least, that was the story he gave. He told us they located the complex, but that they were overrun by swarms of Volgoroth.

  “We didn’t believe much of what he said, of course. After all, The Order exterminated them over a hundred years ago. We assumed that the few remaining creatures died of starvation not long after. That was before we discovered what the chemical really did to its victims.”

  “So you sent in an elite squad to finish the job,” Jinx adds.

  Oleg nods. “We sent in our very best. Not to battle any Volgoroth. I already told you we thought the Prospector was lying. He wouldn’t be the first to stumble onto a cache of hidden wealth and let his greed get the better of him. What better way to throw off suspicion than to invoke the name ‘Volgoroth’?”

  “And what was it they were looking for?” I ask.

  Oleg’s eyes sparkle. “An immense storehouse of information, unparalleled since the Library of Alexandria. This complex was one of the last known refuges during those final days. It became an ark of sorts, built to prevent thousands of years of knowledge from disappearing forever. Somewhere here is a reinforced chamber with the answers to all of our questions. The moment we lost contact with our elite team, we knew that the Prospector’s story must be true.”

  “So if that Prospector knows the way, why the hell isn’t he here with us?”

  Oleg’s eyes flicker and suddenly I know.

  “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “Not I.”

  “Prior Skuld.”

  Oleg nods.

  “To protect your secret.”

  “Yes, but don’t be naïve. This isn’t only about the library. Maintaining a level of order and security is our second mandate. We could not allow people to know that a Hive had been located a half day’s journey from Sotercity. There are rules that forbid such a disclosure.”

  “Hive? You make these Zees sound like insects.”

  “In a way, they are. Their
minds are connected in ways we have yet to understand. If one of them sees you, they all see you.”

  “Oh great,” says Ret. “Something we should have known earlier, don't you think?”

  “To do what with? It wouldn’t have done you any good.”

  Bron crosses his arms. “Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but we don’t have enough ammo to kill them all. Hell, look at what happened to your Warden friends. They were left using their rifle butts as glorified clubs."

  Oleg won’t look at the dead Wardens, and I can’t blame him.

  “Somebody doesn’t like you very much to send you on a suicide mission with a bunch of Mercs,” I say.

  “The Order and Prior Skuld don’t like to be questioned. I openly objected to the Prospector’s... silencing, as well as the foolhardiness of the current operation. My reward for speaking out was an ultimatum. Return with proof that the library is real, or be cast along with my family into No Man’s Land, condemned for the rest of our days to wander the desolation.”

  “Why should we believe you when you’ve lied to us all along?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  As much as I hate to admit it, Oleg’s story makes sense. How the Zees were able to show up so soon after we took out their friends in the Cartier shop. Their strange, ant-like behavior. Not to mention that muffled voice that’s been yapping in my ear.

  Ret isn’t impressed. “This is bullshit. We got thousands of bloodthirsty Zees running around out there and you want us to find you a library.”

  “I'll give you this,” Jinx says. “You’ve got balls, expecting us to help you.”

  “It might not be that easy,” I say. “This library may be the only bargaining chip we have.”

  The muscles in Bron’s face tense. “How do you figure?”

  “Think about it. The Order sends us on a suicide mission. As far as they’re concerned, we’re already dead. Any of us lucky enough to make it back will end up just like that fifth Prospector. Unless we find that library. Then, we have leverage.”

  Everyone seems to be thinking it over, including Oleg.

  “Or maybe we just don’t go back,” Ret offers.

  “And wander through No Man’s Land for the rest of our lives?” Bron replies. “No thanks. And if you’re talking yourself into traveling to one of those rotting cities you can just forget it. No one's ever come back from there.”

  Jinx is eyeing the mangled Warden bodies. “It’d sure beat living under The Order's steel-toed boot.”

  “Then by all means,” Bron says, snorting with laughter. “Just remember to send us a postcard.”

  I feel Sneak tapping my leg. She has something in her hand. It’s a beaten-up sign, and it’s riddled with bullet holes and covered in blood. There’s a clean spot on the wall from where she’s taken it and it looks like some sort of emergency exit plan. A large arrow points to a small room, and I assume that's where we are. Below it is another level and a picture of something I've seen before in an old book that was printed before the fall.

  I turn to Oleg. “If you were a Duster and wanted to move large quantities in and out of this complex... Say, enough stuff to fill up that library of yours, and you knew that crowds of Zees were topside running ape-shit, how would you do it?”

  Oleg pauses. “I’m not sure.”

  It's the first time I hear him admit there’s something he doesn’t know. I hold the sign up. “Sneak may have just found our ticket out of here.”

  Oleg studies it for a moment and his face brightens. “I’ll be damned.”

  -21-

  We’re still in the gymnasium reception. The exit is clogged with the bodies of dead Zees, and it takes us almost twenty minutes to cut a path to freedom. Our plan is simple, really. According to the sign in my hand, there's an underground railway system two levels below us. Problem is, once we find it, none of us have a clue where those tracks will lead. Or worse, whether those old tunnels will be clear enough of debris and Zees to be passable. Some kind of transportation hub makes sense for a complex like this, given the amount of material that had been sent here for safekeeping. I'm also willing to bet Oleg's library will be somewhere near that depot.

  There's an old, weathered picture, hanging in a saloon in Sotercity, of a colossal machine belching great plumes of smoke and squatting on a pair of metal tracks like some kind of metallic caterpillar. Trains are what they called them, and I wonder if we'll find anything so magnificent.

  I'm also thinking back to Oleg’s comment about the Zees being part of a Hive. If one of them sees you, they all see you.

  That's what he’d said. The Warden I’d found buried under that pile of corpses. He'd already turned by then and was trying his damndest to get free, and I'd used the Katana to turn his skull into a serving bowl. The question nagging away at me was clear, though. How come the swarm didn't show up on the heels of that little incident?

  In the Cartier shop, the Zees had clamored over their fallen comrades as if they weren't even there. I’m wondering if they’re sometimes blind to their own kind, the way Dusters might have become immune to each other after living in cities teeming with millions of people. Was that why the Warden hadn’t raised the alarm? Because all he saw was one of his own?

  We walk two-by-two. My light is fading and I crack another glow stick. The space opens up and thick pockets of shadow cling to the walls. We're heading down a set of metal stairs. The grip feels soft and corroded. I bring my fingers to my nose and recoil at the smell of rotting rubber. Oleg sees me.

  “Escalator.” He says this as if the word should mean something to me. “A set of stairs that moved on their own. Quite popular at the time. In fact–”

  I hear something below us and shove the light into my pocket. The room goes from dark to black. Oleg's getting the hang of this and stops flapping his fish-lips. We're halfway down the escalator, and I can distinctly hear something shuffling around on the level below us.

  Could it be a Zee, somehow cut off from the others? Hard to say. So far they don’t like doing things on their own. If I can sneak up and drop it silently, maybe we can avoid signaling the others.

  I make it to the bottom and my eyes have already started to adjust to the darkness. In fact, I'm surprised by how well I can see. I can even make out Oleg, Bron, Ret and the others crouching in place on the escalator, waiting for me to finish. They're staring off into the blackness, completely blind. The broken bits of wood, glass and concrete on the floor make it difficult to stay quiet.

  The Zee is just ahead. I can see it standing in a corner. Its eyes are emitting a dull glow which tells me one thing; he doesn’t know I’m here. I can see this Zee is a man because he's wearing a pair of short pants that are ripped on one side. I also catch a tattered sweater draped over his shoulders. He almost looks human.

  His back is still turned and I slip to within three feet of him. The Katana is halfway out when he turns and walks directly at me. I try backing away, but I'm crouched so low I’m not nearly fast enough. The Zee stumbles and raises one of his legs, and I can see the skin there is scabrous and covered in coarse hairs. He's going to walk over me like I’m some inanimate obstacle. I'm hoping this Zee has a serious malfunction, because the other possibility – that he thinks he’s climbing over one of his own – is far less appealing. I stand and shove him away with both hands. He goes spilling onto the ground and is back on his feet in a second as though nothing happened.

  The others must’ve heard him hit the floor because I hear them coming, and Oleg is filling the silence with more useless information. That's when the Zee’s eyes light up and nearly blind me. His head snaps in their direction and he takes off at a lumbering run. I swing the Katana at his head, but I’m not even close.

  “Whoa!” Someone shouts, and I think it's Glave.

  The Zee is at full gallop and out of range. I can’t take the shot because the others are in my line of fire. Ret raises his shotgun, pulls the trigger, and chops him in half. He falls to the ground.
A final shot to the head stops the hissing. I rush forward.

  “I thought you took care of it,” Bron snaps at me.

  Ret's shaken and I'm sure it's because he knows we've just rung a giant dinner bell. “I missed him,” I lie, wondering how I'll ever be able to explain the horrible certainty growing within me – Zees don’t bother their own kind.

  Almost on cue, I feel a pain on my side. I slide a hand inside my shirt and down to my waist to find a patch of rough, leathery skin. It’s climbing toward my armpit, and I desperately want to tell Ret. He and Sneak are the only ones who’ll understand; the only ones able to keep a level head about this. Something's different with me. For some reason, I'm not like Pennies, that Prospector, or any of those dead Wardens. They were exposed and the chemical consumed their humanity. For Pennies, it was a matter of minutes. I'm not sure what's happening, but one thing is certain. I'm not the same person who walked in here.

  -22-

  By the time we reach the next escalator, I can already hear them coming. The others aren’t the least bit bothered, and I wonder if I’m the only one who can hear them this far off. They’re above us, that much I can tell. Exact numbers are sketchy, but when have they shown up with anything less than a small army?

  I warn the others, and we race down the escalator two steps at a time. It’s littered with bones; most look like they’ve been gnawed on. We reach the bottom and the others catch the low, rumbling sound of what might be a few hundred Zees coming our way. The hissing is growing louder. At the foot of the escalator is a thirty-yard clearing which leads to a set of eight metal doors with push bars running across them. Above them is a sign.

  “The train station is just beyond these doors,” Oleg says, pointing, his voice trembling something awful.

  We frantically try each one. They’re all locked. We’re boxed in with nowhere to go. If only we had another minute, Jinx would be able to blow a hole in that door and we’d have a chance.