Reclamation (Best Laid Plans Book 4)

by Nathan Jones

  There was mixed excitement and apprehension at the shelter over the prospect of having a beehive. More than one person was afraid of having bees around that might sting them, while Terry and April's two boys wanted to come along and see the hive up close when Lewis's expedition took it apart. But while a beehive might've made a few people nervous, no one had any problem with the idea of them bringing back the honeycombs they planned to harvest.

  They planned to set out early in the morning. The ideal time to capture a swarm would be in the morning or evening, when the bees were less active, which for this trip meant evening. That meant there was no real need to leave too early considering the distance they had to go, even if most of it was uphill. But with the consideration of traveling at whatever pace Aunt Clair could manage they wanted to make sure they had plenty of time to get there. That way they could search the area and capture the swarm before it got too dark to see.

  It would also be nice to harvest the wild honey that same day, if they had enough time, so they'd have everything done before setting camp and could get home as quickly as possible the next morning. If things went well they might even be able to travel part of the way home before stopping for the night.

  Since there were quite a few things they needed to take with them for the bees they packed light for the trip, with just enough food for a few meals, sleeping bags, a tent large enough for all of them, and Lewis and Trev's rifles and some spare magazines, just in case.

  Trev had left quite a bit of ammo behind when he set out for Michigan, .45 and .223 for his Glock and Mini-14. He'd also left behind some spare magazines for the rifle, as well as a few 1911 magazines left over from his first gun that was stolen, way back at that Spanish Fork roadblock during his trip up to Midvale with Matt.

  With that in mind one of his first errands after coming home had been trading one of the AK-47s to the town storehouse for one of the M16s they'd captured from the raiders. Lewis had gone along with him at his cousin's request, to give him advice and inspect the weapons he wanted to buy. Their plan was to make it a straight trade, just the gun itself with no ammunition or magazines, since those could be used by the other two AK-47s their dads were still using.

  It wasn't a great trade for the town value-wise, but Scott Tillman was fairly generous and didn't charge extra for it, considering Trev would be using it for patrolling. He did, however, charge for the 1911 Trev purchased, cutting down a hefty chunk of the town's debt for the food in the cache they'd purchased from him and Lewis. Since Trev still had a few magazines for the pistol Lewis suggested he only purchase a couple more, at least for now.

  On the way home Lewis warned his cousin that he should probably do some practicing, since the M16 was a bit different from his Mini-14 and would take some getting used to. It was an unfamiliar shape and weight and it balanced differently, to begin with, and it offered a three-round burst mode as well as semi auto.

  It was also intended to fire 5.56x45 ammunition, rather than .223. Thankfully the M16 could still handle .223, while the reverse wasn't the case and the Mini-14 would experience problems with 5.56. Because of that Lewis was glad his cousin had made the switch in weapons in that direction, or all his .223 ammo would now be useless.

  After making the purchases Lewis helped Trev look both weapons over and thoroughly clean and maintenance them. Then, almost as eager as his cousin, he agreed to come along when Trev test fired them.

  According to his cousin the new 1911 handled roughly the same as his original pistol. Once Trev was satisfied with that he emptied the rest of the magazine to re-familiarize himself with recoil and trigger control for dry fire practice, then holstered the weapon at his hip. He'd lost his underarm holster when he was captured by the Gold Bloc, and Lewis only had a hip holster to offer him.

  He could tell his cousin missed the concealed carry holster by his impatient response when Lewis suggested taking the time to extensively practice drawing from his new holster. That seemed like a good opportunity to change the subject by suggesting Trev try out the M16.

  It was immediately obvious his cousin got a kick out of burst mode, and Lewis had to convince him to resist the temptation to waste bullets playing around with it. He instructed Trev to focus instead on staying on target through each controlled burst, having him go through a single magazine to familiarize himself with the recoil and muscle movements for dry fire practice. His cousin reluctantly called it good at that, more than satisfied with his new guns.

  The morning of the trip dawned clear and reasonably warm, hopefully good weather for swarming. As they made their final preparations to leave Lewis suggested they might do a bit of long distance target shooting while they were up in the mountains if they had the time, which was something to look forward to.

  The precaution of bringing the weapons was probably unnecessary, up there on tiny dirt or gravel roads nobody used. Especially with the military set up to the west, which would discourage anyone with criminal intent in the area from getting too bold.

  Still, Lewis couldn't imagine traveling anywhere these days without a weapon; he carried them when going to town, and sometimes even around the shelter. A bit of that was in case he spotted any game, but more of it was because experience had taught him it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Lewis and Trev carried most of the gear, to keep Aunt Clair unencumbered so she could set a good pace, and as they hopped up on their bikes he motioned for her to lead the way. She obligingly moved out in front, although she looked a bit amused.

  “You've done everything but toss me a line so you can tow me along,” she complained. “I'm in my 40s, not my 90s.”

  Trev grinned back at his mom, not looking the slightest bit sheepish. “Tell you what. When we're halfway up the canyon we can see if you still object to the entire towing thing.”

  She made a shooing motion at them, then waved goodbye to the few family members who were awake at that early hour and had gathered at the front of the shipping container. They were all grinning at the banter, and Lewis grinned back as he waved goodbye to Jane, who stood a bit away from the others. “Sure you don't want to come?” he called.

  His wife grimaced. “I've been shot in the gut. Now ask me how much I want to get stung a dozen times.”

  That was as close as she'd come to admitting how uneasy the bees made her, and seemed like a pretty final answer. Lewis had to admit he'd miss her, since if the trip lasted overnight this would be the first time since their wedding that they'd be apart this long. Another incentive to hurry things up. “See you tomorrow, then.” With a last wave he stood on his pedals and hurried to catch up to the other two.

  In spite of the good-natured ribbing Aunt Clair set a fast pace. Almost too fast, truth be told, as if to show she could keep up just fine. Lewis struggled to find a polite way to remind her about pacing herself for long distances, but before he could think of anything Trev did.

  “Hey!” his cousin shouted, pedaling faster to catch up. “All joking aside, keep going like this and we'll all collapse before we're halfway up the canyon.”

  Clair stubbornly kept going for a bit longer, then reluctantly slowed down. She was breathing hard, but then again Lewis was a bit winded himself. After a stormy few minutes she braked to a stop, then took a deep breath and looked back at them. “I guess I've been a little defensive. I got mad at you for treating me like I'm in worse shape than you guys, but it's true, isn't it?”

  Trev finally showed a bit of embarrassment and ducked his head without answering. “Not as much as you think,” Lewis admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed himself. “I guess we've been driving that point home more than we needed to. We weren't quite this bad with Tom on the last trip we went on, when he was having a pretty tough time. I guess we just overcompensated to try to make it easier for you.”

  His aunt's expression softened slightly. “Well you have no reason to be embarrassed for being in good shape,” she admitted. “I had all winter and spring to improve my physical fitness and didn't,
and it ended up costing me when I had to haul that wheat for a week. And it made things harder for the rest of you, too.”

  She started up again, going at a reasonable, if slightly slow, pace. “I'll do my best, and I promise to let you know if I need a break.”

  “No worries,” Trev called. “It's not a race. That's why we started early, right?”

  Aunt Clair looked back, making a face. “It might not be a race, but we still have to reach the finish line.”

  They took the canyon at a more reasonable speed, stopping to walk their bikes several times. To be honest Lewis didn't mind too much, since they were wearing their protective beekeeping clothes and even the mild breezy day was making him sweat like crazy.

  There was also the fact that a lot of their hurry last time had come from Pete zooming up and down goading them on. Without him pushing them to go faster they reached the top a half hour later, but with enough energy to set a much faster speed on the gentler slopes beyond. So it all balanced out.

  And more than balanced out, since they saved hours on their trip without the detour down the road Pete had taken, then having to retrace their steps and follow Matt and the Hardings down the correct road. Thanks to that, and the fact that they had a shorter distance to go to reach the ravine, they got there in the early afternoon and coasted their bikes down the steep road leading to the bottom.

  They'd stopped for lunch only a couple hours earlier, so after just a few minutes to rest they left their bikes behind and hiked up the stream to the copse of trees with its tangle of undergrowth. There Lewis pointed to the hive he'd seen, which buzzed with just as much activity as before.

  “Do we harvest it now?” Trev asked, looking a bit uneasy now that the task was there in front of him.

  Lewis exchanged glances with his aunt. “I think we should hold off on that,” she said. “We still need to wander around this area and see if we can find a migrating swarm, and I'd rather we do that before we infuriate a bunch of bees.”

  “We can also keep our eye out for more hives to harvest,” Lewis added. “This is a good location, and where there's one there might be others. Even though I sort of doubt we'll find anything, we definitely won't if we don't look.”

  “Okay.” His cousin looked around, stretching slightly. “Should we split up? I'll circle left around the copse, mom can circle right, and you can shove your way upstream through dense undergrowth.”

  Lewis snorted. “Yeah, no.” He looked around for a moment, then pointed to another nearby copse. “I'll go check that out.” The other two nodded and started off, and he called after them. “Remember, migratory swarms aren't that common. This hive might've already sent one off weeks ago, or won't for another few weeks. Don't be too bummed out if we don't find one, since we know we'll at least be coming home with some honeycombs.”

  His cousin grimaced. “I'm glad you know that,” he muttered, giving the hive another uneasy look. Then he grinned to show he was still on board and started off again. Aunt Clair nodded to him and started off too, so Lewis began picking his way up the hillside to the left of the stream to reach the copse halfway up.

  He was the one who'd given the warning, but even so he was a bit disappointed when he didn't find anything in the small stand of trees. Well, he found something, forageable plants and signs of game he could hunt or leave traps for, but it wasn't what he'd come looking for.

  After thoroughly inspecting the underbrush and deadfall beneath the trees Lewis went on to another nearby copse. By the stream he could see his cousin and aunt had met up and were picking their way into the denser growth of that copse. Hopefully they wouldn't waste too much time in that tangle and would start searching the copses on the other hillside next.

  Over the next few hours they searched a wider and wider area around the hive down at the stream. Lewis didn't see any sign of swarms or of other hives, but stubbornness and the thought of Trev's disappointment kept him looking after he would've given up.

  Finally, with the sun sinking low on the horizon, he called his cousin and aunt back to the copse. “We still have time to harvest this hive and make it back down to Aspen Hill to sleep in our own beds before it gets too dark,” he offered. “If you want to keep looking I won't argue, but I think chances are pretty slim of just wandering through the woods and stumbling on a swarm at this point.”

  Aunt Clair sighed. “I suppose finding a migrating swarm is more of a discovery of opportunity than something you set out looking for. Maybe we can ask people to keep their eyes open when they're out hunting and foraging and let us know if they find one.”

  Trev nodded glumly. “I guess the day's not a complete waste with the honey we'll be getting. Let's figure that out.”

  Lewis nodded his agreement, and they spent the next few minutes gathering up green wood and leaves and gingerly piling them next to the tree below the hive, careful to not get too close to the insects or disturb them. It took a bit of finagling to get the fire started, especially with bees buzzing overhead, but Lewis did his best to stay calm and get it done quickly.

  Finally thick acrid smoke began drifting, then pluming up from the growing fire. Up above them the buzzing sound diminished as the flow of bees coming to and from the hive slowed to a trickle. The smoke seemed to have calmed them, although there was no way to tell by how much until they actually dug in there bear-style to grab the honeycomb.

  Since the wind was a bit uncooperative, blowing the smoke the wrong way half the time, they waited a bit longer to be safe. And also, Lewis could admit to himself, to build up his courage for the task ahead. But finally he took a deep breath and glanced over at Trev. “Ready?”

  His cousin nodded, doing his best to look casual. “I've been stung before. Wasn't that bad.”

  They started forward, gloves tied over their long shirts and mosquito netting draped over their hats. Lewis carried his heavy knife for cutting open the hive, while Trev held the sack for harvesting honeycomb and the metal pail.

  His cousin made straight for the fire, scooping a generous bunch of coals and smoldering leaves into the pail. Here the wind finally worked in their favor, blowing across the top of the small container and keeping the fire inside going strong. As thick smoke drifted up Trev gave him one last questioning look to see if he was ready. Lewis nodded, so his cousin lifted the smoking pail beneath the hive with one hand while bracing himself against the tree with the other, planting a foot as high up the trunk as he could for Lewis to use as a leg up.

  His turn. Lewis clutched the knife in one hand and climbed the trunk, careful not to put too much weight on the foothold his cousin had provided him. With a bit of effort he managed to pull himself onto the lowest branch, which was dead and broken off after a few feet. The footing was unsteady there, so he leaned against the trunk almost right next to the hive as he took a deep, steadying breath.

  Then he began cutting into a layer of rotted bark covering the main part of it.

  Once he pulled the wood away he uncovered the neatly layered honeycombs inside, as well as an almost frightening number of bees. Many of which immediately began buzzing around. Thanks to the smoke they didn't get aggressive, though, and Lewis mustered the nerve to begin brushing them off the first honeycomb so he could cut chunks of it free to drop in the bag Trev held below him.

  He worked fast, especially after a bee managed to sneak beneath the mosquito netting and stung him on the neck, giving him extra motivation. The old hive seemed to have endless layers of honeycomb going deeper and deeper, plenty to spare, but he didn't get greedy and left quite a bit behind. It was spring now and the bees should be able to manage with a small store, but he didn't want some freak event to kill the hive because he took too much.

  It was a relief to finally call down to his cousin he was done. He wasted no time in hopping down, and with Trev close behind they made a beeline for where Aunt Clair waited.

  “Nice,” she said when Trev handed over the bag, which she had to use two hands to lift. After brushing aside
a few bees crawling around near her gloved fingers she hefted it thoughtfully. “What does that feel like, 50 pounds?”

  “Probably closer to 40,” Trev said.

  Lewis nodded in agreement. “Give or take a few pounds. Although not all of that is going to be honey. Still, not bad.”

  “Not bad at all, and we'll definitely find uses for beeswax too.” His aunt patted him on the shoulder. “I saw you wince at least once. Was it too bad?”

  He shook his head. “Just got me that once. Trev?”

  “Came off scot-free. Of course I was holding the smoke and you were the one ripping apart their hive.” His cousin gave him a sheepish look. “I guess next time it'll be my turn to do the exciting part.”

  “I won't argue.” Lewis glanced up at the sky, then held out his hand to take back the honey. “Well we should still have plenty of time to make it home. Let's get going.”

  They set a brisk pace back downstream to their bikes, and moments later were pedaling up the steep slope to the top of the ravine. Once they finished that brief uphill jaunt the rest of the trip would be almost all downhill, and the only thing holding them back would be how reckless they wanted to be with their brakes and around corners.

  Lewis had just reached the top and was coasting towards where the steep downhill slope began when Aunt Clair abruptly shouted and skidded to a stop. Biting back a curse, he mashed the brakes as well, and as soon as he was fully stopped began unslinging his rifle. Behind and off to the side Trev was doing the same.

  Then he saw where his aunt was pointing, at a solitary young aspen tree off to one side that looked like a shoot from the nearby grove. On the lowest branch a fuzzy basketball-sized shape hung, heavy enough to make the limb droop, made up of tiny shifting specks with more coming and going.