S.T.Y.X. Humanhive

by Arthur Stone

  The road, however, refused to go north, stubbornly proceeding west. Boiler hoped the SUV tracks would turn at a convenient spot, allowing him to easily take his bike the right way, but it soon became evident that the despicable Fisher, assuming he was indeed the driver, had chosen another way entirely.

  Perhaps he’d changed his mind about visiting the stable. He had implied a desire to head far away, to more calm and productive areas of the world. Boiler wanted to catch him, of course, but how? Fisher was moving much faster and sooner or later would encounter pavement, freezing his trail. Yet Boiler had the location of only one inhabited stable and no clue about any others. At that stable, he expected to find more information about the world, at least about the nearby topography.

  Fisher’s bigger western stables tempted him, but an indefinite, groping search for them did not. He had no one to ask for clues except the people in the “shithole” stable. No choice, then, but to get back to the tower and turn north. A path there had run along the bank of a tiny stream. It was time to find out where it led.

  * * *

  Boiler heard the engine’s roar at the worst of times, when he was caught out in the open. A field of young grain stretched out to his left, and an overgrown grassland to his right. There were some trees up ahead, but they were much too far away for him to reach in any reasonable time.

  Cloaked in his camo jacket, he crouched behind a stunted bush, unlikely to be noticed unless someone investigated the spot meticulously. His bike was much more noticeable, even on its side, so he tossed some clumps of grass over top of it and pressed it down into the ground.

  A pickup truck of impressive size, adapted to the cruelties of Hive life, came into view through the bush. Metal grids and spiked gratings covered every possible inch of the vehicle, and a camouflaged female figure manned the turret mounted on the roof, her eyes covered by black goggles, her chin wrapped, and her head and forehead shielded by a bandana. The getup offered impressive wind protection, overkill for the vehicle’s moderate speed.

  It passed, and Boiler sighed in relief—only to freeze as the pickup stopped and began slowly backing up. The machine gunner pointed her huge weapon at Boiler and shouted. Her voice was full of youth—and deadly sincerity. “You there! Hands in the air, come out onto the road. I’m going to count to three, then shoot!”

  The woman was about two hundred feet away, so she was a viable target for Boiler’s shotgun. It might be worth a try. But then what? The driver could put some more distance between them, leaving Boiler defenseless while they shot him up from far away. And this scrappy bush was the only cover available.

  He frowned. Alright, here goes. He started to stand, calling out, “Don’t shoot, or you might lose count. I’m coming out!”

  No one answered him from the pickup, but no one shot, either. He made a halting procession to the middle of the road, hands up. For a painful ten seconds, nothing at all happened: the machine gunner stared at him, and he stared back, both of them silent.

  At last he said something. “Can I put my arms down now? They’re falling asleep.”

  “Why were you hiding back there? Trying to ambush us?”

  “Ambush? With this old musket? I’m not that crazy. I always hide when I hear engine noises.”

  “No honest person on this road fears the sound of our engine.”

  “How was I supposed to know that? I’ve never been here.”

  “So why have you come?”

  “I need to visit the stable, and somebody told me this was how I could get there.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Boiler.”

  “Boiler? I was about to guess ‘Ninja.’”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “Decent sword, but an ax is better.”

  “Sure. But each weapon has its uses.”

  “Have you been here before?” Despite their banter, the woman still spoke in a tone ripe with equal amounts of caution and aggression.

  “No, I’m a newcomer. Came in from the East.”

  “Any of our folks know you? You know, someone to vouch for you?”

  “I doubt it; like I said, I’m a newcomer.”

  “How long?”

  “Today’s my fifth day here.”

  “How do you know Smoker?”

  “...Smoker?” Could that be Fisher’s real name? “I don’t think I know him—or her?—at all.”

  “Smoker is the name of our stable.”

  So much for that. “OK, but I honestly have never heard the name before. He told me how to find the stable, but not what it was called.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Fisher.”

  “Which Fisher?”

  “That was his name.”

  “Your leg is bloody; are you wounded?

  “Yeah. That Fisher fellow shot me with an arrow.”

  “Why?”

  “Trying to save his own skin, making me easy, distracting prey for a couple of monsters.”

  “So then you killed him?”

  “No, he was gone by the time the fighting finished. I thought I might catch up to him here.”

  “Everyone who comes to our stable leaves all disagreements outside. Otherwise they never see the outside again!”

  “I’ll remember that. My leg is in bad shape, though, and I need a doctor.”

  “Our outpost reported you were pedaling pretty fast.” The woman’s tone was relaxing.

  “I was trying to reach you guys. All I’ve wanted for a few days now has been to find a stable.”

  “Well, you’ve almost made it. Half a mile down the road is the cluster border, then another half mile gets you to the village.”

  “So you’ll let me travel there?”

  “We can drop you off, if you want.”

  “Wow, thanks, but I have a gun and a bike with me.”

  “We’ll carry the bicycle on the roof, and you can bring the gun, just no funny business. Don’t you dare aim it at anybody, you hear? And no shooting in our stable, not even at bottles or cans.”

  “Got it.”

  “Come on, then.”

  Boiler was halfway towards grabbing his bike when the machine gunner gave a start. “What’s that in your pack?”

  “A cat.”

  “A what?”

  “A cat! He just wants to see what’s going on.”

  “Where’d you get a cat?”

  “We just ran into each other on the way, that’s all.”

  “Huh. Funny. Holster your rifle, behind your back. We’re not the most trusting of new types around here.”

  “No problem.”

  The pickup didn’t ride over to pick him up, so he pushed the bicycle two or three hundred feet to meet it, seeing no sense in mounting a bike for such a minute trek. The machine gunner pointed up to a section of the roof. “Throw it up there. The spikes will hold it in place.”

  “Spikes. Nice. They don’t give you much cover, though.”

  The young woman knocked on the machine gun. “My boy here provides all the cover I need. Even elites have a healthy respect for twenty-seven millimeter rounds.”

  Boiler whistled. “Sheesh. So will you take me to the town?”

  “You can get out earlier, if you want, but that’s where we’re heading.”

  “Why would I get out earlier?”

  “Exactly. Hey, Biter, we’re good. Hit it!” The engine roared and the pickup surged forward. “Hang on, Boiler. Once we get to the stable, the road gets a lot bumpier.”

  “I know. I’ve seen a few stables.”

  “You’ve been around. Day five, are you certain?”

  “Yeah. I myself feel like I’ve seen enough for a lifetime.”

  “That’s how it goes in the Hive. My name’s Windbag. And don’t you laugh at it.”

  “Don’t see why I would.”

  “I guess there are worse nicknames. Where’d ‘Boiler’ come from? Somebody name you?”

  “Yeah. The first man I met here, in fact.”
<
br />   “A raider?”

  “As far as I know, but we’re all raiders, right? He called himself Nimbler.”

  “Whoa, not the Nimbler who’s been staying here the past few days?”

  “I don’t know. The Nimbler I know can run really fast. Can this one?”

  “Haven’t seen him myself—he came in on somebody else’s shift. I’ve just heard he really likes to drink.”

  “So you have shifts and everything?”

  “At the outpost, it’s one day on, one day off. Somebody’s always on the binoculars, but everyone can take turns napping, so we’re only all on duty if someone sounds the alarm. And that’s what you did, hiding in the bushes like that, triggered the alarm. They radioed in.”

  “Why’d you fly by at a distance like that?”

  “We had to scope you out. If you had a grenade launcher or something, you could have just taken us out.”

  “Do you always give newcomers a detailed description of your defenses?”

  “Dammit—well, now you know where I got my name.”

  The pickup began to dip and dive into the potholes of the ruined roadway, turning the back into the world’s worst trampoline. A stable, at last. With all the noise and movement, the two riders couldn’t keep up their conversation, so they fell silent.

  Boiler held the side and took in the country. The small forest he had seen looked so nice and neat from far away, but years of running wild had transformed it into a veritable jungle. Beyond stood a wild field, striving valiantly to wipe all traces of its cultivated past. There were few other signs that human civilization had ever existed here. But somewhere in the middle of this magnificent desolation lay an unimpressive, inhabited town. Stables were the only place it was feasible to construct a permanent residence. In other clusters, anything you built would disappear during the next recluster, just like the nail Fisher had left in that willow tree.

  May he rot forever in hivehell.

  This stable had a doctor. And a healer. And information. At long last, he had found the place he was looking for.

  Chapter 27

  Around the next bend in the road, beyond a sign that read “Caution: Minefield,” the village came into view—or rather, the fortifications around the village. Antitank hedgehogs. Mounds of concrete. Beyond that, a barricade of rusted old cars, construction debris, and weathered sandbags. The road was flanked by short, squat permanent weapon emplacements trying too hard to look impressive, and the way itself was blocked by a raised barrier.

  In the distance, a figure stood motionless, a hunchbacked man without any pants. By now, Boiler had seen more of those than he’d thought possible. Did nobody here care about an infected roaming near the town? This one wasn’t moving. Perhaps he was just set up as some kind of scarecrow or decoy.

  They drove by, without stopping. Windbag waved a casual salute to a couple of men clad in camo and stationed on an elevated platform positioned just beyond the barricade. One seemed weaponless, but the other sported a Dragunov sniper rifle. Below and off to the side sat a mortar, a tarp strewn over it. No one was nearby. This town didn’t look like an impregnable fortress, but getting in unnoticed to impregnate it would be tough. Ten good men with climbing spikes would be insufficient.

  As far as the unpretentious vagabond’s decorating standards were concerned, the inhabited buildings here looked decent. Well, a few of them did. The rest were pathetic ruins. Somebody had carted in a bunch of construction materials and built a few places up, but most of the village had not seen maintenance for a long time. Windows without glass, doorframes without doors, collapsed roofs, crumbling walls.

  Nope, no mansions here. Even the most luxurious villas by local standards were eyesores. Beauty and luxury were no one’s concern, but solidity and safety were. The better buildings had tiny windows with metal shutters, rooftop firing emplacements, and concrete and sandbag reinforcements strengthening the lower floors. If someone had asked about the living conditions in Smoker, Boiler might have called it “slumfort.” And then hastily qualified that he implied no connection to “comfort.” Everything was tasteless, cobbled together as if in a hurry, dirty, noisy, and overcrowded.

  There was no hustle about the streets, either. A middle-aged woman in a denim outfit and a bandana was walking quickly across, and further down two teens stood on a porch, smoking—likely just to look like adults. Besides them, there were no inhabitants to be seen.

  The pickup drove up to a large, one-floor building with windows perhaps large enough to safely view an eclipse through. On the porch, which was fortified with sandbags, iron, and concrete, a bearded man in camo smoked a thick cigar. He greeted them with a careless wave of his left hand.

  Boiler seized the opportune silence to resume his chat with Windbag. “To the left of that roadblock, there was a ghoul standing, or what looked like one. Five hundred feet or so out. Was that some kind of scarecrow or decoy? Or did your guys just miss it?”

  “No, it was a real runner. We tie them down sometimes to cover certain areas.”

  “Why?”

  “Convenience. They cost very little to maintain—just a little meat now and then. They have good smell and hearing, and if someone gets close, they start that growling of theirs. It’s their signal system, a way of calling in all the other walkers.”

  “So they’re your alarm system.”

  “Well, we have an alarm system, too, but tying down runners is a tried-and-true method. Everybody likes it. This is our defense HQ. Dicer is in charge. He’s a decent guy, so you should find it easy to deal with him.”

  “Deal with him? Why?”

  “Tell him what you plan to do here. Everyone new who comes through says hi to Dicer or his deputy. That’s just how it’s done. Dicer might ask you to sell him some things, but he’s honest, so you’ll find it profitable to deal with him—he’ll give you more than the dealers ever would. He wants people to come to this town. He wants to build it up.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Yeah, people like how he runs things. But no matter what, you should talk with him. It’s how things are done around here, like I said. And offer him whatever goods you have for sale. He won’t cheat you. You seem resourceful, so I’m sure that backpack of yours is carrying more than just a cat.”

  “Thanks for the tip. So where can I find this Dicer?”

  “He’s right there, smoking a Cuban on the HQ porch. He’s always smoking when he’s here in town—but when he’s out there, he never lets himself light up. Never lets others light up, either.”

  It never hurt to show off a bit, even to Windbag. “Because the beasts can smell tobacco from miles away, I’m guessing.”

  “Right. Here, I’ll help you with your bike.”

  Boiler let his bicycle on the side of the road and walked up to the porch, leaned against a sandbag, and nodded. “Hello, Dicer. I’m Boiler.”

  “Hello to you, too, Boiler. Newcomer?”

  “Most don’t believe me when I say that. You’re one of the few to outright guess it.”

  “Your outfit is a bit unusual for a newcomer. Where’d you get the sword?”

  “Found it.”

  Annoyed by the lack of detail though he was, Dicer declined to press the newcomer. “I was thinking maybe you bought it at the convenience store. Anyway, I’ve never seen you here before. First time?”

  “Yeah. Total newcomer. First inhabited stable I’ve seen.”

  “So you came right here, eh?”

  “That’s what the man recommended.”

  “What man?”

  “Fisher.”

  “Pretty common nickname. I guess he didn’t make it, huh.”

  “We split up yesterday,” Boiler replied, continuing to limit the details he gave.

  “So you’re not on any of the lists.”

  “Lists? I’ve never heard of any lists.”

  “You will. Especially out West. What do you intend to do here? Cause trouble?”

  “As long as no one troubles m
e, I won’t trouble them. I don’t steal, but I don’t give things away, either.”

  “A reasonable position. I advise you to hold it as long as you’re here. We’re no friends of strife.”

  “I do have an enemy. If we run into each other, it might be a tense situation.”

  “A newcomer with an enemy?”

  “Making one in this world doesn’t take long.”

  “I hear you. But remember to keep your personal disagreements away from my town. They must not affect this place in any way, shape, or form.”

  “Got it.”

  “Alright. Did you just come to introduce yourself, or is there something else?”

  “There is.”

  “Well, shoot.”

  “My leg is in pretty bad shape. I need a doctor. I’ll need to talk to a healer, too, being a newcomer. Plus, I wouldn’t mind a shower, a shave, and maybe a hot meal. Just a day or two in some decent living conditions, to help me recover. Do you have a place for me?”

  “We can find one. Doctors are just for stitches and bandages, though. The healers handle everything else, including advanced medical treatment.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “It’s their gift.” Dicer sniffed and winced, despite the cigar. “You really could use a bath. I’ll call over and find out if there’s a spot for you. Wait here.” He left his smoldering cigar on the railing, entered the building, and emerged a few moments later.

  “They just lit the fire, so come back in an hour or so for your bath, OK? If you need some spare clothes, talk to Gloom. She keeps the showers, and a store just next door. She also rents out the rooms, and she can feed you, too. Maybe even find you a nice companion. In short, she’s got all the services a raider needs. Prices are pretty high, seeing how this is the eastmost inhabited stable, but what can you expect. But if you’re willing to forego fashion, you can get yourself some decent rags, and she can arrange to have your stuff washed.”

  “An hour? Damn.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “I really don’t feel like going to the healer smelling like an aging pile of shit.”

  “You’re far from the worst Reader’s seen, trust me. Head that way right away. It’s across the street, third house down, with the flag on the roof. Reader’s door is on the right side. Before you go, do you have anything for sale? You’re new, sure, but you’ve obviously had an exciting journey. Maybe you picked up a thing or two.”