Hive, Species Intervention #6609, Book Four

by JK Accinni

  Echo watched as the spent projectiles returned to their home in Baby’s antlers. Baby stood motionless, his aura again chaotic and painful. Echo went to his side and held him until he regained control. They lingered another few moments, savoring the sounds from inside. Then, with one last finger to Baby’s face for reassurance, they turned and whirled up into the air to surreptitiously return to the sleeping rooms.

  *

  Time passed quickly for the survivors. They kept busy with the perpetual cycles of their chores, eating, sleeping and getting to know one another. Strangely, Kenya’s baby failed to appear, making the poor girl more morose but still very healthy. The older women survivors conferred regularly regarding their helplessness, wondering if Kenya needed a doctor.

  Oddly, Netty failed to chime in as they tried, unsuccessfully, to elicit her opinion on the medical resources she might command from the Womb, if necessary.

  Dezi and Bonnie bonded closely over the care of the piglet. It was touch and go for the little guy. There were many long nights and juggling of chores to stay on top of her feeding.

  Dezi insisted the piglet sleep with him to stay extra warm. Eventually, they managed to wean him off the bottle and on to solid food. They named him Chance.

  Everyone marveled at the change in Dezi. He carried Chance around in a sling while he kept up with his chores in the kitchen. No one said boo about the cleanliness issue because they knew Dezi kept his prince cleaner than most of the men kept themselves.

  The only time he left Chance with Bonnie was when he bathed. It became clear that Bonnie and Dezi were a nanny team but clearly, Dezi was the dad . . . Chance was his baby boy.

  Ginger Mae marveled at the changes in her own life. Her new duties brought her into contact with more of the survivors than ever before. Something about her exposure to the creatures melted the shell she had erected around herself, enabling her to hold up her head and smile. Soon, her eye contact improved enough that she found herself offering the first greeting and an uplifting comment.

  She found her natural delight in the innocence of the creatures she was forced to tabulate fostered a bond with them. They knew when to expect her. If her duties delayed her, she found them restless when she arrived. They would calm down at her appearance, expecting a treat or a stroke, gentle murmurings and lilting encouragements; all healing the traces of the mental anguish her experience with Armoni had visited on her.

  Clyde began to recover from his mourning and accept the likelihood that his wife and grandchildren had perished in the conflagration. Salina was only too eager to provide the proper medicine.

  And, as the weeks passed, Gloria lost more weight, revealing the bones of her soon-to-be shapely silhouette, her diabetes apparently banished.

  Several of Johno’s keepers perpetually vied for her attention, although she seemed more interested in one of her fellow truckers. It seemed that Billy’s asthma had cleared up completely, giving them a reason to convert their commiserating into celebration, creating a common bond that foreshadowed more than friendship.

  Crystal and Johno’s contentious bickering about the proper methods of wildlife care and just about anything else, refused to abate. Her disinclination to recognize his given name and his subsequent indignation enjoined her to christen him Johnny. Nothing he did to dissuade her worked.

  The days slid into weeks, which slid into months. Not much changed: Baby continued his now companionable sojourns with Echo; Tobi and the herd flourished with their nightly constitutional; Netty and Wil endured their afternoon penitence.

  The project that Wil, Jose, Clyde, Cobby and Daisy worked on continued. Ginger Mae noticed a maturity developing in her daughter. Her vocabulary grew at an accelerated rate, yet there occurred no abatement in the filth she wore as she returned from her day’s work. The only childhood moments Daisy indulged in were when Kimir tired of playing with the big guys and finished with his prayer rug kindly fashioned by Netty, and decided to revert to a little boy who liked to show off in front of the only person he could impress: Daisy.

  Then there was Peter. He remained taciturn and unsociable, and lurked as an occasional nebulous shadow, seeing all except the most fundamental element of the survivors’ existence. But that was bound to come in time . . .

  Chapter 21

  Lorna woke, cramped and thirsty. Her stringy hair lay lank across her greasy forehead as she tried to sweep it back with her filthy hands; her nails were split, broken and encrusted with dirt. Who thought about washing anymore? She was lucky to be alive. Water was the new gold. And no one ever wasted gold, they hoarded it . . . if they were lucky enough to have any to hoard to begin with.

  She dragged herself off the filthy floor of the bathroom that had been her bedroom for the night to check the door and found Seth had yet to remove the board he always nailed across. She uselessly smacked her palm on the door and slid back to the floor, a futile gesture of defiance.

  Defeat settled around her shoulders like a tattered cape; the effort to raise her head again was overwhelming. Picking absently at the sores developing on her face and her upper shoulders, she diffidently examined the blood she found mixed with the dirt under her nails.

  Exhausted, she wondered if Seth would allow her the time to scrounge for some antiseptic in the next town they passed. Probably not. His plan of keeping to the woods had kept them alive this long.

  From the other corner of the antiquated tiny bathroom, she heard a groan. Slowly she dragged her emaciated body over to where Jen rested and attempted to cradle her granddaughter’s head on her meager lap. She stroked Jen’s limp hair, feeling crusty growths beneath its once lush thickness. We might all look like Biafran refugees of the distant past but we’re still alive, she thought, a spark in her soul refusing to give up. Seth will ensure I at least survive. I’m his ticket into Clyde’s bomb shelter.

  Bitter tears dropped down onto Jen’s unconscious figure as Lorna thought about her husband. Would she ever see him again? Would they actually survive long enough to get to Sussex County? Would she remember the directions Clyde had given her?

  The once glamorous, confident and competent Lorna found herself reduced to a quavering, subservient creature that would do anything to stay alive. Half the time she existed on the plane of the insane, trying to think only about getting through the next day. Where to steal water, where to steal food, and what straggler she would turn her back on next as Seth stole their supplies and immersed himself in his deadly amusements, leaving silent inert bodies behind with the fading echoes of screams and desperate pleading in Lorna’s ears.

  Her stomach plummeted as she forced her memory to turn away.

  “Gram . . . where are we?” Jen’s eyes slowly opened as the hesitant whispered words foretold her dissipated strength. Lorna bent down, her worn hands gripping the sides of Jen’s sunken face. She leaned in to shower Jen with grateful kisses.

  “Thank the Lord, you’re okay. I didn’t know if you were going to come back to me.”

  “What do you mean, Gram? I’m fine.” Jen struggled to sit up, but the task overwhelmed her. “What’s the matter with me? Why can’t I get up? I feel weird.”

  She looked down at her clothes, seeing rags. Raising her hands, she discovered the sores that had erupted weeks ago. “Ew, Gram. What’s wrong, where’s Mom?” Her eyes flitted frantically around the room, horror registering as Lorna tried to calm her down. “Christ sakes, where the heck are we?” Her voice broke, terror taking hold.

  “Shush, Jen. We don’t want Seth to hear us.”

  “Seth? Who’s Seth? And where’s Suzy?”

  Oh, my God, thought Lorna. She can’t remember. Tears began again as Lorna wondered how Jennifer could have amnesia. Was it because of her coma?

  Lorna allowed her mind to regress back to one of their more hateful evenings. The evening Jennifer had fallen ill. She had unexpectedly slipped into a catatonic state after watching Seth bludgeon a child to death in front of his restrained
parents. He had slapped the mother silly as she sobbed, listening to her child’s screams of pain and terror, her husband powerless to do anything. It hadn’t helped when Seth had taken the woman to the car for his amusement.

  That was what, two weeks ago? When we still had the car? Lorna ached with the memory of what Seth had done to the woman’s husband after he’d killed her. Poor man, he looked like he didn’t want to live any longer. The family had been just a few days from starvation anyway.

  Seth recovered very little from their belongings. Lorna remembered that Jennifer’s sanity had begun to slip right after she had refused the cookie Seth had found in the child’s bag. His crack about how she would grovel for a juicy piece of the kid’s thigh before too long was the final straw for the tormented young girl.

  Seth wanted to leave her behind but Lorna would have none of that. She refused to budge without her. Seth’s threats failed to move her. She was not going to leave Jennifer behind like they had Suzy.

  Lorna’s vision clouded, her head dizzy as she hurriedly shoved all thoughts of what had happened to Suzy from her mind. If she and Jennifer were to survive this ordeal, she must hold it together.

  “Gram, where’s Mom and Dad? I don’t . . . I don’t feel so good. I want to go home.”

  Thinking fast, Lorna manufactured a tale. “Sweetie . . . don’t you remember? We were bombed. The Russians, Iran, or maybe Pakistan, who knows, maybe all of them, they all hate us anyway. Suzy’s with your mom and dad. We’re on our way to meet Grandpa.”

  Jen scanned the decrepit room and the piles of rags they slept on. “But we’re hurt. And why . . . why are we in this room? Can I call Daddy?”

  Lorna thought of her tall, successful son, his dear face already fading from her memory. Who knew if he and his wife still lived? Probably not. She patted Jen’s limp hand, too numb and dehydrated for more tears, and wondering what to say next.

  “Gram, I need a glass of water.” Jen’s voice rasped, her tongue swollen and pasty.

  What to do? Seth kept them on a leash with the water bottle. Only a sip at a time; never enough to quench their thirst, but enough to keep his meal ticket alive. He refused to supply any water to Jennifer, probably hoping she would die. Lorna was forced to cut her ration in half, saving her last swallow to feed it to Jennifer from her mouth.

  “Grrr . . . pluk . . . cak . . . cak, Gram . . .” Jen’s voice tailed off. Lorna shoved her hand under Jen’s rags to feel at her skin as she watched her granddaughter’s eyes flicker and close. She felt the tender flesh at the hollow of her throat, sunken in but warm with a faint beat. Still alive.

  Lorna allowed her head to fall back, her emotions fried and spent. She stared up at the yellow-stained ceiling of the bathroom in the small deserted restaurant they had found way off the beaten path four days ago. It had appeared to be a safe place to hole up.

  Seth had removed the for sale sign in front of the saggy building, ripping it out of the ground to hide it in the overgrown weeds. No sense inviting any stragglers like themselves to take refuge. Let them wonder if it was occupied and move on. Most would be unwilling to take the risk.

  If it appeared you might carry food, water or weapons, you were a target and your life would not be worth shit, nor the life of anyone else in your party. Seth was far from the only predator afoot. He was just more accomplished . . . more experienced . . . more eager.

  Now they had a roof over their heads, they rested. They needed it desperately as they’d been running for days. Ever since they had lost custody of the car that horrible night they had left Suzy behind. Lorna wished she could take a burning poker and just burn out the part of her brain that tormented her with the memories of it.

  She remembered their first mistake. Seth had decided they needed to get off the back roads to make better progress. They knew they had to hook up to Route 80 eventually, then it would be a straight shot almost all the way to Sussex County. Lorna refused to give Seth any more information after that.

  But the highways were littered with the carcasses of vehicles with empty gas tanks. They heard rumors of refugee gangs and ragtag groups calling themselves tribes that took up housekeeping in their useless cars, marking out small territories to highjack any trespassers that passed, looting their meager belongings and sending them on their way empty-handed to die.

  If any brave souls decided to challenge the raiders . . . well. Evidence of death and murder lay piled on the sides of the road. From the size of the piles it appeared the killings had escalated. It was sometimes easier to slaughter your prey outright rather than risk them coming back with reinforcements to rescue their belongings.

  It became worth the risk. Without their belongings (food, clothes, weapons), no one stood a chance anyway. Their world now existed far beyond that of dog eat dog. Civilization teetered on the insane edge of human eat human, and Lorna did not plan to be around when that erupted, even if she must carry Jen on her back the rest of the way to Sussex County.

  That fateful day had begun as miserably as the last. They had piled into the car with all the stolen loot from the cabin they had slept in, not that there had been much left after the inhabitants and other looters had got to it first.

  But they had found a blanket and a few kitchen items they could use to trade with. That’s how they had got their intelligence. Seth would take one of the girls with him as he approached an innocuous group after staking them out to reassure himself of their safety. He had found that by trading a small food item, usually crackers or cookies, a pot or a pan (he didn’t want to use water or anything containing protein), he would obtain information that kept them away from trouble spots, hostile gangs and radiation.

  They hadn’t been able to avoid radiation completely though—Seth said it extended far into the adjoining suburbs of some of the hot areas they skirted.

  Lorna wondered what kind of long-term toll the radiation sickness would take on them. As of the moment before they lost Suzy, they had still had their health except for Jennifer. The sores had sprouted quickly, Seth even getting sloppy nosebleeds. Was that because he had kept them locked up so much while he did the raiding?

  As emaciated as they were, they still had energy and health enough to keep food down when they hit the jackpot. And they had still managed enough strength to make deliberate, if paltry, progress east every few days. Seth was certain the medicine socked away in Clyde’s bomb shelter would help them if they were careful not to absorb large doses of the deadly fallout.

  They all knew far too well what that looked like. Lorna squeezed her eyes tightly but failed to block the images of dying city dwellers who had survived the bombs only to perish in pain and vomit, their lifeblood draining from their pores as they refused to let go. The children were always the worst. Some lay quietly, others cried weakly, pining for their already dead mothers and fathers before they too took their last breath.

  They were lucky that Seth’s guidance had allowed them to miss out on the hundreds of thousands that had died in their boots along the main thoroughfares and highways. Three things ruled their lives: food and water, avoiding trouble, and moving east to salvation.

  Lorna and the girls had lived in debilitating fear and shock after the discovery of Seth’s true nature. The girls had been tormented by nightmares for over a month, Lorna by guilt.

  All the time Seth had behaved as if they were on a jaunt. No mention had ever been made about Maryann or the events of that fateful evening. Lorna and the girls had instinctively known it was better to cry silently, Lorna’s terror-stricken eyes cutting off any questions that might be overheard by Seth.

  Which was most of the time as he never let them out of his sight unless they were locked up. Lorna often tormented herself with the question of what would have happened had she not snooped in Seth’s backpack. Might they have avoided the incident?

  Tying her stomach and nerves into knots never gave her an answer. So Maryann had become another victim of the holocaust . . . unkno
wn, unremarked and unmourned. Just another slice of Lorna’s memory she wished to excise.

  As time had marched inexorably toward the catastrophic events that had almost destroyed them all, Seth and Lorna had been aware of their dire need of gasoline. They had both known they had about as much chance of finding some as they had of raising Lazarus from the dead, although they kept their opinions to themselves.

  Seth’s psychotic habit of pretending they were on the way to a party grated on Lorna’s nerves. So much so she rarely spoke, refusing to play his fucked-up mind game.

  It didn’t stop him though. So there they had been, tooling down the access road that ran parallel to the interstate, Lorna dosing off and on, Suzy curled under her arm, and Jen stretched out unconscious in the back seat, twined between the stacks of valuable detritus they had collected.

  Lorna and Suzy had been startled awake when the car had run over something in the road, something big by the feel of the bump. The car had swerved first one way and then another as Seth had tried to keep it on the road. Suzy had painfully gripped Lorna’s shirt, her fingers cutting into her skin.

  “Ah, fuck. Son of a fucking rotten bitch.” Seth had slammed his palms down on the steering wheel in frustration.

  Carefully, softly, Lorna had asked what had happened.

  “We just got a flat, again. I hit something. Now we’re going to have to change the tire. And we were making good time. I wanted to get up on the freeway before we ran out of gas. We need to reach a good spot to pull off for the night before it gets dark. Now this fucking tire’s going to put us behind.” He had slammed the car door.

  “Get the fuck out here, Lorna, you’re not going to sit on your ass while I do all the work.”