Hive Invasion

by James Axler

  He had only another second or two to get a shot off before she disappeared over the side with Ricky. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Ryan settled behind the crosshairs and aimed for the only visible part of the woman—her head. When it came into sight again as she leaned out to glance over the side, he squeezed the trigger.

  The shot boomed out, and the 7.62 mm bullet impacted the side of her head, sending a spray of blood and bone arcing into the night. Already leaning over, the woman fell off the side, leaving Ricky on the roof.

  “Let’s get him. Cover!” Ryan said as he got up and approached the prone form of their friend. Jak and J.B. were right next to him as they ran forward, but even as they did, two dark objects clattered onto the roof from the far side and rolled toward them.

  “Grens! Hit the deck!” One came close enough to Ryan for him to kick it off, but the other one was too far away. Again, the three men dived to the roof, covering their ears and closing their eyes as the bomb went off in a series of flashes so bright Ryan could see them even through his eyelids. They were accompanied by a series of deafening booms that buffeted his body and left a sharp ringing in his ears.

  Shaking his head to try to dispel the gren’s effects, Ryan got up and staggered to the edge of the building. Below were the man and the woman, each still moving—even her, with a large chunk of her skull missing—and both carrying a captive over their shoulders. As if knowing they were being watched, the pair turned and raised their blasters while walking backward.

  Ryan threw himself back as bullets flew all around him. Rolling to the far edge, he slung his longblaster and lowered himself by his one good arm. When he had extended himself down as far as he could, Ryan shrugged off his Steyr Scout and let it drop, then let go of the roof, hitting the ground and rolling backward to somersault onto his feet again. He grabbed the Steyr and ran to the corner to peek around it. Chattering from J.B.’s M4 above told him his friend was trying to keep the kidnappers busy enough so Ryan could hopefully get the drop on them.

  Ryan saw them disappear around the corner of a half-demolished ruin of a house, and began trotting toward it. Halfway down, he heard boots hit the ground behind him, and glanced back to see J.B. running toward him, M4 held in both hands.

  “Where’s Jak?” Ryan asked.

  The Armorer nodded back at the roof. “Tully escaped back there. Told him to make sure she was all right. Come on.”

  The two men ran to the corner and peeked around it. They were on the north end of the ville now, and the buildings were sparser, with the few scattered ones giving way to the endless plains beyond them.

  “Movement.” Ryan pointed at a building with an attached, listing carport on the side. The two survivors were putting their cargo into the back of some kind of all-terrain wag they’d hidden there. “Would help if we could get that wag, too.”

  “I can take one now,” J.B. said, raising the M4 to his shoulder. As he did, bright halogen lights burst into life atop the truck, illuminating the two men’s position.

  “I can’t see!” J.B. pulled back while shots were fired at them, forcing both men to withdraw a few more feet from the corner.

  “They’re going to get away!” Ryan said. “Can’t let them take Ricky! Fireblast!” Dropping his longblaster, he ran back to the corner in time to see the high-clearance, six-wheeled truck pull out of the carport and begin to accelerate, making hardly any noise as it sped up. A head appeared from the passenger window, aiming an M4 at him.

  “Go!” J.B. shouted from behind him as he opened up with his own carbine, aiming at the shooter first to force him back undercover, then dropping his muzzle to the front tire. The bullets chewed into it, making it deflate with a loud hiss, but the truck kept moving. It was, however, significantly slowed, allowing Ryan to gain on it.

  Putting on a burst of speed, Ryan grabbed for the top of the tailgate, getting his fingers on it just as the truck shifted gears and surged ahead, pulling him off his feet!

  Chapter Nineteen

  As he held on by one hand, Ryan’s combat boots bounced and dragged against the hardpan as the truck accelerated even faster into the scrubby plains. The two blown tires didn’t seem to be slowing it all that much.

  Gritting his teeth, Ryan reached up with his other arm, which still throbbed unmercifully from his still-healing burrower injury. Shooting with it hadn’t been bad, but lifting it over his head was another story. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed onto the side of the truck bed and pulled himself up to fall inside it. Even as he hit, Ryan rolled forward, aware that the people inside probably knew someone had caught up with them.

  Sure enough, a head emerged from the passenger-side window again. It was the woman, her face covered in blood, and she was pointing a blaster at Ryan, who ducked out of the way. The next thing he heard was footsteps right overhead. Glancing up, he saw the woman standing on the roof of the truck cab, the muzzle of her blaster tracking toward him.

  Ryan grabbed her feet and yanked them toward him as the weapon fired close enough for him to feel the brief blast of flame on his scalp. The woman slammed down hard enough on the passenger compartment to leave a large dent in the metal. Still holding on to her, Ryan stepped backward, dragging her off the cab. She managed to get an arm underneath to break her fall, but her blaster pitched from her hand and fell into a corner of the truck bed.

  Even seriously injured and flat on her back, the woman was dangerous. She wrenched a foot out of his grasp and immediately pistoned it back into his stomach. The air whooshed out of Ryan’s lungs, leaving him stunned just long enough so that he was unable to block a second kick that tore her other foot from his grasp and sent him staggering back toward the tailgate. He stopped only when the back of his knees hit the metal, and for a moment he teetered on the edge, a hairbreadth away from falling out of the truck.

  Regaining his balance, Ryan sucked in a breath and stepped forward to find himself facing the woman, who was now standing up. Although the bullet had plowed through her skull and a good portion of her brain, she was still moving as if she hadn’t been injured at all. Even in the bed of the fast-moving truck, she easily kept her balance as she watched him.

  Ryan’s hand shot to the butt of his SIG Sauer and pulled it from his hip holster. But even as he brought it up, she leaped forward, a hard hand gripping his wrist and wrenching the weapon away from him. Clenching her other hand into a fist, she launched it at his jaw, but Ryan grabbed that one in his other hand.

  For a moment, he strained against her, their muscles flexing as each combatant tried to get an advantage on the other. Ryan was shocked at the woman’s strength, especially since she was several inches shorter than him, and at least sixty pounds lighter. Her grip, however, was crushing, and trying to move her was like pushing against a granite wall.

  The truck hit a patch of rougher terrain, the jouncing bed making it more difficult to keep their balance. Even so, she brought up a leg and tried to kick Ryan in the crotch, using their locked arms as brace points to help keep her balance. Ryan saw the move coming, however, and twisted his hips to take the blow on his thigh. He kept turning, using her force against her and pulling her off balance. While she staggered to try to stay on her feet, he pulled her all the way around and let go of her wrist while twisting his other wrist out of her grasp, intending to let her go flying into the tailgate and out of the truck as he almost had a few seconds ago.

  At least that was what was supposed to happen.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t break her hold on his wrist. Instead, she leaped into the air and drove her elbow down toward his face. Ryan saw it in time to duck his head and take the blow on the top of his skull. Even so, he saw a bright white flash for a moment, and he countered by driving his free hand into her nose, crushing it. The blow snapped her head back and made her entire body recoil, but she still didn’t let go of his blaster arm.

  Now they had sw
itched places, with Ryan facing away from the cab. He shoved her toward the tailgate, the punch stunning her enough so that he could use his superior weight to force her back. He had just gotten her up to it when the truck swerved violently to the right, catching them by surprise and knocking both Ryan and the woman off their feet.

  He fell into the side of the bed, painfully banging his elbow and ribs. She slid into the side with her head and shoulder, but again, didn’t seem affected by it at all. Ryan grabbed his blaster arm with his other hand to try to force it over to her head. He had moved it about six inches when the truck swerved to the left, making them slide across the cargo area to slam into the other side.

  Ryan pulled his arm close to him, bringing her with it. At the same time, he arched forward to slam his forehead into her face, pulping her already broken nose even more. Her head snapped back again, then she brought it forward to smash her forehead into his face.

  Pain exploded on his cheekbone, and the world turned to red and white stars for a moment. Furious, Ryan blinked away the tears caused by the shot and moved his head out of the way just in time to avoid another forehead butt.

  “That’s it!” Tossing his blaster to his left hand, he jammed it into her rib cage and fired repeatedly. The cluster of bullets plowed through her body, shattering her sternum and sending jagged fragments of bone through her chest cavity to shred her heart and lungs. And all this on top of the damage the bullets themselves caused, which included tearing out her spinal column, as well.

  And still the woman didn’t stop coming after Ryan. Bleeding profusely and with her legs now useless, she nonetheless tried to climb on him, her still-powerful arms and hands clawing at his face or throat. Her movements took on a frenzied quality, as if the thing inside her knew it was in trouble.

  “Dammit, bitch, get...the fuck...away from me!” Ryan dropped his empty blaster and shoved her off him. Standing up, he grabbed her by the throat and leg and picked her up off the bed, holding her far enough away to avoid her other flailing arm. He started hoisting her up to pitch her over the side when the truck lurched again, tipping him off balance and sending him crashing on his butt, only this time with her on top of him.

  Feeling fingers scrabbling at his throat, Ryan threw up a forearm to block them while reaching for the panga at his hip. Drawing it, he got his leg between her and him and pushed her away. She rolled to the front of the bed and turned over, then began crawling back toward him, dragging her useless legs behind her.

  “That’s right.... Come here,” Ryan said, rising in a crouch and waiting for her. When she was close enough, he stood, planted a foot on her back and crushed her to the truck bed. She tried to lever herself up, but Ryan brought the panga down in a savage blow that laid her neck open and severed her jugular vein. Dark blood dribbled out as he pulled the blade free and brought it down, removing the woman’s head from her body. It rolled into a corner, covered with dirt and blood, while the body spasmed under his foot.

  Ryan watched the stump of the neck carefully, and when the disgusting slug-creature came out, he was ready. He chopped it into two with a single blow of his panga, wincing at the psychic scream of pain that pierced his skull. Just to make sure the thing was dead, he chopped each half into two pieces, as well. He was satisfied only when all the pieces stopped moving.

  Dropping to his knees, he sat back on his haunches and took several deep breaths, not caring that all he could smell was blood, sweat and dirt. Just about every part of him hurt from the knocking around he had taken in the past few minutes.

  Glancing at the cab, he noticed that the truck was slowing. Ryan looked around for his blaster and found it in another corner of the cargo bed, spattered with blood. He searched through his pockets for a full mag but came up empty.

  By now the truck had come to a full stop. Ryan kept his bloody panga close while searching for the woman’s Beretta. He found it in another corner of the bed, picked it up and checked the chamber. It had a round in it. Picking up his panga, Ryan got up and trudged to the front left corner of the bed, ready for the truck to take off again at any moment.

  As he did, he noticed the driver’s window was starred, as if a bullet had passed through it. He reached out to tap on the glass, and the whole thing shattered into hundreds of tiny fragments, which spilled to the ground. A faint tendril of smoke wafted out from inside. The truck had been turned off, and only the ticking of its cooling engine could be heard in the silent night.

  “Ricky?” Ryan asked. “You in there?”

  “Yes. Ryan? Is that you?”

  “Yeah.” Still holding both of his weapons, Ryan threw his leg over the side and slowly, painfully climbed to the ground. “Are you okay?”

  “I...think so.”

  Stepping to the driver’s door, Ryan reached for the handle with his blaster hand. He pulled it open and covered the very dead driver with the Beretta.

  Still belted into his seat, his head tipped back, the man looked as if he had been mauled by a bear or some other wild animal. His entire chest was covered in blood, with a drying pool of it puddled in his crotch. The cause was obvious—his throat had been messily torn open, the resulting large hole spilling his life’s fluid everywhere.

  Beside him crouched Ricky, breathing heavily while he worked on something in his lap. With a pleased grunt, he lifted his hands and removed the cut zip tie that had bound his hands, massaging life back into his white, swollen fingers. He stared at Ryan with wide eyes, looking much like the animal that had killed the man. The lower half of his face and his shirt were both covered with blood, so much of it that Ryan had no trouble figuring out exactly how the teen had opened up the man’s throat.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Ricky nodded at the driver’s corpse. “Better than him.” He grinned, revealing bloodstained teeth, then suddenly whirled, leaned over the passenger-side door and threw up.

  “At least you had the presence of mind to do that outside,” Ryan said when he had finished. “Come on, let’s get this guy out of here and head back to the ville.” He sheathed his panga and moved to unbuckle the man from the driver’s seat when he heard a strange, rattling hiss from the dead body.

  Ryan threw himself backward just as a slug creature burst from the corpse’s ruined throat and lunged at his mouth. Having missed with its initial attack, the creature hung half in, half out of the dead man’s neck, writhing around as its antennae tried to home in on its next target.

  “Bastard!” Ryan drew the flensing knife from where it was sheathed at the back of his neck and stabbed the creature through its middle, pinning it to the chest of the body. The slug squealed and struggled, then went limp as it oozed black ichor down the front of the body to mix with the drying blood.

  “Ricky, get his seat belt off.”

  The kid did so, and Ryan hauled the body out and dumped it on the grass chest up. Drawing his panga, he retrieved his flensing knife, cleaned it and put it away. Then he hacked the slug into four pieces with his panga for good measure.

  Once that was done, he went to the back and dumped the headless body of the woman out of the bed, kicking her head out, as well. He then got down and climbed into the driver’s seat, wincing at the sticky wetness he had to sit on. “Let’s head back.”

  Ricky nodded, still staring at him with wide eyes. “Thanks for coming after me.”

  Ryan grunted as he familiarized himself with the truck’s controls. “Sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you with these bastards.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Several hours later, Ryan stood on the second-floor balcony of the motel, watching as the members of the Silvertide collective finished their preparations to leave the ville and keep heading west.

  He and Ricky had returned to find the people already packing up their wagons. J.B. and the others had apparently informed them of what had happened, and the good folk h
ad taken it upon themselves to pack up and get the hell out of Dodge. Even the large water machine had been moved off the roof, aided by the use of an ingenious block-and-tackle system that enabled three men to move it with ease. It rested on a wagon now, covered by a thick tarp.

  Ryan and Ricky had gotten a chance to clean up using a couple of buckets of water, and Mildred had set Ricky’s nose, which he said hurt like hell. His face around his eyes was turning several shades of black and blue, his voice had a muffled, clogged aspect to it and he had a pounding headache from the shot he’d taken to the chops, but he was otherwise all right.

  However, Ricky wasn’t sure what had been worse—getting treated by Mildred, or getting grilled by her about the attackers and having to repeat everything he had gone through at least twice, not to mention answering her follow-up questions. By the time she was finished with him, Ricky swore he had at least two kinds of headache, and not just from his broken nose either.

  Other than being sore all over, Ryan was also okay. When he’d returned, J.B. hadn’t said a word, just shook his head. Ryan figured they’d be having a conversation about their enemy soon enough. Meanwhile, Mildred was concerned about the blow on his cheekbone, which was turning a brilliant shade of purple, but gentle probing revealed nothing had been broken. “Doubtless your hard head saved you again,” she muttered.

  “You don’t see me complaining,” he’d replied, then winced as she started to apply alcohol to his various scrapes and cuts.

  Tully had also been recovered safely, and the third kidnapping victim, one of her cousins, had been recovered safe and sound from the rear passenger area of the truck. Except for a bump on the head and a splitting headache, he’d come to without any other problems.

  There had been one spare tire on the truck, which Ryan and J.B. had used to replace the more chewed-up tire on the front driver’s side. The rear one, although run flat, they thought would be a loss until Elder Bough had put a few of the scavvies on the job. Within an hour, they’d presented Ryan with the patched and filled tire. It was much heavier now, as it had been filled with sand to retain its shape. It had taken both of them to mount it again, but once on, it did its job pretty well. Perhaps not as responsive as the air-filled ones, but given that the vehicle was drivable, they certainly weren’t going to complain.