by S A Ison
“I’m glad we chose the twelfth floor. We can look down into that pond and all. I can’t wait to take a shower. I don’t care if it is only a two-minute shower.” Tilly chirped happily. There were others who crowded into the elevator with them. Megan breathed shallowly. The body odor that filled the small space was nearly overwhelming. She held a hand up to her face and covered her mouth and nose. She hoped all these people took advantage of the showers. On odd days the odd floors had showers, even days, the even floors had showers. She had no clue what today was, but she’d give the showers a try anyway. The walls around the interior were bare and there were wires sticking out everywhere.
“We’ll have to finish our own room, but honestly, I’m just as glad. We even get to pick our paint color.” Tilly said, as though in her own world. Megan was happy to be out of the cold, but something bothered her about this place. It once more reminded her of a prison. How long would they stay there? Until the United States was on its feet again? Would they then, have the ability to leave the Hive and find a job and a home elsewhere? She shivered.
“You cold?” Tilly asked, putting her arm around Megan. Megan wanted to cry, and she didn’t know why. She couldn’t speak, and just shook her head. When they’d asked for their clothing, they were told it had been destroyed in a fire at the warehouse where everyone’s personal effects were kept. So now, all they had were the bright yellow coveralls. They’d also been given large black numbers to sew onto the back of their coveralls. Their number was twelve. They would only be allowed on the ground floor and their own floor. They’d both been given a large rule book and they were told to study it. Ignorance of the rules would not be tolerated.
“I’m fine.” She said numbly, as the elevator stopped, and several people got off. She let out a breath as the man who stunk so badly stepped off. The doors closed once more, and the elevator went up. Finally, they got to their floor.
“What’s our room number again?” Tilly asked, looking around at the bare walls. There were lights above them and along the walls, though there were no coverings. Those would come later. Megan looked down at the paper. She looked up the large hall, it went on forever. She walked to the railing and looked down. Far below was the pond and atrium. She wondered what they would plant there. She sighed and looked again at the paper.
“Our room is 120220. We go this way, see. Jesus, there are so many cubicles. Christ, they’ve not put doors on them yet.” Megan said nervously. She and Tilly walked down the long hall, looking down every now and then. There were no clocks on the walls, and she didn’t have a watch. They finally arrived at their apartment or cell. Because the building was the Hive, they had gone along with the theme. Inside a beehive, there were individual structures called cells. To Megan, it gave the connotations of a prison, not a beehive.
Stepping in, she was relieved to see there was a door. It slid. When they walked in, a motion detector switched lights on.
“Oh, cool. A smart apartment.” Tilly said. Megan looked at her. Tilly was such a positive person, but Megan was a realist. By any other name, this was a prison cell. There were dividing walls that went up six feet but not all the way up to the ceiling. In each cubical, was a bed that was cantilevered into the wall. A thin mattress and pillow were there. Flat sheets, a wool blanket and bath towel, were folded neatly at the foot of the bed or bunk. There was a built-in nightstand with a generic, gooseneck lamp.
There were three beds, so there would be another person coming. A thin corrugated slide could be pulled across the bed chamber for privacy. Across from the cubical that held the beds were three corresponding lockers. Megan opened hers and looked inside. There, inside, was a spool of thread and needle, small scissors, a comb, bar of soap, and nail clippers. In a cup, there was a toothbrush and tube of paste. Her eyes began to tear up. This place felt like a prison, she didn’t care what anyone said. She couldn’t stop the warm tears that slid down her face.
She felt herself pulled into Tilly’s arms. The taller woman was making shushing noises.
“It’s gonna be okay Meg, really. Look, it beats the hell out of living in a tent. We’ll fix it up nice. Look, it could be worse. I heard there have been a lot of women disappearing. I’m hearing rumors of human trafficking outside the camp. We work and we have a place to sleep and food to eat. We can even take showers. I know it isn’t normal, but nothing’s been normal for a long time now.”
“I know you’re right Tilly, I do. It’s just…I don’t know. Something isn’t right.”
“What can we do about it? For now, let’s just settle in. We don’t have to report to work until tomorrow. We can try to take a shower. There is a shampoo dispenser in there. We can wash our hair and everything.” Tilly smiled down at her. Megan hugged her friend. She was right. There wasn’t a damn thing they could do right now. Maybe, after getting acclimated here and figuring out the lay of the land, things would get better. They had a bed and she’d chosen the bed farthest from the door. They also had a small living room. With doctor’s office furniture, a mustard yellow fabric. The floor was a smooth gray concrete.
She put her extra yellow coveralls on the foot of the bed. She walked to the small bathroom. It had a stainless-steel toilet, sink and shower. Below the sink, was a shelf, it held bottles of cleaning products. To the side, near the shower were three sets of shower shoes. There was no curtain on the shower. Inside, like Tilly had said, was a dispenser, marked shampoo. It was all institutionalized fittings. She guessed that because they had to accommodate so many people, that it could not be personalized. That, she supposed, would be up to her and Tilly. Still, why so many cells? It was a massive complex. It would take months to finish, but she had nowhere else to go.
Walking back into the living room, she saw the wall clock. Dinner would be in three hours. They were instructed to ensure when they came down, that they had their numbers stitched on. She went back to her cubical and picked up her extra set of coveralls and the numbers. She grabbed the needle and thread. She would spend her time stitching 120220 onto her coveralls.
“If you sew, I’ll read over the rules. It’s a lot of rules.” Tilly grumbled, her brow crinkling.
“Okay.”
“I’ll also end the suspense.” Tilly said, flipping rapidly through the pages, stopping now and then and flipping on.
“What’s that?” Megan asked, thread hanging out of her mouth.
“Most of the punishment is death.” Tilly said, color leaving her face.
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Tilly was stunned, most of the punishments listed were death penalties. She looked over at Megan, whose face lost all color.
“It’s a good thing we don’t break rules.” Tilly said, trying to smile, though failing. She’d not been too disturbed by Lynch’s execution. She had started to regain her weight. The rules were a little overwhelming and they frightened her.
“Yeah, kinda makes you want to be a goodie goodie.” Megan said, shaking her head.
“Well, good news, no drugs allowed, so no junkies will be in this place.”
“Yeah, no meth heads. That’s good. Besides, I’m not sure anyone could get drugs into this place. It’s pretty secure.” Megan said, shifting the material in her lap.
Tilly was glad. She’d dated a boy in high school, who’d done meth. It had been a really bad situation and the boy had stolen from her and her family. It had turned her off to drugs and drinking. Both bad news in her book.
“It also says that jobs will be opening up, and if we want to get signed on, we’ll need to be quick. They are putting in gardens on the top three floors. I think I’d like to work in the garden. How about you?” Tilly asked, flipping through the pages and scanning.
“Yeah, that sounds good. I heard we’re supposed to get a couple more coveralls, so our dirty ones can go to the laundry. I don’t want to work in the laundry. I worked at a hotel laundry once, it sucked.” Megan said, thread hanging out of her mouth.
“Me either, or the kitchen. I was a waitress once, and I h
ad to help clean the kitchen on the last shift. I hated that. All that grease. Ewww.” Tilly said. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of working in the garden. She just wished the days weren’t so long. Twelve hours took its toll and by the time she ate dinner, she was ready to pass out. Maybe that was why the Hive worked them so hard. No time to get in trouble.
FIVE
Franktown, CO
Laura was unsure what to think. Quinn had shot the two men who’d tried to sneak into the chicken coop. The explosions of gunfire had scared her to death. She and her parents had gone down the stairs, flashlights waving. She could hear her daughters calling her, frightened. She’d gone back into the house, leaving her parents to find out what was going on. She’d not seen the men, thank god. Her mother had relayed the minimal information, which frustrated Laura. She wasn’t a fragile flower.
But perhaps because when her mother had told her that Quinn had killed the two men, her legs had nearly buckled. Her mother had looked at her.
“Honey, it had to be done.”
“But they just wanted a chicken. They were hungry mom.” Laura had tried to argue.
“Sure, they were. Now, they’re not. Look Laura, are you willing for the girls to go hungry?” Her mother had been hard and firm about it. She wasn’t unkind, but there was a steel in her blue eyes that Laura had never seen before. Was it the marine, she’d once been?
“No, of course I don’t want the girls to go hungry mom. No.”
“This is a different world. Those men would kill us all in a skinny second, or at least me, your dad and Quinn. They’d have raped you and the girls.”
“Jesus Christ, mom!” Laura barked.
“No, listen to me and listen good. This is a different world. There are no rules here, no government, no law. We can’t call the police honey. You know this. That Randy fella, that followed you. What do you think he was planning to do? Yeah, see? It is our job, our duty, to care for those children. Do you not eat a little less, so they can have more? Do you think we have so much, that we can afford to give it away? Any food that does not go into those children’s stomachs is wasted food. We can’t waste a crumb. And honestly, do you think those men would have been satisfied with one chicken? Knowing there was more food to be had, don’t you think they would have dug in like ticks on a hound?”
“It’s just. Well. They’re dead.” Laura said, unable to get beyond that.
“Yes, they are. There are two less men out there, that will steal from others. That will hurt others. Don’t fool yourself dear. They were hungry, but there is fishing out there and hunting. It might take a lot of work on their part, but it’s out there. Quinn found guns on them. We’re damned lucky they didn’t shoot us. I know this is hard dear, but you need to wrap your head around it and fast. There might come a time where you’ll have to kill someone. You hesitate and you may well have killed your daughters.”
“Mom, stop saying that. That’s horrible.” Laura protested, tears in her eyes.
“Honey, we’ve been lucky up until now. But, I’m afraid, this is going to happen more than you care to admit. Prepare yourself dear. I mean that. You can’t be weak. You’ll have to be stronger than you know or even want to be.” Milly said and got up and left Laura alone. That had been two weeks ago. Her father and Quinn were out hunting deer now. There had been several in the field last night, but by the time her father and Quinn had gone out to shoot one or two, they were gone. Today, they were tracking them down.
Laura looked over at the girls, who were playing by the woodstove. Both wore their sweaters. The house wasn’t overly warm, they were saving on wood. There had been a fireplace years ago, but her father had opted for a woodstove. It was more energy efficient. They also used it to cook on, instead of the kitchen stove, to save fuel. The girls especially liked baked potatoes. They helped their grandmother make butter from the goat’s milk. Laura shivered. She loved the butter but couldn’t drink the milk. Luckily, the girls loved it. The cow, Maggy, was getting older and produced less and less milk. It was harder for the old girl during the brutal winter. Laura was spoiled on pasteurized milk and normally drank almond milk.
Laura walked to the window and looked out. The heavy curtains were left open a little to let the light in. At night, they were pulled tight, to keep the cold out and the heat in. There was snow on the ground. It had snowed early that morning. When they woke, it was like a winter wonderland. The house had been cold, but not freezing. She’d gone downstairs and built up the fire and got the coffee going. They still had plenty of coffee, but they only made enough for four cups a day. Each had to savor that one cup. Once it was gone, it was gone forever.
She snorted, her father put water and perked up weak coffee from the used grounds. Her mother shared in that as well. She wiped at the tears that seemed to always come now. She missed Hogan and wondered where he was. There was more unrest. Her father went down once a week, he and Quinn and listened to the radio. She didn’t go, she just didn’t want to hear it. It was all bad, it was all depressing news. The government still wasn’t giving locations of the dead zones, essentially trapping them all where they were. Also, rumors, and those she wasn’t sure about or even believed, about how Washington had closed major parts of the city, kicking residents out and sending them to Hives, which were popping up all over. The government was taking a lot of the food, aid and supplies coming from other countries and using the supplies only for themselves, leaving the populous to starve and go without.
That couldn’t be right, could it? Why? Why was this happening. Why wasn’t the government doing something to help them? Couldn’t they drop supplies from planes? Were they just left out here to rot and die? What would have happened had her parents not had the farm? How were Donny and Carol? Were they still alive? She wiped once more at the tears and looked over at her daughters. They’d stopped asking about their father. They were growing attached to Quinn. Her mouth trembled in a smile. He was a good man, even though he’d killed those two men. Her father had been so proud of Quinn and kept hugging the man and shaking his hand.
Why was she having such a hard time with all this? Her mother seemed fine with the killing, as did her father and Quinn. She’d assured her daughters that they were safe, that night of the shooting. She’d not told them anything. Only that Quinn was protecting them. They could not understand death yet. Nor killing someone who was stealing. Hells bells, even she couldn’t understand it. But, then again, she did. Looking at Allain and Alexa, she knew, she’d kill anyone who’d threaten them. She’d almost killed Randy. She knew in her heart of hearts; she’d have shot him dead.
A broad smile crept over her face, she saw her father and Quinn with a deer between them, hanging from a pole.
“Mom! They got one, they got a really big one.” She laughed.
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Quinn looked up and grinned, his heart swelled with joy. They’d shot a big buck and they were looking at near seventy pounds of edible meat. Not to mention the ribs, that were now being marinated. His mouth watered. They were processing the meat; Bart had dragged out the smoker and they were cutting thin strips to smoke into jerky. Milly was canning the rest. She was also using the leg bones for soup and broth. None of the deer would be wasted.
“My god, I can’t get over that shot. I mean, damn boy.” Bart laughed; his hands covered in blood. They were in the barn.
“Trust me, it was a lucky shot. But what I think was damned lucky, those bear tracks. If we can hunt down that bear, that is a hell of a lot of meat!” Quinn laughed.
Both men had been excited. They’d talked about perhaps running into deer or, if they were lucky, a feral pig, but they’d not expected to see bear tracks. If they got the chance, they’d kill anything big enough to eat. They needed to put as much meat away as possible. Their lives depended on it. The eggs helped with protein, but Quinn could feel that need for more meat, more than one chicken a week. His body screamed for it. He’d lost nearly twenty pounds since all this c
haos went down.
“Worst case, we could always eat Wilber.” Quinn grinned and sniggered at the look that came across Bart’s face.
“Boy, I’d gut you and eat you first. Shit head.” Bart glared, a grin just at the edge of his lips.
“Just a thought.” Quinn laughed.
Quinn worried about Laura; she was growing thinner by the day. He’d seen the worried looks in Milly and Bart’s eyes. Laura was grieving for Hogan, he was sure. But it was something more, like she couldn’t quite accept this new life, the life of violence. Perhaps because he, Bart and Milly had been marines, they accepted it more easily. He hadn’t liked killing those men, but he liked it even less having them steal food from the children’s mouths. It was a hard world now; Laura needed to accept it and stop living in that other world, the old world. There was a confluence of the old and new, she needed to step into the new. The old world was dead and from what the people on the radio said, they were all left to fend for themselves. The government wasn’t going to help and in fact, seemed to be doing everything it could to prevent anyone else from helping.
“You know, once we get this processed, I think we should go again soon and see if we can’t get ourselves a bear. I’ve had it before and it’s damned fine eating, especially in winter, with all that fat on it.” Bart grinned; blood streaked across his face. He looked like a wild man, his white hair standing on end.
Quinn laughed, and it felt damned good to laugh. With the meat from the deer and what they had in the basement and root cellar; they would easily make it until spring. Granted, once spring got there, it would be a stretch until the first fresh vegetables were ready to harvest, but the fear of starvation was now at least pushed to the back burner.
Quinn jerked when he heard the gunshot, it was so close, he dove to the ground, Bart right behind him. He looked around, then got up in a crouch and ran toward the house. He didn’t have to look back to know Bart was behind him. He had his Glock in hand, his hands sticky with blood. At least they weren’t slick. He hit the side of the house and came around. The dogs were barking like crazy and Milly was at the front door, her Mossberg raised, her eyes scanning around. Quinn looked around and saw Laura, standing over a man, her gun in her hand and her arm around Alexa. The child was crying hysterically.