The Hive: A Post-Apocalyptic Life

by S A Ison

  He had to get out of this place. He had to escape. He didn’t want to be here, trapped. This whole thing smelled of government control. He’d read about Agenda 21, something the UN had cooked up in 1992, at a conference held in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. His parents had discussed it over the years. He’d just been a baby himself during that time. But, now, thinking about it, could this be the government’s way of controlling the remaining population of the United States? Part of the country was destroyed, so, why not contain and control the rest? Could his own government be that sinister? Against its own people? Christ.

  These Hive things had popped up so quickly. How had that happened? Who was behind it? It was said to be a philanthropist, but no one knew who. The government wasn’t that fast, he knew that, then again, they moved swiftly enough when it was something they wanted. So, was it bullshit? There were Hives all across the remaining country now. In large cities. A shiver ran through him. Did North Korea even bomb the United States? Or had the U. S. done it? His mind wouldn’t shut off and he shifted and turned again.

  The thought that his own government had slaughtered millions made him shudder, made his heart race wildly. He’d not cared for the military, but he knew the military fought for American’s right to freedom. That freedom was now being taken away, under the guise of housing the refugees and the homeless. He wasn’t homeless, nor was he a refugee.

  He’d read a lot of the conspiracy theories out there, about Agenda 21. Some of the conspiracy theories suggested that the plan was to depopulate the world by ninety five percent by 2030. They weren’t far off from that date and he was sure that the United States had lost millions in the attack on the west alone. Starvation and violence were taking more. Infractions at the Hive too, even more lives.

  Christ. How would he get out of this place? His mind screamed over and over. Both Megan and Tilly were terrified and rightfully so. No one had bargained on this prison. What had looked like a godsend, had now turned out to be a controlled nightmare. The worst part was that no one on the outside had any idea what was going on behind the tall fences. If they did, would they care? Refugee had become a dirty word. Resource sucking people. No. He was on his own, if he wanted out of this place, he was going to have to do it himself.

  SEVEN

  Franktown, CO

  Quinn and Laura were out at the barn, they’d just fed the cow and pig.

  “You think your dad will butcher the pig?” Quinn asked, looking down at the potbelly pig, it lived with the cow, in the same stall. The pig could leave when it wanted to and tended to go out into the fenced pasture that was out back of the barn. There was a small hinged door, like a dog door, that her father had built for the pig.

  Laura laughed and shook her head.

  “No, my father loves that pig, like a pet. Wilber, he calls the rascal.” She laughed and tossed an apple core to the pig, who scooped it up quickly.

  Quinn grinned down at her, he loved her laugh. He stood shoulder to shoulder with her and she’d not moved away from the contact. He’d volunteered to milk the cow; it was normally her chore now. Sometimes, there was only a little milk given. Once the girls got older, they’d take up the care of the animals. For now, he and Laura did it. He grinned down and bumped her shoulder and she smiled back up at him. He then leaned down and kissed her gently, her lips were warm and receptive. His hand came up and cradled her face. She didn’t resist.

  He knew she was lonely, as lonely as he. They’d been flirting over the last few weeks. He knew she missed her husband, but they both knew that she’d never see Hogan again. It was a heartbreaking situation. He thought that she was ready to move on. She’d grieved for months now. He’d found her weeping on several occasions and knew how she felt. He’d grieved himself for his Zoe. But no amount of wanting was ever going to bring Zoe back, nor would it bring Hogan back to her.

  The government’s tight hold on information was puzzling. Why didn’t they want anyone to know the locations of the dead zones? It just didn’t make sense. He let that thought vaporize as he turned and took Laura in his arms and held her firmly to him. He felt her arms slide up and around his neck as she pulled him closer to her. The cow’s soft lowing broke the spell and they pulled away, smiling softly at each other. The goats added their voices.

  He pulled her knitted cap down, snug on her head.

  “You know you look beautiful with all that straw sticking out of your hair.” He grinned. Her hands flew up to her hair and laughed, pulling the bits out.

  “Yeah, I can tell you’re kinda warped that way.” She chuckled, then her face cleared, and he saw sadness in her eyes.

  “It’s okay to be happy, to laugh, Laura. Trust me.” He smiled gently down at her. The light from the opened barn door highlighted the soft smoothness of her face, her cheeks flushed with heat and health.

  “I know. Trying to hold on to the past isn’t working and I don’t think it’s healthy either. I know. I know I’ll never see Hogan again. I hope he can find someone where he is, someone who will care and love him.” She sighed sadly.

  “I do too. Life is harder now. It’s also uncertain with all the violence that is going on around us. Luckily, it’s been so cold, that cold, I think that has kept people hunkered down. But it’s starting to warm up, which means people will be on the move again.” He said, pulling her unresisting to him. He felt her arms wrap around his waist. He could feel the heat of her, and it sent heat spreading through him.

  “I know, spring will be here soon. Time is going so fast, yet, ironically, going slow as well.” She sighed.

  “It will be planting time soon. Your dad is planning to go out to the north field and start turning the soil next week. We have to shovel up that chicken poop and start spreading it around and get that soil ready for spring planting.”

  “I know, we’ve got to double the yield this year, to keep us well ahead and plenty of food on hand. Mom is thinking about doing a double planting season. Before the diesel goes, she wants another acre turned. She wants a garden to eat from and a garden to can and preserve. So, we have the best of both.”

  “Good idea. It will be nice to eat fresh vegetables without the guilt that we’re digging into winter supplies.” Quinn grinned and leaned his head in for another kiss. She felt so damned good in his arms. He didn’t ever think he could love anyone else but Zoe, but he did. Laura smelled of hay, warmth and syrup. They’d had pancakes earlier. He smiled as he kissed her. He felt like a teenager again.

  “You kids need to get a room; we don’t want you giving Wilber ideas. Maggy wouldn’t like him humping her leg.” Bart chortled, walking into the barn. This caused both Quinn and Laura to jump apart, guilty expressions on their faces. Laura’s face suffused in a delicate pink and Quinn could feel his own, flame. Bart continued to snigger, like a naughty little boy. He had a pail of warm water, which he dumped into the low trough. Maggy moo’d her appreciation and began to drink.

  “I’ll take the milk; your mother is wanting to make butter today.” Bart grinned widely, his own apple cheeks bright red. He stooped and picked up the bucket his white fuzzy brows waggled, and he turned and walked out of the barn.

  “Oorah, Marine.” He called and laughed.

  “You know, I think my mother put him up to that.” Laura laughed.

  “Yeah, that’s the first time I’ve seen your father carry the milk. Two nosy yentas.” Quinn grinned down at her. They walked out of the barn, closing the door securely behind them. He looked up into the sky. It was just getting bright. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face and he could tell, winter was ending. Soon, they’d be hard at work, getting the fields ready for planting. They’d be planting for their very lives.

  Ӝ

  Kansas City, MO

  Hogan was out in the back field, he could feel the spring sun, beating down on his back. It was still too early to plant, but he and Trish had been turning the soil, getting it ready for planting. They had spent a week cobbling together a greenhouse. She had old windows
in the barn, the previous owner having left them behind. He’d found a sunny location and he and Trish had built a good-sized greenhouse. He looked over, she was in there now, watering the seedlings.

  “I’m going to try to plant an extra-large garden this year. Honestly, I don’t know how it will go. I’ve used store bought fertilizers, and this time, we’ll be using chicken poop.” She worried.

  “My in-laws use chicken manure, they spread it out and dry it, then, mix it into the soil. This soil seems pretty rich here. Lots of earthworms.” He’d said.

  Trish had planted the obligatory tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, squashes and pumpkins. They were starting to take over the green house. They would be planting potatoes in a week. Beans would follow. They were marking out sections for root crops, carrots, and sweet potatoes. She had slips growing from several sweet potatoes and those would be transferred when the time was right.

  It was hard labor, using only a shovel, hoe and rake. With each shovel, he turned the rich soil over. He saw the earthworms wriggling back down into the earth. He smiled and looked around. After the bastard, who’d shot at them, they’d not seen another person. They’d also waited a month and had driven to the city. They’d been cautious. It had been early morning, both agreeing that most people might not be up and about. They’d left just after the sun had risen.

  “I’ve not seen any cars. What’s going on I wonder?” Trish had worried. He wondered as well. As they drove closer, neither had seen anyone walking around. Homes were either closed up or torn apart. Windows smashed, doors ripped off the front of homes. It looked as though the rioting had gotten worse. When they were roughly ten miles from the city, ahead, they saw a large roadblock. Hogan had slowed down. They were about a half mile from it and wanted to go no closer. There were no people out and about. They could see uniformed people walking back and forth, behind the barricade. Other than that, there was no activity, no noise, but for the wind that blew into the window. The stoplights were out, no power to them.

  “Let’s go home, this makes me nervous.” Trish had said, and Hogan had heard the fear in her voice. They took a different route home, but it was all the same. Broken homes and they could see a massive structure in the distance, a Hive. It must house thousands, if not tens of thousands. Was that why the streets were empty? The thought of it even now, made the hair raise on Hogan’s arms. Kansas City was quiet, a ghost town. The once vibrant city was no more. Only a dry and empty husk left in its place.

  He turned and watched as Trish made her way to him. She had a soft smile on her face, her cheeks pink with the effort of walking on uneven ground.

  “Plants are looking great. I think we can maybe start planting in about three weeks. They should be strong enough. I’ll get them used to the sun, before we plant them.” She grinned, picking up a shovel.

  “What do you mean, get them used to the sun?” Hogan laughed. He’d never heard of such a thing.

  “Seedlings are delicate. That’s why they only get a few hours of sun a day, if they got the full-on sun, they’d burn up. Crisp. Once they’re big enough to plant out in this field, I’ll start leaving them in the sun, longer and longer each day. By the time we plant them, they’ll be used to the full sunshine.” She smiled.

  “Who knew? I just helped when I was asked. I never knew what went into planting them.” Hogan laughed.

  “Well, it took trial and error, as well as a little researching. For instance, I thought you planted sweet potatoes like you do regular potatoes. Not true. When you plant potatoes, you cut them up, making sure you have eyes on each of the potato bits. For sweet potatoes, you must plant them half into soil and let stems grow with leaves. Then, you pick those stems off, they’re called slips. Each of the slips have tiny little roots. Then, you plant the slips.”

  “Holy shit. That’s just crazy talk. Are you going to plant corn?” He asked, laughing when she smacked him.

  “Yep, I have to, most of that will be dried for the chickens. Some that I dry, we can grind down to make corn meal. I’ve got an old grinder in the barn. We’ll have to clean it up. I don’t think it’s been used in fifty years. I figure if we could plant a lot, then we’ll be better off, feeding ourselves and the chickens.”

  “This is kind of amazing. I know that my father-in-law did this and I was always impressed with their garden. But I never knew the extent of it.” He stood, looking around the field, a hurtful pang shooting through his heart. He’d never see Bart or Milly. He’d never see his girls or Laura. He didn’t even know if they were alive. He hoped they were, but now and then, the pangs of sorrow overtook him. Had it been six months?

  “You alright?” She asked, concern on her face.

  “Yeah, sure, so what’s the planting schedule?” He asked, pushing the sadness back.

  “Okay, so we’ll first plant broccoli here in this section. Next week I’m thinking, or the next, we’ll watch the temps. We’ll also put out the beets, cabbage, Brussel sprouts. Don’t make that face. They’re good for you.” She laughed at Hogan’s face at the mention of Brussel sprouts.

  “Christ, I’ve never eaten so healthy in my life.” He grinned.

  “Be serious. Anyway, when it warms up a bit more, we’ll plant carrots, potatoes, onions, sweet potatoes. Then, once it really gets warmed up, we’ll plant the corn, tomatoes, peppers, peas, lettuce and kale.”

  “So, we don’t plant all at once?” He asked, surprised.

  “No, we stagger them out. Some plants can take the cooler weather at night. Many plants do the majority of their growing at night. If the night temperatures are too cool, then you don’t have much growth. The plants absorb sunshine during the day, you know, photosynthesis and grow at night. If it is too cool, they just don’t grow as well. That’s why if you have a cool and mild summer, plants aren’t as productive and have a lower yield.”

  “Christ, we better hope for a warm and hot summer.” Hogan said worried.

  “That’s why farming is so chancy. There are so many factors, early or late frosts. Too much rain, not enough rain, too much sun, not enough sun. It’s all a gamble. That’s why I want to plant as much as I can. We can also stagger the planting and then plant a second garden. To get the biggest and best that we can.” She smiled at him and he grinned. They went back to shoveling.

  They’d both been dancing around each other for several months now. The sexual tension growing between them. Since the night he’d slept with her on the couch, it had been in his mind. He’d wakened during the night, with the smell of her in his nostrils. It had stirred him. He had pulled her closer and had fallen back to sleep, dreaming erotic dreams. Since then, every touch, accidental or not, sent waves of desire through him. He’d fought the urge but had seen the desire in her eyes as well. Both were fighting it, because he was still tethered to Laura.

  He knew he’d always love his wife, but she was gone and with each passing day, he knew he’d never be with her. He was coming to love Trish, she was an amazing woman, kind and smart and talented. A nurse and a farmer. He smiled as he watched her shovel. She was strong too. She’d been through a lot during those first months, so had he. But she was resilient.

  They’d been out walking the property last month. Gathering deadfall, he was pulling the cart and she was gathering. It was a peaceful moment in their lives. She’d turned to laugh at him and had caught her foot in a snag, her laughter had turned to startlement as she fell forward. He’d caught her and held her. He’d kissed her then, wrapping his arms around her, supporting her. It had been a passionate and devastating kiss. It had severed the link to Laura, and he’d been shaken up by it.

  Later that night, he made love to Trish. It had been slow and sweet and there had been no regrets for either of them. Now, they shared her bed, and each night, they made love to the sound of the dogs’ snoring below.

  Both turned when they heard gasping and saw a man come stumbling through the thicket that edged the field. He was an older man, Hogan put him in his late sixties to early sevent
ies. He wore a bloody coat and absurd, bright yellow coveralls, streaked with dried blood. His face was pale as death and his breath came in sobs and gasps. Hogan hadn’t drawn his weapon. The man stumbled from the trees, clutching his coat closed and tightly to him.

  “Please help me. For the love of Christ, please help me.” He rasped; his voice hoarse. He stumbled over the uneven ground and fell to his knees. Then Hogan heard something that turned his skin cold. A thin wail emitted from the man’s coat. He jumped forward as did Trish and grabbed the man by his arms and pulled him up. Down, within the recesses of the coat was a baby, a newborn.

  Ӝ

  Topeka, KS

  Megan pushed the large gas-powered tiller in front of her. The equipment was heavy, and she was sweating bullets, maneuvering it across the large field. There were others in the field with her. Ian, Tilly and others were moving tillers across vast expanses. They’d been bussed out from the Hive. They’d spent the previous week tilling the grounds around the Hive, getting it ready for planting. The field they were working on would hold corn. They were to work this field, then they would be taken to another. They’d been at this location for a couple days. There were children following behind, pulling out rocks and weeds.

  The youngest child was six. Her mother and father were near, tilling as well. Whole families were working together. Families that had younger children were bussed out, either with one or both parents. It had been heart breaking to watch as families were split up. The Hive had been cold blooded about it. The families either cooperated or would be kicked out to fend for themselves. The news they were given, was that the surviving part of the United States was in a state of catastrophic emergency. No food or not enough coming in. Everyone had to pull together, or they’d all starve.

  Looking over, she saw a woman, Ramona, she thought her name was. The woman had gotten pregnant and had been forced into an abortion. She’d been threatened with expulsion from the Hive, to starve or to be attacked by the violence outside the wire. The woman had wept bitterly but had complied.