Soon, Dhal’s device begins to sputter and the Queen once again regains control, although the extent of her army has been reduced to the handful of Zees who remained in the cone of silence. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds to blow them away and then we approach the altar. Bron, walking slowly and looking pale. Ret limping beside him, helped along by Sneak. He’s alive, but clutching his side like more than one of his ribs have been snapped in two. Then comes Dhal, free from his metallic cockpit. Beside me is Oleg and all of us stand before the hardened shell the Queen has wrapped around herself. Only her face is exposed; a hideously insectile thing, that doesn’t contain an ounce of the humanity she once possessed. Although the look of defeat on her face does make me wonder.
I glance over at Klaus’ mangled body and then back to the Queen.
“Fast or slow?” I ask her and the answer she gives doesn’t surprise me one bit.
-31-
6 Months Later
Ret’s leaning coolly on the end of his shovel, watching a bank of white puffy clouds roll in. This soil isn’t going to till itself. That’s what I’m thinking, Sneak beside me, dripping with sweat in the noonday sun. If you’d told me before all this I’d hang up my repeater and trade it in for a shovel and a farm, outside of Sotercity, I probably would have kicked your teeth in. I guess I never thought of myself as the settling down, domestic type.
Then I catch sight of what Ret’s really looking at. It isn’t the clouds overhead. It’s a cloud of dust, approaching from a distance. I can’t help but wonder if it’s a horde of Zees. Not that I can sense them anymore, least not after they started the reversal treatments.
It isn’t long before the dust cloud gets close enough for us to make out what’s creating it. Fast, experimental contraptions, on three wheels, called Trikes. There are two of them and I have a feeling I know who’s on board.
Bron and Dhal tear up the dirt path, leading to our farmhouse, and come skidding to a stop. The big guy probably still has a scar where those claws tore his chest open, although I couldn’t say for sure since he’s decked out in a fancy purple uniform. He’s been made head of the new Patriarch’s personal security team and I’m sure he’s come by just to gloat.
Dhal stands, cupping his ass like it’s about to fall off.
Sneak’s fingers dance through the air and I pass her message along to Dhal. “The outhouse is around back, if you need it.”
Dhal laughs and so does Bron. “It’s these damn wheels,” Bron says, wiping a layer of grime from his brow. “They’re so hard, I probably can’t have kids anymore.”
“Then there’s hope for the human race,” Ret fires without missing a beat.
“I found a fascinating document in the archives,” Dhal cuts in, ignoring the light-hearted spirit of the moment, “about how Dusters once covered the metal rims of their vehicles with pockets of air.”
“That is fascinating,” I say. Then to Bron. “I guess the kid’s really taken to his new job then.”
Dhal squares his shoulders. “Coordinating the Prospectors and releasing the hoarded technology held at White Rock is no small job.”
“I hope Oleg’s nomination as Patriarch hasn’t gone to the old bastard’s head.”
Sneak sends me a quick sign to ease up a little. Maybe she’s right.
“Oleg might be the best Patriarch we’ve ever had,” Dhal says, beaming. “I mean, his first act was to open the technological vaults for everyone. No more secrets.”
For once, even Ret doesn’t look skeptical.
I feel Bron’s eyes running up the length of my arm. Glancing down, I see what he’s looking at. Olive skin. I realize I haven’t seen the big oaf since the service for Klaus, Krantz, and Master Lund… but more importantly since my treatments began. The contraption underneath Sotercity was still there and, with a bit of tinkering, it didn’t take long to make it do what I’d been after all along. Reverse my condition and get the old Azina back.
“How many more treatments?” Bron asks.
“One,” I say, spotting a dark patch under my bicep I hadn’t noticed before. “Maybe two.” I don’t tell them of course, but there are still some residual elements I’ll be sad to see disappear. Night vision, for one, can be mighty handy on your way to that outhouse in the middle of the night. Oleg asked if I could sense any other Hives before they began the treatments and I told him I couldn’t. But, either way, if another group of unfortunate souls ever stumble upon one again, the policy is simple enough. Keep it sealed.
It was around then that Oleg did his best to explain why some of the infected had become Hive leaders and others were reduced to simple drones. The reason had something to do with a FOXO gene, responsible for longevity. A gene which feverishly repairs damaged cells and strengthens a person’s immune system. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons some people can spend their entire lives in the entertainment district, performing all sorts of debaucherous acts, and still live to see 90.
“How long will it take you to get ready?” Bron asks.
“Ready? For what?”
“Oleg’s prepared a banquet in your honor. He’s got a whole speech prepared.”
“Oh, why does that not surprise me?”
Ret’s smiling. He knows mingling with a group of stiff upper crust Keepers is the last thing I wanna do.
The two trikes catch my eye. “I hope you don’t plan on taking us on those things.”
Sneak nudges me again.
“Come now, Azina,” Bron says, cupping my shoulders with his cold metallic hands. “It’ll be fun. I hear Dehlia’s making her famous chicken dish.” The big oaf’s eyes light up and for a moment he looks like an oversized child.
Ret’s nodding with gentle approval. Even Sneak’s wearing a wide grin. I can tell she’s anxious to feel the wind in her hair and I know now, without a doubt, that that sense of family and belonging I’ve always sought might have been with me all along.
Also by Griffin Hayes
Novels
Malice
Dark Passage
Primal Shift Vol. 1
Primal Shift Vol. 2
Novellas
Bird of Prey
The Neighbors
Hive
Hive II
Hive III
Short Stories
The Second Coming
The Grip
Fatherland
Collections
Night Terror
Nightfall
What’s Next?
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