Hive II

by Griffin Hayes

  -16-

  The workshop has a sign with a wrench and a bolt on it. I normally make it a point to stay as far away from the polluted industrial sector as I can, so all this is new to me. Two solid oak doors with engravings and metal studs. Bron pounds his fist against a carved picture of a master and apprentice hard at work, pummeling the image out of existence.

  No answer.

  Oleg starts to squirm and I decide to knock this time, using the butt of my repeater. I hear bare feet shuffling through the street and realize the time for manners is long gone. I look at Bron.

  “Do it!”

  He grabs each of the handles and pushes with so much force his face turns a deep purple.

  Those footsteps are getting closer.

  From behind us comes Gunnar. “Move aside,” he bellows, “and let the real men have a go.”

  Bron releases, shaking out his metal fingers. “Be my guest.”

  Gunnar grasps the door handles, makes like he’s about to push and then casually pulls them open. Ret doubles over in laughter.

  Gunnar has a gleeful look on his face. “Next time, try pulling first, big man.”

  Bron isn’t a fan of being made to look silly and I can see he wants to put Gunnar’s head through the wall.

  We close the big oak doors quickly behind us. There’s a thick chain on a nearby workbench and Ret and Sneak busy themselves with weaving it through the handles so whatever’s shambling down that street won’t be able to come in after us.

  I glance around the gloom, weak shafts of light spilling in from a set of high windows. All types of gizmos and contraptions litter the workbenches and hang on hooks suspended from the ceiling. Oleg points to a weird looking machine with two wheels and an ugly chunk of metal stuck between them. “By Newton, I haven’t seen one of these in years,” the old man says. He looks around at us and then shakes his head in disgust at our ignorance. “It’s a motorcycle.” Sneak’s face squishes up. “You know, small combustion engine.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of them,” I say. “And I also know they’re illegal.”

  “Oh phooey,” Oleg spits. “The Patriarch has done everything in his power to stop information travelling faster than he can control it, including outlawing these wonderful machines. Just imagine the potential. You could barrel across the twelve districts in hours instead of weeks.”

  A sudden noise above us. Our eyes trace up to a second story loft and find a figure crouched there, glaring down at us. He’s holding some kind of weapon and I reach for my repeater, but by the time I swing it around I’m already too late. A concussive noise rings out as he fires. It’s some sort of net gun and it’s aimed at Gunnar, who raises his arms to fend it off. A split second later, the weighted ends twirl around, entangling him. Gunnar tries to take a step and falls to the ground, twisting and pulling and generally making his predicament far worse.

  I don’t tolerate being shot at, no matter what the weapon is, and when the shooter disappears, my first instinct is to find and throttle him; but if this is our engineer, we might not have that luxury. And besides, I remind myself, technically speaking, we’re the ones who are trespassing.

  The shooter sails down a short flight of stairs and it looks like he’s heading for a back exit. We swing around the corner, breathless – Gunnar still on the floor behind us, cursing at his predicament – only to find Sneak sitting on the squirming body of a young boy who doesn’t look a day over fourteen.

  “Well done,” I say. “But who the hell is he?”

  Sneak shrugs and signs back indignantly, “How the hell should I know?”

  Ret and Krantz lead the boy back to the room with the benches and gizmos.

  Bron’s poking at Gunnar who’s throwing all kinds of obscenities his way.

  “Cut him loose,” I say.

  Bron starts whining. “Do I have to?”

  I toss him the ‘do what I say’ look, mostly out of respect for Krantz. Gunnar is one of his men, after all. Bron’s now pouting like a child who’s been told he can’t play outside anymore. A blade slides out from the palm of his hand and he frees a thoroughly disgruntled Gunnar.

  The boy’s wearing a ratty, grease stained tunic and a floppy hat; from here he doesn’t look like much more than a teenage Grinder. His fingers are trembling, but I notice they’re strong for someone his age. He’s more than just a stowaway.

  “What do they call you?” I ask.

  “Dhal,” the boy replies. His features are sharp and symmetrical. He’ll be handsome when he grows up. If he grows up. Gunnar’s got a grim expression on his face that tells me he’s hoping for option number two.

  “We’re looking for the engineer who owns this shop,” I say.

  “Master Lund? You’re too late.” His tone is filled with false bravado.

  “What do you mean too late?” This time Bron speaks and he can’t manage to hide the worry in his voice.

  “Keepers came by and grabbed him, bout the same time all hell broke loose outside. Those things are eating people, in case you haven’t noticed.” He looks at Oleg, maybe because he looks old and wise or maybe it’s because of the Keeper robes he’s wearing. “Is this the end of the world? Sorta like the big bang those Keeper priests are always talking about, only in reverse?”

  Oleg shakes his head quickly, but it would take a blind man to miss the fact that the boy’s got the old man thinking.

  “Enough of this,” Gunnar barks. “Where did they take him?”

  The boy recoils. “To the Keep. Least, that’s what they told him. But how do I know, maybe they were lying.”

  Sharp as a steel blade, this one. I sit down beside him, my repeater slung back over my shoulder and I can see him looking at my face, wondering the way Gunnar did, whether I am one of them; wondering whether I’m human.

  “Is Lund your father?”

  Dhal spits out laughter. “That crotchety old nog? Hell no, I’m his apprentice. Mother and Father work for Sotercity. I got a knack for mechanical stuff which is how I ended up here, I guess.”

  I turn to Ret. “Should we take him with us?”

  Ret studies the boy, who watches us from his seat at the table, trying to make out what we’re saying.

  “You really think this kid’ll be capable of making the changes to Skuld’s machine? Besides, we don’t even know what state it’ll be in by the time we reach them. He could be a lot of dead weight.”

  “If you reach him,” Dhal whispers under his breath. Kid’s smirking now and none of us are liking it one little bit.

  “Something funny, little boy?” Gunnar asks.

  “No. It’s just that if Skuld’s bunker underneath the Keep is where they’ve taken Master Lund, then unless you’re all on some kind of suicide mission, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re gonna get anywhere close.”

  I look over at Oleg who nods. “The child is right.”

  “I’m not a child,” he whines, but all eyes are glued on Oleg.

  “There are rumors the Keep’s underground sanctuary has recently been greatly bolstered. Skuld may be very well protected indeed, although in what ways no one really knows.”

  Ret crosses his arms. “This has ‘bad idea’ written all over it.”

  Sneak’s in total agreement and her fingers are doing a mad jig through the air to drive the point home.

  I’m not happy either. “Why are we only hearing about these defenses now?”

  Oleg’s face begins to flush and for a moment I can’t tell if it’s anger or embarrassment. “Because I haven’t seen them. Rumors, that’s all they are, and I certainly wasn’t going to alarm you with make believe tales of encrypted passageways and machines capable of ripping a man in half.”

  Dhal raises his arm like a schoolboy.

  “What is it?” I say, not even trying to hide my exasperation.

  “What the old guy just said. Those aren’t rumors.”

  “And how would you know, young man?” Oleg replies, sounding snippy and I’m not sure if it’s t
he ‘old man’ comment he doesn’t like, or being shown up by a kid.

  “Master Lund was the one who designed the place for Prior Skuld and who the hell do you think helped him?”

  -17-

  We aren’t two minutes from the workshop, Dhal struggling under the weight of a backpack loaded with who knows what, when I feel a tingling in my gut. We head down a narrow street, a gauntlet of small factory-type structures and shacks, even a billboard or two showcasing Skuld’s ugly face. Ahead and to the left is the Keep and somewhere inside is Skuld. I’m the first to turn the corner and the first to come skidding to a stop.

  Zees. A sea of them, stretching out in a line that leads all the way to the Keep. They must have cleared the upper levels looking for us and now they’re moving on to other places. Dhal’s eyes grow wide in amazement and fear.

  “We need to find another way in,” I shout as we turn and run back the way we came. Krantz is in front now, maybe twenty yards ahead. He must know this area better than any of us. He turns a corner and then reappears a second later.

  “It’s a trap,” he screams. Behind him is another swarm. A queer mixture of Zees from the complex, dressed up all nice and pretty in antique clothing, and alongside them the recently turned from Sotercity, a veritable snapshot from all walks of life: bakers, shop owners, Keepers and rich merchants. Men, women and especially children. An angry mob of dark leathery skin and bared teeth, with one thing on their insect-like minds: feeding.

  We’re completely surrounded. I hear the first bunch scrambling up the other street and it won’t be long before the two groups merge, with us sandwiched in the middle. Sneak points upward and my jaw drops. Zees on the rooftops are poised to leap down on top of us, but they don’t. They’re waiting. But for what? Orders? Then I see in the distance, toward the rear of the second mob, is the Hive leader. That big red melon of a head is on his shoulders like he never lost it in the first place.

  Both groups are now within visual range. The walls of the buildings are too high to scale and we’re in a spot void of doorways to duck into.

  “Stand back,” Bron says and levels his guns, but he’s not aiming at the oncoming Zees. Even he must know there are too many of them to fight. The barrels of his guns are pointing at a brick wall on our left.

  “Buy me some time,” he hollers and opens up, showering brick and mortar down on us as his explosive shells tear away at the masonry.

  One chunk hits me in the head and for a moment I’m seeing stars. Ret, Krantz and Oleg fire into one crowd of Zees. Me, Sneak and Gunnar fire on the other. Dhal huddles at our feet, his hands clamped over his ears. I can already see a breach in the wall and I’m sure in another second we’ll be able to squeeze through.

  Then I hear the command, Zee gibberish flickering before my eyes. The Hive leader has given the signal to his drones on the roof to leap down on us. If they manage to break up our firing lines we won’t stand a chance. Then I remember what happened back in the complex, when that red SOB had Sneak by the throat. Through sheer force of will I’d managed to send my own rogue Zee command to wrench his fingers from around her neck.

  I try to do the same thing now, but it isn’t easy in the chaos of battle, with hordes of mindless drones bearing down on us. I do my best to slow my breathing and allow a picture to form in my head. I imagine the Zees diving down, but head first and I send the signal out in a process that feels as normal as sending a signal to my legs to take a step. The Zees approaching from either side are nearly on top of us, but right now I’m not paying any attention to them. I squeeze my eyes shut in concentration and when they open again, I catch Dhal and Gunnar watching me with the kind of terrified expression on their faces that tells me one thing. My eyes must be lit up like one of Skuld’s billboards.

  I raise my arms and then jerk them down violently. The Zees jump, and for a moment I’m not sure if I’ve managed to do anything more than waste time with my finger off the trigger.

  Then more than half of them dive head first, their skulls hitting the ground and exploding in a spray of black goo. My legs begin to give out and Sneak grabs me before I can fall. I’m trying my best to stay up, but I can see plain as day the other half of the Zees from the roof have landed on their feet. Now we’re surrounded. Sneak puts me down and pulls out two eight inch daggers. Her movements are so graceful she looks like she could be dancing. She spins and lunges out faster than the eye can see. Three Zees around her drop to the floor. Even Krantz has a few tricks up his tunic. He’s doing his own dance, albeit not nearly as fast or elegant, but nonetheless making good use of those blades on his boots and the others bound to his knuckles. Now Bron pulls his attention off blasting the wall and unleashes holy hell. It’s the perfect killing zone. He’s got each arm pointed in opposite directions. Zees barely ten yards out on either side are torn in half, but on they come.

  “It’s now or never,” Bron growls just as a Zee appears before him, his arms stretched to either side. I’m worried he won’t be able to maneuver in time. I reach for the knife in my boot, but I already know I’m too slow, too tired.

  Bron begin to shift his fire and, even from here, I can tell he isn’t going to make it.

  Ret notices Bron’s situation and slides feet first between the big man’s legs and opens fire. The blast from his automatic shotgun knocks the Zee backward. A final shot to the head and it stops moving.

  Bron helps Ret up off the ground and then cups his balls protectively. Robotic arms are one thing, but some bits can’t be replaced. We hear the piercing scream. I turn to find a Zee latched onto the side of Gunnar’s neck. Another sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of his forearm and Gunnar’s face is a mask of panic as he tries in vain to shake them off. Krantz sends the blood-soaked blades on his knuckles into their brains, killing them both. I can’t help seeing Jinx flash before my eyes. He had that same look on his face when they got him.

  Gunnar stumbles and then drops to one knee. Blood from his neck is spurting between his closed fingers. Already his skin looks pale and deathly. He’s not going to make it and judging by the height of that wound, he’s got only seconds before he joins Zee central.

  Krantz crouches to tend to him, but Sneak pushes him aside and buries one of her daggers in Gunnar’s forehead. His eyes roll up to whites and it’s all over. Painless.

  The rage in Krantz’ eyes looks like it can melt steel. But Sneak did the right thing. I just hope that if we manage to make it out of this, Krantz will see it that way too.

  We evade the grasping hands of approaching Zees and rush through the hole Bron had cut in the brick wall. Sneak and Ret help me along and I can only hope that no else has been bitten. A few quick shots from Bron’s 20mms and part of the ceiling crashes down behind us. That should hold them off for a few precious moments.

  -18-

  We’re inside a dimly lit factory. Stacks of sheet metal and pressed wood lie in piles around us. The basic household building blocks for most of the Grinders living in the outer ring. It’s cool and dusty in here and I want to rest so badly, but we can’t, at least not until we reach the Keep. That’s what I’m repeating to myself over and over. And by the looks of things, our only hope is to make a run for it while those Zees are busy forcing their way through the debris behind us.

  Ahead is a shaft of light from outside.

  “This way!” Bron says pointing.

  He bursts through before I can tell him to be cautious. Only a few Zees are milling about. They won’t be hard to get through, but he still doesn’t understand, that letting them see us is like ringing a giant dinner bell.

  Out we charge. Above us are the Keep’s imposing battlements and stretching higher still are swirling plumes of black smoke spilling out of her many upper windows. The main gate hasn’t been closed in many generations and I can’t help but wonder what it must have been like for the Keepers manning the gatehouse to see a horde of Zees rushing toward them with no way to shut them out.

  Krantz is still shaken from Gunnar
’s death and no doubt still upset with Sneak for speeding it along. He’s not the only one reeling, though. The full impact of forcing those Zees off the roofs and onto their fat heads hasn’t completely sunk in yet. I struggle on with Sneak’s help, becoming more and more frightened with the implication of it all. Every time I merge with the signal and make them obey, do I take a step closer to becoming one of them?

  The open ground is easy to cross. It’s one of the few bits of an otherwise cramped and dilapidated city where you don’t feel hemmed in. Krantz is out front, relieving some of his aggression on the scattered groups of Zees that come our way. My legs are still a bit weak and rubbery and I can only hope that they hold out until we get ourselves somewhere safe. But even I know I’m fooling myself. In a world like this there’s no such thing as safe, and I’m starting to wonder if I might be a bigger part of the problem than I care to admit.

  Almost on cue, Krantz’ slicing and dicing triggers a flood of signals.

  UP, DOWN. MOVE, MOVE, FORWARD, DASH, SEVEN.

  And I don’t even need to hear it to know that it’s about us. About me. The horde knows exactly where we are, and unless I’ve been able to block them out sufficiently, they also know where we’re headed.

  -19-

  We hit the Keep’s main entrance not a moment too soon. Surging behind us is a mass of darkened flesh, ebbing and flowing like a flock of birds, thousands of them, eyes glowing, mouths gnashing at empty air in anticipation of the time when those teeth will close around our throats. I feel a chill run through my body as Ret struggles to close the reinforced door behind us. It may hold them off for a time, but it can’t be the only way in here.

  Dhal’s chest heaves and his face looks ashen and deathly. The only color comes from the streaks of Zee blood smeared across his forehead. Sneak lowers me into a chair. Oleg sits across from me and I can see him sucking in wind and favoring his side. We’re in a kind of waiting room, but this place isn’t like Attica, the Patriarch’s walled palace. The Keep is purely utilitarian, an army barracks on steroids. Except I wonder where the guards are? Almost in response, I catch sight of a severed leg poking out from an adjacent room, a shaft of white bone glinting off shafts of light. Yes, the lights are still on. Not much of a silver lining, but I’ll take it.