S.T.Y.X. Humanhive

by Arthur Stone

  So either it was something Nimbler wasn’t telling him, or it was something Nimbler didn’t quite know how to explain.

  “Come on, Boiler. This place is way out in the open. We’ve got to reach that crop of small trees. There are similar splotches running close to the road, so we’ll have a good chance of staying unseen.”

  The “splotch” Nimbler was pointing too was over half a mile away. This was the first time they’d be crossing the open for any distance close to that. But cover was hard to find here. Still, the other options were worse, if they were options at all. It was either risk a run for it or backtrack and hold on to the dubious hope of finding something better.

  Nimbler had picked the first choice.

  They were over halfway to the trees when Nimbler looked behind again, sighed like a man dying, and said in a hushed tone, “Well Boiler, it was fun. I’ve found the beast that shredded the locals.”

  Boiler drew his eyes to the factory in time to witness a gigantic creature leap from the tall concrete fence, crouch to the earth, and launch itself towards them. He adjusted his grip on his ax and muttered, “You hit it in the head, and I’ll finish it off.”

  Nimbler shook his head. “Nope. That’s not a runner. It’s a manmincer. Barely looks human anymore, and the only beast more fierce is an elite. My crossbow has about as much chance of piercing that armor as your fingernails do. You’ll break your ax over that plating without even scratching it.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Here, Boiler, we must part ways.”

  “What?”

  “Simple. You die, and I get away. Sorry, but I won’t be around to keep you company this time.”

  Boiler gave him a crooked smile. “I bet I can outrun you. But I’m not near as fast as that one. He’ll take us both.”

  “They call me Nimbler for a reason, you know. My ability is suited to these exact situations, and I boost it with peas every chance I get. But... Well, since you’re my godson, Boiler, I should at least give you a chance. Albeit a small one. I’ll draw him away, but not for long. Soon enough he’ll realize I’m uncatchable, and then he’ll come back. You’ll have a few minutes.”

  “What do I do with a few minutes?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t waste them, and maybe something will work out. Well, good luck, Boiler. Time for me to go.”

  Nimbler turned and ran for the trees. Boiler was shocked at how quickly his clumsy companion could move. But what happened next made him rub his eyes. Nimbler’s legs moved so quickly they blurred in his vision, and making out the man’s feet was about as easy as reading emblems on the hubcaps of a moving race car.

  Now he was moving faster than a world-class cyclist could pedal, even downhill. No man could move that fast. Blue cartoon hedgehogs couldn’t even move that fast. Compared to this guy, Usain Bolt was a turtle. An amputee turtle.

  He had mentioned “new abilities” and consuming peas to develop them. Now Boiler understood.

  The manmincer was closing, now less than two hundred feet away. Boiler adjusted his stance, preparing to chop. He’d only get one attempt. His sole option was one solid, desperate hit with all his might.

  As the monster’s distance from him shrunk, so did his hopes. By now, he could make out the details. A massive body with immensely broad shoulders. Two thick, long arms, reaching almost to its knees. The creature was hunched over from the sheer weight of its torso. Its preposterously huge chin jutted forward, with hideous swollen, chomping jaws. Dark gray, angular bumps protruded from its face and along its torso, doubtless the armor plates Nimbler had mentioned. Most protected its head. Growths of the same stock protruded from its forearms, upgrading its hands with natural knuckledusters.

  Taking this thing out with a gun would be tough. An ax had no prayer. But Boiler was not one to resign himself to his fate.

  The beast was near enough now that its victim gaped at the double rows of razor teeth lining its maw. How could this have once been a human? Looking into this beast’s eyes, Boiler felt himself gazing into a voracious incarnation of death itself.

  The monster whipped by, a few paces away from Boiler. It kept running, after Nimbler, who had almost reached the trees.

  Boiler stared after it in bewilderment. As if sensing his gaze, the monster turned and looked back as it ran. He could almost see the scheme in its eyes. First, it would catch the quick one, and then return for the immobile one. That seemed logical.

  Now Boiler knew how Nimbler had given him some extra time. The beast believed it could catch the supernaturally fast runner. Nimbler would lead it away from his slow companion and then break away at top speed, which must have well exceeded even his current impressive pace.

  But the monster’s unattractiveness did not imply stupidity. It would soon realize Nimbler had it utterly outpaced and would settle for half its planned portion for dinner.

  A nice healthy side of Boiler.

  That meal had, at most, a few minutes left before it was served. Boiler could not get far. He wasn’t a bad runner—as far as average non-Olympian humans were concerned. But time was short.

  What could he do? Stand here with his ax, awaiting his own consumption? Or...

  Or figure out a way to kill the thing in the few minutes he had. He had to think, and quickly, but he could do that on the move. He tossed his ax, which in the circumstances was nothing but dead weight, and bolted back to the factory.

  He had no chance out in the open. But there, perhaps he could make one.

  * * *

  The firefighting supply point was still there, of course. But shovels, fire extinguishers, pails, and hooks were of little interest to him. He sought a long, weighty crowbar. A convenient item to whack across an enemy’s head, but against this enemy, that was an even worse plan than an ax attack. Whacking was pointless.

  At least, thoughtless whacking was pointless. What he needed was some quickly-devised thoughtful whacking.

  The crowbar was thick, balanced, easy to hold, and heavy. Just what I need. He could also use the old broom propped up in a nearby corner, especially since the handle just screwed off. He looped the broom’s bristles through the holes on the crowbar and the broom handle, hastily tying the two together. Ready.

  His monster broom was good to go.

  Now if he could only keep from dropping it on the ascent. He had to climb again. Not up to the workshop roof this time, but up the brick chimney. It was over a hundred feet tall, and featured a ladder wrapped with a metal grating to keep you from falling.

  Halfway up, he looked down, and wished he hadn’t. Not for acrophobia’s sake. The monster was charging back, and fast. It would be at the base of the chimney in one minute, tops. Good thing I didn’t follow my first instinct and run for the open wilderness, he thought. He wouldn’t have made it far. At least now he had a chance, however slim. Dropping the crowbar would be fatal, as he wouldn’t have time to retrieve it. Climbing a ladder one-handed is not an easy trick, but he had no choice.

  Come on, keep going. Higher. And suddenly, he was at the top. He stopped, steadied himself by grabbing the lightning rod, and looked down. Just in time. The beast was here.

  The manmincer leaped at the chimney, not bothering with the ladder. It might get stuck in there, after all. Instead, it emitted a deafening growl and clambered up the outside of the protective grating, faster than a champion speed climber. Quicker than that girl in the well from the horror flicks. In twenty seconds, it would have him, and Boiler couldn’t let it get close. Height was his only advantage, his only chance.

  Too bad the beast didn’t take the ladder—it would have been much easier to hit then. But at least it was coming straight up, with no zigzagging. All he needed now was a little luck.

  Boiler stepped out onto the protective grating, dangled over it, took aim, and hurled with all his might, launching the crowbar like a slingshot right at the head of the rapidly ascending Goliath. Time to see how solid that head armor really was.

  Gravity accel
erated the crowbar. It plummeted over fifty feet without straying an inch, thanks to Boiler’s jury-rigged broom stabilizer. Thunk. Straight as an arrow, the sharp point pierced the monster right between the ugly bone plates on its forehead.

  The crush was at once sickening and thrilling, as the hexagonal rod burrowed into the creature’s brain.

  Chapter 9

  The first thing Boiler did after descending the ladder was return towards the location of his original last stand. He needed his ax. But not as a weapon—as a butcher’s tool. The creature’s legs were stuck in the grating, leaving it hanging in the air fifty feet off the ground. Boiler had to rock the ladder a little to free it, and then he could cut into its head without any difficulty.

  But here he ran into a different kind of snag. No knife. He had left his excellent hunting knife in his vehicle. He wasn’t used to carrying it, since it’d get him in all kinds of trouble with the law. The ax would work to take the head off, as long as he washed it first, using the extremely unappetizing water sitting back by the firefighting supplies.

  His implement was dull, and the spore sac was huge, with parts of it even covered with the bony plates. But it buckled under brute force, and soon Boiler was digging around inside. Unlike the creature Nimbler had killed, this one had none of that dirty cobweb stuff—every square inch of space in the sac was filled with threads of a hostile orange coloring. They looked like long, thin pasta, hastily tossed into a filthy bowl.

  It wasn’t bloody work. There was no blood to be seen anywhere. But it was still dirty work, yet Boiler kept his cool the whole time. Nimbler had his flask of live-giving liquid, and Boiler still remembered how terrible he felt before the juice had saved him. If he was to survive in this world, he needed more ambrosia.

  There were eleven spores inside, many more than in the beast from the city. And the gray grape-like spheres were not alone. Five peas rested there, too, plus one sphere that didn’t look like the others. It was a black pearl, or at least looked like one, complete with a mother-of-pearlesque shine. A gem that would look stunning set in gold.

  Nimbler hadn’t mentioned these, only the peas and spores. Boiler was sure of it. But he must have just covered the main points of Hive life. This strange, beautiful object could be valuable. Boiler tied up his loot in a torn piece of shirt fabric, which he then hid at the bottom of a secure pocket.

  Now, what to do next. This place seemed pretty safe, since the manmincer had apparently eaten all the lesser infecteds here—prompting the others to keep their distance. No point in staying, though. It was an abandoned factory, a mountain of rust and ruin. The few places that seemed intact contained nothing of interest. For the first time since the fight began, he turned an inner ear to his stomach and was deafened by its scream of famishment. He needed food, and soon.

  And he didn’t know what to do with the spores. Asking for the recipe had been the last thing on his mind, but if people could eat them in solid form like this, they’d probably never bother making that liquid. There must be a trick to it. Without someone who knew that trick, Boiler might ruin them all. So, he had to find that someone. Somewhere.

  Where, he had no idea. Hopefully wherever his feet carried him. But first, he had to go back to the city. It was a fresh cluster, meaning fresh supplies. Dangerous, sure, but what choice did he have?

  He hoped he’d meet a decent person like Nimbler again, an experienced companion to watch his back and provide some much-needed answers to his questions. And everyone in the Hive should know how to make lifejuice, right?

  * * *

  Remembering Nimbler’s advice, he avoided his own tracks, taking a wide detour up to where the river was narrow. If the cluster boundaries worked the way he thought, a part of the city on his side of the river would still be located in the fresh cluster. He wouldn’t have to cross the river, exposed and vulnerable.

  Just over an hour later, he was crouching a safe distance away from a tiny piece of the city which happened to be on his side, thanks to the Hive's geometry. A strip of highway, a parking lot half full of cars, and a dealership where less popular foreign makes were sold. No grocery stores in this bit, but people liked to stash things everywhere they lived. A little thoughtful scavenging and he’d find something.

  He decided the dealership was his best option. The empties, who had been meandering mindlessly or just standing around, came almost back to life when Boiler showed up and pressed towards him. Of all the irritating phenomena of the Hive, this self-caffeinating habit of the empties ranked highly. Observers from far away could easily deduce a non-ghoulish visitor was present.

  He slipped to the parking lot, used the cars for cover to cross it, and arrived at the doors. Locked. He could take his ax to them, but the glass was thick. Not that it wouldn’t break, but it would do so with a crash this whole half of the city would hear. There must be other entrances that might be easier to break into, and all he had to do was find them.

  Distracted by these thoughts, Boiler rounded the corner and stopped abruptly—staring right down the barrel of an automatic rifle. It was held by a mustached man about thirty years old, decked out from head to toe in brand new camo. The man was a walking cliché. He even had a bandana on. A khaki bandana.

  “Not a word! No sound. Drop the ax. Drop it!” the stranger whispered with a threatening gesture. He pressed the button on the small walkie talkie on his shoulder and spoke into it. What he said made no sense, but it sounded bad. “Target is triggered, a newbie brought a bunch of empties in. Even if I take him out, they’ll flood the place.”

  The radio barely beeped in reply. “Get him out of there.”

  “Got it.”

  Pointing his barrel out towards the patches of trees near the highway, the rifleman gave Boiler an order. “Walk straight that way. Don’t turn either way, not a step, and don’t look back. You do and I’ll shoot, without question. Go!”

  There was nothing he could do but obey. Once he reached the first patch of trees, he mumbled a question. “Should I push through these bushes?”

  “Like I said, keep walking straight forward. Simple stuff. Forward!”

  The bushes were thick, but he breathed thanks that they weren’t thorn bushes. Beyond the wall of tanglecord, Boiler found himself in an open area under the tree branches, where the bushes were much thinner. More surprisingly, there were people here. Five of them. Two in full camo, two in partial camo, and one in baggy pants and a leather jacket. The latter was the oldest, over forty. The rest were between twenty-five and thirty. All of them had powerful weapons: four assault rifles and one machine gun, a couple of holstered pistols, and a one-shot RPG leaning up against a tree.

  The oldest looked at him distrustfully. “Why’d you trigger our target?”

  Boiler shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I give you my word that I didn’t do any triggering.”

  “I don’t have time for sarcasm right now. Who are you?”

  “Boiler.”

  “Whoa, he’s got a name already. Thought he was fresh.”

  “I am fresh. That is, I’m a newcomer.”

  “Newcomers all have old names. Davids and Sams and Jareds.”

  “I met somebody who gave me a new one.”

  “Who?”

  “Nimbler.”

  “Any of you know him? I don’t.”

  The mustached man broke in. “Kind of small, a bit of paunch? Resourceful, crafty type? Talks a lot, too.”

  “Yeah, he loved to chat.”

  “Runs faster than shit?”

  “Definitely him.”

  “Hey Capper, you know this Nimbler guy?” asked the one with the mustache.

  “Bumped into him a couple of times. Not a front-line fighter for sure, but a good talker and drinker, not easy to forget. He used to grab pellets for the doubler that’s been working in sixty-two the past three years.”

  “So why’d he quit that?”

  “Maybe he didn’t, but I heard he ran into a big mutant no
t long ago. Left naked and barefoot, all his goods lost.”

  “Happens. Boiler, you’ve blown our whole operation. We’re not just sitting around here. We’re watching the road. This is an important route, taken by important vehicles. So we obviously need to avoid attracting unnecessary attention, and then you brought in all the empties. They won’t calm down for a long time.”

  “This Capper of yours would’ve riled them up without me. He was wandering around the same place.”

  “No, not wandering. He was setting up camp at an ideal point. His ability makes all the empties pay him no mind. And then you decided you needed something from there and brought the whole mob with you. We were counting on that point, Boiler, but now it’s just too hot, and we have to find another. This isn’t our turf, but we slipped in without trouble, figuring we could work where nobody was expecting us. Now everyone a mile away can tell the area’s been riled up, and even the stupidest observers will know why.”

  Boiler gave his head a little shake. “Half of what you just said, I don’t understand.”

  “Yeah. You’re too fresh, barely know anything. Well, tell us what you saw in the city. Maybe you know something useful. See any people? Any strong creatures? Maybe some kind of unusual vehicle drove by? Or have you not even been to the city?”

  “I was there. Met Nimbler there, and he helped me take down a raffler.”

  “That’s how you got your clothes torn?”

  “Nah, that was an earlier adventure.”

  “What happened?”

  “A drone blew up my car. At a big intersection on the other side of town.”

  “A drone? What kind?” asked the oldest man with a heightened intensity.

  “I don’t know. The plane looked kind of like a cross, and Nimbler called it a ‘bomber’ for some reason.”

  The elder man nodded.

  “That’s what a lot of people call them. But they don’t really have anything in common with the old bombers at all. Did this one have missiles or a machine gun?”

  “Missiles. My Jeep was wrecked, and I got beat up a little, too.”